"Oh, that," Ellis says cheerfully, "The trick is to pretend you've gone mad. This is actually more difficult than it sounds, since your average layman assumes that in order to worship Nakibe, you must already be mad. Then they send a psychiatrist in to see you, and you knock them out and take their place. At this point, a flaw became apparent in my plan, as my particular psychiatrist was not, in fact, blue."
Elliss shakes his head at the vagaries of a harsh and uncaring world, "Still, improvisation is an art form, and I was able to use the sheets on my bed to disguise myself as a ghost. Of a psychiatrist. Doomed to wander the land of the living until I might comprehend the vagaries of the female mind. And also prise my fee from my last client, who had assumed that as I had died of a heart attack, he didn't need to pay me."
Oblivious to Thurimar's mounting fury, he awkwardly manoeuvres his glass up to his lips and takes a sip, "Shockingly, despite the thought I had put into my backstory, the priests were not fooled. It could have had something to do with their failure to exorcise me. In hindsight, perhaps I should have disguised myself as laundry. But that would have been far too cliched."
"Thankfully, my cover story of being mad continued to hold, and I was able to steal one of the guards' keys as they escorted me back to my cell. Granted, I was now in a strait jacket, but this was a minor inconvenience. Back at home, of course, I would be able to rely upon the giant moths, upon which our numerous giant spiders feed, to chew through the cloth of my garments. I have lost many a favourite sweater to them. Alas, your feeble surface moths would take an age to accomplish anything meaningful."
"Now armed with a set of keys, I settled in to wait for the priests' time of maximum distraction - Bingo Night. From there, it was all plain sailing."
His story complete, Elliss takes another sip of his drink.