"It's them," the envoy argues, nodding one last time towards the waiting Beastmaster and the Hok-Shinn contingent, "Or the other fools, who won't settle for ten. Oh, they say they only need the one, but they don't tell you, do they? How they leave the rest, after they've done their choosing."

Every aspect of this process stains, stings. He shutters his eyes against memories that appear to plague him. "They're husks of themselves. Hollowed."