The sorcerer took a big breath, his chest heaving. Once more, he laid his palms to rest upon the smooth counter as his eyes flit through the shop. There was an obvious glint of pride in them-- this place was as dear to him as a child to a parent.
"When I left Marquet, I had a lot of anger in my heart. A lot of hope, too, and a lot of shame. The only way I could move past it was to begin somewhere new, to start from nothing and work my way back to something. Something that didn't have any spark of resemblance to the life I left behind." The deep voice was reminiscent with undertones of sadness, but never regret. The feline conjuration jumped up onto the counter and offered him a cup, as if responding to some unspoken desire. Gilmore took a generous gulp and cleared it in one swallow.
"That's what it required, really. I wanted to escape my poverty, my boring life, and the people who wanted to capture my Runechild magic and use it for their own ends. I had to pay the price in what I had that tied me to all of those things. It cost me family, my culture, and even my name. I miss my parents, yes, and I know full-well that I have done them wrong. The shame that...that I hide in my heart toward the Geddmore name, they don't deserve it. But still, I do not regret the life that I built with these hands."
Gilmore set the cup back on the conjuration's platter and pressed his palms together. He could feel the heat of magic transferring between them, something as much a part of his body as the blood in his veins. "Perhaps it makes me a bad person, but I would do it again. I have done it again. Here we are." At that, he spread his hands all around them.
"So, the question is, Scanlan Shorthalt, are you willing to pay the same price?"