Albel listened closely to every word the stranger spoke, but it was no good. He couldn't understand a word, though he suspected that the man was trying out at least two different languages.
He sighed, loathing this place with every particle of his being. The image of attacking the man simply for something to do was attractive, but reluctantly, practicality won out.
Deliberately, he lowered his stick, and then dropped it at his feet with a clatter. He'd be able to pick it up again if he needed to, but unfortunately he only had one hand, and he needed to use it now.
He pointed at his own chest. "Albel," he said, pronouncing it slowly and carefully.