A flicker of what might be amusement ghosts across Marazho's vaporous countenance. With a sinuous motion, he unfurls from his lounging repose to drift closer, shimmering veils trailing in his wake like an aurora's afterglow. "Bold words from a sprightly soul so untested," he murmurs, smoke-shrouded tones carrying an undercurrent of dark promise. "We shall see if that ardor can stand bravely invested."