The hand extended to him gave him thoughts of a convention he associated with humans - the handshake. He had seen other, more respectable races adopt the practice, and even members of his own kind. He hated those influences, but he nonetheless offered his own cold, bony hand to complete the tradition.

"Artholath. Third cousin of a poor bastard locked in a volcano, former minion to two arrogant bastards, and a fellow lucky enough to have touched the blade of an archangel," he intoned, one eye seeming to glare at the human as it sat in the nearby vicinity. It carried an odd pole-like item, likely one of humanity's various odd constructions. It was an odd human, not from any realm he had traveled, but he wasn't interested in pursuing further knowledge of it.

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