The elf seated across from him is handsomely attired, finely brocaded tunic, his long, pale hair gathered back into an elegant, thin silver clasp. He's bright-eyed, sharp-chinned, the slightest, most subtle aspects of his posture and gestures broadcasting casual regality.

Hearing Eiridan, he lifts the well-cut champagne flute in his hand, wordlessly toasting the sentiment.

"To hosts who free us of our demons."