[The exception to the rule against mocking God turns out to be 'when it's particularly funny, your necromancer friend could do with a little ego boost, and you're already doomed as it is'. Paul grins crookedly with a closed mouth and leans forward, setting his elbows on the table.]

'Oh, please, don't look at my ghost-haunted hovel and my ship crewed by the restless undead'. [Paul is good at vocal mimicry; it sounds uncannily like the man under discussion.] 'I am but a humble fellow traveler on the sea of life, a simple man with hideously ostentatious tastes'.

[Paul sips his own tea (what's left of it) and affects a disappointed expression, shaking his head.]

As the ladies of court would say - it's utterly gauche. [Bad taste: the true crime here.] What's wrong with an old-fashioned palace?