Y'know, I've always wanted to ask you lot what you land on when the sky vaginas spit you out. [There's a Lady of the Skies, Yngvi is absolutely using the correct term for a rift thanks.] See. You sound like you've got an Orzammar. If the women are bearded as the men. I've seen Orzammar women, it's about deterring the menfolk as much as they can by having bigger, longer, more luxurious beards than them, putting 'em to shame and all.

Human then? [He's met precisely one rift elf and that's Thranduil even if Thranduil feels like some exception that proves a huge cosmic rule or some shite.]

This is more the style of the dinner invitation not exactly accepting you but you find yourself at the dinner table and you knew what you were doing, going there, but all the same you don't want to be there but it's probably better that you're there. You know where all the knives are then. And the forks. Oh and the spoons, never forget that time on First Day when Selmers lost half his nose to a spoon.

[Selmers is dead now, Yngvi doesn't know how but a complete stranger doesn't know Yngvi's life, doesn't know how Yngvi tells a tale, doesn't know that his voice hitches up because wow there are a lot of dead friends and that's too close to wanting to cry than the strange choked laugh that comes out.]