As she listens, Inessa sips at her tea and reaches over to rub Garahel with a foot. He seems content for even the slightest bit of attention, panting and wiggling to make sure she reaches wherever he wants. "Ah, a Tranquil. That would explain much. I've seen their craftsmanship, but...they operate purely on logic, do they not? What logic is there in creating armor from such a toxic substance? Even with Samson's smoother transition, that doesn't quite add up."