You either love it or hate it

Zevran watched the unfolding scene with a raised eyebrow and an amused smirk tugging at his lips. The way Camlen had transformed from a paranoid, ancient hermit into a reverent follower at the mere mention of Sylaise was almost too perfect. Zoltan’s sharp wit and charm were doing the heavy lifting in this bizarre situation, and for once, Zevran was more than happy to sit back and enjoy the show. Diplomacy, after all, wasn’t his specialty—he preferred handling things that involved less talking and more… well, stabbing.

Well, this is quite the turn of events, he muttered under his breath, his golden eyes flicking between Megara and the now-kneeling Camlen. A goddess walks among us, Camlen grovels, and I haven't had to lift a blade. A rare occasion indeed. His voice was light, teasing, but there was no mistaking the glint of calculation in his gaze. He knew when it was time to let others take the lead.

Leaning casually against the stone wall of the maze, Zevran flashed a grin at Zoltan. Ah, yes, our silver-tongued friend makes an excellent point, Camlen. You have wisdom, defenses, and perhaps a wealth of knowledge we might find… mutually beneficial. Surely, there is no need for threats when we could all walk away from this better off, no? He shrugged with an easy grace, crossing his arms as if he were merely suggesting a pleasant afternoon stroll, rather than negotiating with a paranoid mage and an ancient goddess.

@Megara Neirdre