[Oh, it even makes noises. That really is delightful. He hasn't really handled frogs since he was a lad, chasing them near creeks he certainly was not supposed to be around. Or finding them tucked under the blanket he'd been sleeping on all night.]

Oh, right, that's a thing from home. People bringing frogs back to life.

[He takes a swig and pulls another chair nearby to prop his feet on.] Actually, you know, maybe my home, too? Who bloody knows? There's always been scary stories about, ah, necromancers. You know, my mother used to tell me if I wasn't polite enough during my lessons, a distant uncle would crawl in through the window and drag me through the vineyards, tied to a horse.

[He definitely heard what Hector said, it's simply unfortunate that alcohol makes his propensity to talk a lot increase by about twofold.] Is that what you call yourselves? Forgemasters? Oh, that's rather poetic, isn't it? Sort of slides off the tongue. Like you're forging a, er... skeleton?

[He doesn't really know anything about necromancy. He hums a tune under his breath.] Rather hard to rhyme with forgemaster.