Vayne nods in assent, pale eyes widening as though to seek understanding and commiseration at being so displaced. His words already have seemed to confused numerous folk here and there, and while he has never enjoyed repeating himself, he has found that taking the time to slow and pace those words, some understanding comes about. There are more than enough times, however, where he struggles.

"You're certain then that you should have them in your willful grasp?" he asks, voice light and teasing, reaching forward and taking care to open one of them. He leans over the dirtied words and attempts to make some sense out of them, assaulted instantly with the recognition he again has no idea what they're writing about. "Perchance they are, might not an actual Mage wish to see them? Mark their true worth, pay you their...hefty price." He realizes he shouldn't be encouraging this, but he would imagine it would get him information, at the very least.

By their standards alone he was also a mage, but the sort with a capital M and a strange connection to something called the Veil.