[It's clear from the look on his face that he's not sure he wants to talk about it; however, as he looks at his flask and takes another swallow, he apparently changes his mind. Whether it's the alcohol, the gods, or just his own guilt pushing him, it's enough that words form in his throat.]

Back home, I exist. I lived when I shouldn't have, and that's been enough to damn my entire family. But- but even here, I have amends I must make to- to people who don't even remember that I owe them. And I don't know whether or not it counts anymore, but I still have to make them. I don't think my conscience will allow me to do otherwise.