“Oh I can’t,” Handy admitted. He brushed off the bits of molten gold that had stuck to his skin and dried on his burned tunic, the centrepiece of the chain had sloughed off at some point and the water on his quickly drying tunic and cloak was coming off of him in waves of vapor. He held up two strange trinkets and drew one close to his face. It was a silver chain ending in an amulet shaped like intertwining leaves and inset with a small finely cut amethyst. He turned it over, revealing some script of a strange language none of them could read. “I don’t know what this is, but it's letting me project my voice.”