[Perhaps scores of mortals and immortals alike would deny the title. In turn, they would deny the truth. The tone given is solemn, a rare instance of humility for a creature built upon pride.]

You sit on top of the bones of my brethren. Power speaks through your destruction, and for Dov, power is truth.

[The thought is enough for Nehnahlmey to relent, to open his eyes long enough to meet the man's. To remain silent in contemplation.

Finally:]

Your only choice, am I? Truly, you must have followers enough to fill your nonexistent hall.