with a reverence unimpaired

Tipping the glass back to his lips, the tulmhainar drinks deeply and you can practically hear the way it quenches his thirst. Ahhhhh He says with a grin, lips shiny from the liquid. Glancing towards Amalia, frowning at her decision not to drink but understanding it, the tulmhainar reaches behind the chair and produces not a guitar, but a mandolin. After plucking the strings a few times and tuning, he begins to play a simple melody that seems to come more from his fingers than his mind. I am a tulmhainar, though these days the fae have taken to calling me the tulmhainar as I am the last. He shrugged. In this galaxy anyways. Normally star systems can only support a few of us as it is. Waving a hand around to indicate the illusory landscape, the tulmhainar continued to play the stringed instrument. It is why we have been given the ability to be so....inventive in our own minds. Glancing up towards Amalia, the tulmhainar's expression was casual. So that I don't die, I expect. Everything needs to eat. Sacrifice is probably a bit strong of a word, but based on the looks of you, I take it you aren't of the fae, so my guess is that they wanted it to seem like a punishment. Again he shrugged and continued plucking. however as she asked if she was dead, the strings twanged mournfully in his clearly-skilled fingers and his frown was wounded and deep. Dead? Why no child, of course not. If you prefer, we can speak like this— Waving a hand the illusion would falter and Amalia would find herself standing penny-small in the wake of the gargantuan creature.