There's a flash of guilt at Richard not wishing to share about his magics with Derrica, remembering that he'd sort of explained it quite wordily on the network not so long ago. Oh, well. Oh well.

Draws back to now, the tangle of their fingers, the scent of beer and whatever it is Derrica washes her hair and clothing in, a nice inclusion in all of it. This next part feels— well, it should feel tricky, and how it actually feels is easy.

"My being a tiefling," he says. "Some of it, anyway. It's called the infernal bloodline. I don't know too much of it, it's hard to sort out what's true and what people just write down, but a little bit is that. The rest,"

he pauses, and then says, "might be as well, but I don't know. My parents weren't full magic users, but the other sorts of magic I can do, the sorcery, that's innate as well. I can cast small barriers when I'm being attacked, or throw around raw magic. The way my sword catches fire, that's my doing, rather than its. It all sounds very foolish when I say it out loud," he adds, with a half-smile. "Not knowing anything, or not knowing how to do things, when all of you are just mages or not mages."

Spoken as he raises his tankard to drink from, last few words partially echoed into it.