Kace spoke with a kind tone, expertly hiding the anger he felt, not letting it show through his words, “Tell me Sir Roland, have you ever seen true battle? The type of bloody struggle where you can barely tell your friends from your foes? Have you ever led men to their deaths? Ever held a dying brother in your arms and watched as the life faded from his eyes, not being able to tell if the blood covering you is his, or yours or that of an enemy? Have you ever actually taken a life Sir? I can’t imagine tournaments, with your thick armor, blunted blades and flowery smells and the comfort of food and drink only a moments walk from the list would give you much cause to kill. But I assure you, this quest will be no walk in the park, no trot down the list. The enemies we face here won’t cower at the sight of a glittering knight, flowing with banners and ribbons, whose horse has a braided mane and silken caparison. And as for my parents, I’d ask you kindly not to speak ill of them. They’ve given you no cause to do so, and it’s rather cowardly to speak of someone when they’re not present to accept or challenge your words.” He smiled to the Ethorian as he finished speaking before turning to Elric. 

In very broken Falkmor, Kace managed, “Agree a lot with words you spoke. He is rabbit nostril.” He gave an apologetic look, hoping he hadn’t misspoke and unintentionally offended Elric. 

“I learned a bit on a trading expedition with my father when I was young. I hope I was at least coherent.” He said, laughing a hearty laugh. “Tell me Elric, what’s your story? I encountered some Dragoons at a port in Falke, and if I’m not mistaken, you bear the crest of the High Dragoon? Yet you can’t be older than twenty-five or thirty. That’s very impressive my friend. How did one so young achieve such a prestigious appointment?”