"It is so obvious," Devin marveled. "So. Friggin’. Obvious. He never cared about playing the game until there was money on the ground. Never went in once . Just wanted to"—and here Devin held his hands aloft and made fluttering motions with his fingers, like an airborne faerie sprinkling dew over rose petals—"craft ancient dead languages. Imbue the history of T’Rain with a grammar and a rhetoric."