"You'd like to leave a legacy behind you," Falathar says. "I understand that. If only securing one was an easy thing to achieve."
"Surely you can't lack for anyone's respect," you begin.
"Never mind," Falathar says. "Please don't let my rambling be a distraction from our tour."
You end your tour beneath the lamps that extinguished themselves so inexplicably the night before.
"I suppose these must be difficult to keep lit," Falathar says thoughtfully, his face in profile in the afternoon sun. It's a sharply handsome face you can easily imagine resembling the Raven's if it were captured in marble, but in person, Falathar's cautious reserve and occasional wry humor is nothing like the Raven's steely certainty.
"They're designed to stay lit in all weather," you say. "Most of the time that's what happens."
"But sometimes things go wrong?"
"It wasn't some sort of a stunt," you say. "We were as surprised as the audience."
"I expect it was the curse," Falathar says simply, not like someone who suspects that something uncanny is going on, but like someone who knows it is.
"Is there a curse? Why is there a curse? What can we do about the curse?" You'd be happy with an answer to even one of those questions.
Falathar considers you. "Why do you want to know?"