A discrete offering to Sylaise

Devante watched as the boulder changed; yanking the other man off of his feet. I'd tell it what you're here for. You're not one of the People. It wasn't a surefire statement; Dante hadn't grown up around tons of lore-tellers, he only picked up bits and bobs here and there.

Ask permission to enter? Another suggestion, though he definitely didn't sound certain about that. He couldn't remember the Elvish for the phrase.

Jorah's upsidedown face switched from shock to dismay, though the subtle difference might have been hard to read as he wiggled in the air. He wrestled with the plant, shouting in common, Gift! Worship, prayer! before switching into very broken Elven to say their words for temple and holyman and finally, human-fucker. The vines would not release him.

He glanced with questions at Devante again, and nodded profusely at his suggestion. Please may I enter? I come in peace, truly. Like a spell, the vines dropped him before parting to reveal a narrow stone staircase up a slope. Jorah looked once again shocked at Devante.

How did you know?