[ He's a little hotter — lukewarm, perhaps. It isn't his first glass of wine. He needed to fleece these foolish adventurers for as much as he could, of course. His skin warms more under Iorveth's touch, and he leans into the palm, grinning. ]

Oh, yes. It was abject agony.

[ A joke. He can last a couple hours without Iorveth; it's days where he'd start getting cranky. ]

I had to content myself with pretending to be a folk hero while you were away.

[ Because, really, it is pretending. He might have been tangentially associated with heroism, but he certainly didn't participate in any himself. His only real motivation for slaying the Netherbrain was because he didn't want to be enslaved again, and because a world full of nothing but mind flayers sounds incredibly boring. ]

Where did you go?