((Congrats Tiruin, you get to become part of my delusions.))
Smith waited as his last barks echoed away into the darkness, servitors were fast creatures, but even they could take a long time to locate someone who did not know where they themselves were. Such were the laws that bound the meta-physical and the physical, though carrying The Stone should give Smith an edge in being located.
The old man didn't have to wait long, a rustle in the rubble behind him alerted Fred to the Servitor's presence. Again, their inability to appear in someone's field of vision was a peculiar property, but one that Smith had long grown accustomed to. The unusual thing about the servitor was that it had taken human form, specifically that of a short, dark haired youth- barely more than a child in apparent age, but Smith was no fool. The boy's physical form curiously aped that of the ethereal double image that Smith's trained vision could see occupying the same space as the boy himself, a lightly built hound, made for speed and feats of agility.
Smith bowed to the servitor, showing the respect due to one of emissaries of the great hound. "I, Fred Morgan Smith, Lord of the spaces between, enemy of the smoking isle, Keeper of the Stone, purifier of the Red Forest, traveler of the lands of all, greet you. May the fanged always run with the hunt." Smith intoned, citing the formal titles that he used most commonly. He had others, but it was bad manners to recite more than five of your titles at any one time.
With his introduction out of the way, Fred stood and watched the emissary. If the accords would still be honored the hound would greet him, and then the conversation could begin in earnest.
Placholder sane action: Talk to Tyrin, help him bandage my hands.