"Perhaps. If I find whoever or whatever is responsible then I will give them my warmest regards."

By his tone, it's clear that the sort of welcome he's speaking of is not the enjoyable sort. It promises utter and complete destruction for the person (or phenomenon) responsible. Emet-Selch clenches his fists, nails digging into his arms even through the fabric of his sleeves.

I will not lose even more than I have already.

His voice is pleasant once again when he next speaks. The smile on his face carries an edge - or perhaps that's simply a result of the harsh shadows cast by his hanging ball of light.

"Ah, where are my manners? I haven't even asked your name. You may call me Emet-Selch."