A Meeting in the Legerdemain

“Culture…strides in medicine…yes,” says Mirium nervously. “It still can be rather awkward for…us. For other reasons.”

Keelath slightly tilts his head at the returned stare, then gets up to stand behind and to the side of Mirium. She visibly relaxes with him there. “Keelath Sunwalker,” he grunts as a way of greeting to Malcotin, extending his hand in the human way. He continues to eye Malcotin, as if some other remark is on the tip of his tongue.

If he was nervous, Malcotin did not show it, but smiled as the male approached. “It is a pleasure, good sir. Malcotin Baen.” he replies warmly as he shakes Keelath’s hand.

To some folks, shaking the hand of a Death Knight might be akin to grasping a rotting corpse. But Malcotin did not flinch at it. He was well aware the other knew he was shaking the hand of a fellow undead. Oddly enough, Malcotin’s hand was warm and dry. Not cold and clammy as one might expect. His gaze met that of Keelath with unflinching respect and acceptance.

“I must compliment you on your gracious wife, as distracted as she was, no harm was done. Might I offer you a drink?” his lips twitched, as he fully expected the answer to be no. After all, what did death knights want with liquid sloshing around in empty bellies? A preservative? It would be an inside joke and he was not sure yet if the other even had a sense of humor.

And yet here he stood, drink in hand and smoking a pipe, thoroughly enjoying both. Certainly it invited questions, if nothing else. And questions that Malcotin was prepared to answer.

Keelath flexed his hand as they finished the shake. He had noted the warmth of the other man’s hand–the living warmth–yet his senses as a death knight obviously pegged this man as one of the undead, like himself. His own hand, of course, is cold, like one would expect of a corpse left out on a chilly day.

He glances at Mirium, who offers a wan smile, then returns the man’s question himself:

“Thank you, but it’s not really my interest anymore. Perhaps Mirium would like something?”

“Oh, I couldn’t–”

Keelath nods. “Do you mind telling me what it is you do here? Forgive me, but you seem an…unusual person.” Despite the words, his tone is cool, almost emotionless. He narrows his eyes slightly–a suspicious glare if there ever was one–if Malcotin would pick up on such a thing from the normally inexpressive death knight.