"Only good thing it's made."

So it can't be that great. Lazar goes for his flask, remembers only when his fingers thunk metal that it's empty. For the twelfth time today, it's empty.

"Time was they'd like you, though." Wardens are heroes. A flash of grey for all that ichor-black. "Cut a man's throat, and they'd throw a damn parade."

Doesn't mind Siorus standing out here, himself. Long as he doesn't stoop up, Lazar's not the tallest thing in the storm's path.