"I'm trying," Kostos adds, overlapping (rudely) with Merrill's much less irritable responses, and despite the fact that he's been silent up until now. He has been trying. The wisp can sense him, too. Usually that's enough for them to care, understand, and square up to dance a cotillion, if he's polite.

This one is disinterested, currently, in anything except making friends with the elves, and it sort of figures that like everything else in this place the wisp has some sort of grudge against humans for—whatever. Being too broad and hairy, though that doesn't quite explain the Baroness. Maybe all of the conquesting and Exalted Marches. Who knows.

Anyway, the wisp: even from the bottom of a sinkhole, looking up into vines that seem to want him dead, Kostos is a little endeared. Not that that's visible on his face at all.

"It likes your skin," he offers up, the only result he's managed to get so far from probing at its little fragment of consciousness.