The blows cause pain, but - Well. Byerly would not be a Rutyer if he didn't know how to take pain without flinching. Still, there is something quite difficult in this, because - this is not Rolant in truth. This is Alexandrie's imagining of him. Or possibly his own, but he suspect that this ghost is Alexandrie's. So these are not the thoughts of that foul man; these are the thoughts of Lexie herself, given voice through his cruel mouth.

Maybe. Who knows. This might really be Rolant's ghost. Who can say, truly.

"You always did overestimate your capabilities, dearest Ezoire." Byerly's smile is as it ever was with Rolant: mocking without being overly so, wry with a little tiny soupcon of kicked dog slinking back to its master. "Maker, I remember your pride over the size of your cock. I hadn't the heart to tell you that that was only impressive for an Orlesian. In Ferelden, it would have gotten you laughed out of the bathhouse. You'd have been mistaken for a woman. Andraste's mercy." He sighs fondly, shakes his head. "What a pity you've gone, dear man. I do miss our little jokes. How did you die, anyway? Was it syphilis after all?"