"Bring me pants."
"My Lord, you are wearing them."
Lord Yu doesn't bat an eyelash. "I desire the pants with the red and gold dragons."
Yu's First Prime rues that day he was forced to assume the duties of the late lo'taur Jarran; domestic chores added to military command in His Lordship's service have become exhausting. "Are the pants you are wearing with the red and gold dragons not the ones you desire, my Lord?"
"You are clever, Oshu," Yu says as he rises from the sarcophagus. "These are the pants I desire. I am the oldest of the system lords; my wants are simple. Those younglings assume that the voices and memories crowding their minds make them great, make them gods."
"I am not great because I am a god, but am a god because I am great. I listen to the only voice in my head: my own."
Oshu begins to wonder if Yu has lost the only other voice he could have heard in his mind: that of the host. Yu's reposes in the sarcophagus have become less effective in restoring mental acuity. "My Lord, you are wise in all things."
"Why then have you not brought me pants?"
Oshu stifles a sigh. Where was an ambush by Ba'al when you needed one?