Carlisle himself wouldn't describe their previous interactions as having been terribly pleasant for either of them, though he has to admit he did like hearing about Ianchus' homeland when the fellow was in the Clinic. His words had been inviting, warm despite the clergyman's cold demeanor toward him. The softness of voice holds unmistakable concern presently -- how strange for this man to worry about him so, but Carlisle won't complain. Not this time. He hasn't the energy for it at the moment.

He meets Ianchus' gentle inquiry with the truth. "I know I'm going to die. It is the unfortunate nature of my affliction, and equally unfortunate is that there is little to be done about it. Were the gods to practice their necromancy on me, they would revive but an empty, soulless husk."