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“Tell me something, my loyal young apprentice,” Kalthos rasps, his stained red robes whispering against the stone floor as you walk through the Demesne, “Is that ridiculous young man still leading the Tomoe family?”
“If you mean Janus, then yes. He's the current head of the family,” you answer, “And I don't recall agreeing to be your apprentice.”
“Bah, it doesn't matter if you've agreed to it or not. I'm teaching you, that makes you the apprentice – though, I won't call myself a master. I am just a humble mentor,” the old man replies with a rough laugh, “A more laudable title than “foolish old man”, which is what most might call me.”
For good reason, of course. “So unless I'm very much mistaken, you don't care for Master Tomoe,” you remark, “May I ask why?”
“You can ask. But, eh heh heh... I might not answer,” Kalthos chuckles to himself, tugging at his long sleeves and rubbing his gnarled hands together, “What does it matter to you? Could it be that you're trying to learn some coveted family secret, in hopes of impressing that pretty young redhead?”
“Actually, I want to know if I'm wading into some kind of family feud. And, if so, whose side I should be on,” you answer, frowning as a recollection comes to you, “Though I find it very hard to believe that you have ANY kind of relationship with Master Janus. According to your portrait, you're over one hundred and fifty years old.”
This actually causes Kalthos to pause, an expression of genuine alarm twisting his features for a passing moment. “Has it been so long already?” he murmurs, “Well... I suppose maybe it has.”
He's avoiding the question.
“Oh yes, you probably think that I'm avoiding the question,” Kalthos waves away your scowl, “When you get as old as I am, young lad, it gets hard to keep your thoughts in a nice neat order. They wander, boy. They roam like little lost lambs. Now, what were we talking about?”
“You... were just explaining how you entered the Demesne,” you lie, “Quite the feat, I imagine.”
“You're lying,” the old man counters, his eyes narrowing to suspicious slits, “I might be old, but I'm still as sharp as any blade. You can't sneak anything past me.”
“Can you blame me for trying?”
“I can, and I will,” he sneers, waving the subject away with a dismissive gesture, “But I'm a generous soul, so I'll look past it. Let's see... you asked me about my age. Luckily for you, I'm not a woman so I won't take offence. But I have no answer to give you – so long as I remain within these walls, I age but do not die. That, I understand. Exactly how that works, though...”
He finishes this thought with a shrug, bony shoulders shifting within his shapeless red robes. The Demesne is full of mysteries, his gesture seems to suggest, why should this be any different?
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