You either love it or hate it

Zoltan raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching into a half-smile as he studied the ancient mage before them. His eyes flickered with mischief, even in the face of Camlen’s deadly serious warning.

Ah, well, there he is—the man behind the mystery! It’s truly an honor, Camlen, really. After all, it’s not every day we meet the architect of a maze so delightfully, ah... unwelcoming.

He gestured to the maze around them, as if Camlen were a chef proudly displaying a disastrous banquet. Then, his tone grew softer, nearly conspiratorial.

But here’s the thing—you’ve got to understand our situation. We crossed a hundred leagues and more to get here, danced through enough traps to make a jester jealous, all to... well, to see what’s so damned important to keep hidden. And now, you want us to just turn around?

Zoltan leaned forward slightly, one brow arching as he measured the ancient mage’s reaction. He was exaggerating mildly on how far they’d travelled, but it wasn’t as if Camlen really needed to know where they had all come from.

See, I’ve been known to take advice when it’s good advice... but to simply leave? You wound me, Camlen. Besides, if we go back the way we came, we’d just be risking that death you’re so eager to keep us away from. Why not simply guide us out? Perhaps even... share a tale or two? That is, unless you’d prefer to meet our charming, stubborn friend here, *he gestured at the cat,* over a nice bowl of tuna instead.

He offered Camlen a disarming smile, as if the idea of a centuries-old elf being irritated by a gang of intruders was somehow amusing rather than dangerous.