Mort's mind wanders a lot in these dark days. Focusing on a conversation is a bit difficult. There is an intelligent, cultured way to reach a rational, strategic objective here. Some optimized combination of words and mannerisms must exist that can convince this councilor of his worthiness to liberate Lathesa's Roost. There were times, when he drank the right amount of tea in his grandfather's study with the windows open and a nice stiff breeze brushed by, that his mind worked swiftly. This was not one of those times.

"Er, check this out," Mort says, and proceeds to hurl himself at the window, trying to fly while doing that spike thing from his body that kept happening at the most inconvenient times. Mort hopes his insanity, willingness to smash into things to prove a point, and spike condition can prove to be compelling arguments.