Eh? 'Nother 'nitiate, are ye? ...No? Huh. Ain't no one says "yes" to that. Ye've a familiar face, though. Come to think of it, ye bear a strikin' resemblance to a brave
lad I once met. Helped us chase one of those godsdamned sirens from Pharos Sirius,
he did.
What's that, ye say!? Speak up, son, years o' hammerin' have taken their toll on my ears. Anyroad, ye may not be half the hero yer predecessor was, but ye know the sayin'─any port in a storm.
Aye, that's right, damned if I can tell ye why, but that hells-born hussy is back, and she's runnin' roughshod o'er the place with a crew of her song-snared flunkies. Me an' Diamanda, we've naught to do but sit on our arses till someone cleans the place out.
Look, this is more than a reclamation project to me an' the lass. That scurvy witch killed her father─one o' me prized students. I swore a vow to meself to do his name proud an' restore the beacon, but these hands were made for hammerin', not scufflin' with sirens.
What say ye follow in yer forebear's footsteps and fight this one for ol' Mimidoa? I'll send word to Davyd, the guard at the lighthouse. He'll tell ye all ye need to know.
Each day that siren's left to roost in Pharos Sirius is another day me hands go idle an' the beacon grows dim. Godsspeed,
lad─promise me ye'll gut the wench good.