Rohaan sucked his teeth, scowling a little at their words. He hated the very idea of having his eyes 'changed' in any way. One would think that a creature whose shape was so fluid and ever-changing would have no issue with just one more aspect of their appearance changing. but for the vokurian people, their distinctive eyes and blood were points of pride. So much had been taken from them, and much more was denied to them that was never theirs to begin with. But those two things belonged to them and to no other people. To hide them was to hide away the souls of his ancestors, whose blood had been spilled into the sea and the stone, never to be reclaimed. They lived on in those eyes, and their stories were written in his silver blood. He did not want to hide them. To keep them from being seen was one thing, but to lie about them outright was something else entirely.

"I don't like it. I don't want to hide. My people have always hidden, and still we have been cast away and slaughtered. If we're going to do this, and I'm going to go rub elbows with these [I]murderers[/I]," he hissed, a sudden dark and violent edge in his tone, "then I want them to know that it's me, and what I am, and I want them to squirm as I take back what I'm owed. And I will laugh as it vexes them." Rohaan had told Vequaniel extensively of how he came to be with Berlin. He had asked no questions about their story, and it had taken him years before he plucked up the courage to tell them. And when he eventually did come out with the story, he did not spare any gritty detail of how the slavers came and raided the village, killing adults and incapacitating and stealing the children. He told of his desperate escape, how he nearly died in the bay of Telor, how he came ashore starving and alone in a land where he did not speak the language, but where people kicked him and beat him if they caught him anywhere near them or their shops. It was easy to see, then, how he'd come to be so bitter towards humans as a whole, but he had nothing but outright hate for the human-elite, who made it intentionally difficult for his people to even survive. It was hard to blame him.

"And anyway, what are you going to do, constantly alter the minds of a hundred or two people--servants and elites alike? What if you get hurt or sick or something, and you can't keep it up? What if someone comes in and sees me before you've had a chance to tamper with them? I'm too identifiable, too notorious. They'll know eventually, and it will ruin us if they find out you're capable of deceit like that. No, it needs to be real. Or at least, whatever tampering you do needs to be subtle and backed by a tangible story." He thought for a moment, scratching his short beard. "I could change my shape at first, and you could cloak my eyes until we establish you. And when you've got some clout, we'll set up some kind of con. Lets say I hire a ruffian or two to rough you up, and I, as myself, come and stop them. You could be so grateful for my [I]heroic[/I] and [I]selfless[/I] deeds that you insist on making me your personal guardian and advisor. Say it's the custom where you're from to honor such deeds with lofty titles. They'll all question it for sure, and they'll insist on clapping me in irons." He snorted a laugh. "I'd like to see them try...but [I]then[/I] you sneak in and just do a little nudge in their heads, you know, to make them go with it. That way I won't be the reason you're found out, I can [I]actually[/I] protect you in the way I do best without fear of being discovered, and I get to watch them all clutch their pearls and fume as I take a seat at court. And you know, then I won't have to pretend to know how to read, or that I can even pronounce silly human words like ah...is...ithis...ithsmas? Ith-smus? Whatever. You get my point."