Completely oblivious to the humour in his host's voice, Cesare sits up straighter and pulls himself into shape. As if straightening the laces of his black velvet giornea. As if his ancestors' eyes were upon him. "That was the course I was set upon, Master Xellos. The things my father wanted done, I did. Later, I did them for myself, and if not for myself, then for my children. At the end, before I... lost..." he searches for a term that won't hurt, "lost track of time, I was on my way to see my wife. Recover my estates."
His index finger traces a spilled droplet of wine. "Before you tell me that my wife is dead, and what I owned dispersed and gone," he licks the drop off, "I know that. But I want to be back at the edge, Master Xellos. Where things happen."