Ythar isn't some tree monster or horror," Damon said, his voice strained as he gathered himself. "Ythar was born from a whisper. The God of Magic once whispered, and he whispered again. From that whisper, Ythar was born. The God of Magic had whispered into a tree sapling, and Ythar made the tree his physical form because he was a formless whisper."
"And your appraisal didn't tell us how to kill it?" Ashcroft asked.
"I don't think we can. I mean, the previous City Lord failed to do so. Ythar was supposed to be dead, but Ittorath easily brought it back."
"I despise everything to do with True Gods and True Demons. Up above us is a nightmare. Down below, a whisper. Ethereal concepts that should otherwise be harmless are trying to kill us."
This was the first time Damon had ever heard Ashcroft voice such a complaint.
"Yeah, me too, buddy."
"I am not your buddy," Ashcroft immediately cut him off.
Damon felt a little sting in his chest, but he clicked his tongue.
