BlackBerry had to admit that Kosara raised an interesting point on their way back to the Coach House with their Guests no doubt enjoying scenery from the back of the wagon.

"Do you suppose, Kosara, that given the timing of us finding those in the Distillery and our Guests arriving that perhaps the two are related?" Walking alongside Old Boy, BlackBerry followed the road and the thought. "We now have two appearances of undead, not counting dear Morty of course, and you know what they say; 'Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Thrice is a problem.' Now then. If you do not mind, I shall leave our Guests in your caring hands you two while I put Old Boy to bed and then make us all a hot drink if Victoria and Lizbeth have not done so already."

After positioning the cart close to the empty workers rooms for the two woman BlackBerry then unlatched Old Boy from the wagon. The mule didn't need any encouragement back to his stable where the very instant BlackBerry had removed his equipment Old Boy gathered some hay beneath himself and lay down for a well earned rest.

"We have returned. Oh, Good morning again Young Lizbeth." BlackBerry announced through a yawn as he came into the Coach House. "Lady Kathryn and Kosra are seeing to our Guests. Let me get the fire going again and we can finish off the last of the marvellous drink from fast night."

BlackBerry beelined for the hearth at the end of the room and got to work clearing away the ash from the surviving smouldering embers, and make room for new material. Yes, he mused, we shall have a roaring fire again in no time and hot cider to warm us all. Lady Kathryn dashing through only to help herself to another helping of the 'Reclaimed Brandy' promptly earned a sour look. Gods knew what her or Victoria were thinking drinking that stuff.

It was when he was plucking fresh tinder and wood from the pile that his attention turned (without his permission as eavesdropping was rude) to the conversation going on behind him. He turned and his eyes locked onto Lizbeth. Colour drained from his face. He knew that language. He knew the words she was saying. Where Victoria stumbled over the guttural sounds and twists of the throat, Lizbeth would repeat, correct, carefully moulding the sounds into words and then repeated in the common tongue.

How?

"Lizbeth." BlackBerry's voice crawled along the floor. "How do yo-" A muted shattering noise from somewhere outside cut him off, and replaced tension with bafflement. He went to stick his head out the door to see what all the fuss was about. "Nothing to worry about. Lady Kathryn and Kosara appear to have everything under control."

The door clicked shut. Turning towards Victoria and Lizbeth he held a finger to his lips. "Now, where were we?" In the ensuing silence he recaptured the thought. "'Al Hazred'" The word tumbled in his mouth with unfamiliarity. "'Al Hazred'. Yes, I do believe I read about in a book concerning the Necromantic Wars; a place somewhere to the south, a desert perhaps? The clothing our Guests are wearing does put one in mind of Kosaras own. With any luck the name might mean something to her."

He now stood at the table with Victoria and Lizbeth, His eyes fell upon the letter, and the written fruits of their labour. He picked up the Letter that their Guests had handed to them and, now that he knew what he was looking at, suddenly felt very foolish indeed. Perhaps he was simply that tired to have missed the clues, or perhaps he had not wanted to see them?

He folded the letter with a heavy sigh and placed it back on the table. "I see you both have been busy as well. Yet more pieces of this very strange puzzle. Lizbeth." Looking down at the girl, BlackBerry felt as if he were about to step onto very, very thin ice. "May I ask, and I will accept if you do not wish to answer, but how is it that you know Abyssal?"

The translations began as a massively confusing undertaking. Unlike Victoria's immediately successful attempts every other time she used this ritual, the results were initially meaningless. After assistance from Lizbeth, progress was made. It was faster than anyone going into the Abyssal language blind, but still seemed a ponderous process to her. Moreover, she didn't understand why the spell didn't just give her the literal meaning of the words presented, regardless of what language was being communicated in whatever script. It was a stroke of luck that Lizbeth had returned here instead of going back to the Estate House. Hopefully, her confusion and difficulty with the spell was just because she was tired. And she was tired, make no mistake.

Fatigue notwithstanding, things kept escalating. In terms of pressing interest, anyway. The fast pace and long hours in the cold were (hopefully) over, and with it the hot, coursing blood of one committing to action. As a result, Victoria's stamina was ebbing away. Already her eyelids felt heavy and the strength in her limbs, a thing for which she was not especially known, waned considerably. She also felt a touch absent-minded, having focused on the message to the exclusion of everything else, including the creature comforts the voiced earlier, or even building up the hearth fire. Now that she was done, it occurred to her that she was still cold. The pashmina she had acquired for herself was still over her head, covering her slightly elongated, pointy ears which were still far from the level of warmth she desired. But that was a failing of hers, taking to things which interested her almost obsessively to the exclusion of a generally wiser course of action.

After it was finally done, she reviewed it as written in translated Common. "Whomever penned this certainly has a high opinion of themself." In hindsight, the fact that the pashmina she had draped over herself for additional warmth was not specifically stolen goods (even if she meant it to be lightly insulting as an aside) gave her a grain of relief. Then Victoria began to wonder what else might be present. If the original writer of this message was going to flaunt their wealth by doling out shiny things as an opening salvo for some negotiation to make themselves feel powerful, then she wasn't going to be so prideful as to refuse. Especially with its lack of reciprocity necessary in writing. Curiosity then befell the young Half-Elf; she began to wonder what else might be upon their well-dressed emissaries.

Then she looked again at the words written plainly in the Common language of the realm, especially what she expected was the signature. Her spell, Comprehend Languages, was still active - meaning that she was able to understand the literal meaning of the words on the page. Farid al Ramil Sabaj al Hazred, or to hear her speak it aloud, "Unique One of the Forbidden Obsidian Sands." It was actually a little comical. "It's a male name. There's no title, either. I should think someone of this obvious self-importance would have left an honorific of some kind. Just to leave an impression, I would have." She mused, "Farid. I wonder if Kosara knows anything. This is outside of my experience, I am afraid." She spoke to Lizbeth in a calming voice, as best she might in that moment. The kid didn't seem to be in the best of morale. "Maybe we should find and ask her?"

Baronfjord's entrance, and the shattering sound muffled by the walls, got Victoria's attention. Though she was most satisfied with the Monk stoking up the fire. It even gave her an idea. "I shall get out my set and make some tea for us all. That sounds like exactly what we need right now. That and some rest." The last part might have been true, but it was easier said than done in that moment. "Though I am curious, myself, where did you pick up Abyssal?" This inquiry made to follow up Baronfjord's, to also repeat her astonished question from earlier, when they began translating the letter. It was very curious indeed that a girl from a rural province whose locals mainly spoke the Common trade language (Modern Human, for their enduring credit) and Halfling, could speak a generally frowned-upon and difficult tongue to master. Where could she have possibly learned it out here?

How long were the creepy dead people standing still in the ice and snow? Way too damn long. Kathryn was exhausted, mildly buzzed, and cold as hell frozen over. And several of the dead dudes who she loaded up into the wagon, were frozen to the ground. At one point a shoe almost coming off, leaving Kat in a weird position of does she touch the dead mans shoe to put it back on? Or does she leave the half removed shoe to eventually fall? Opting to not lose the shoe she pushed it back on, and hoped that what she heard wasn't the sound of something cracking and breaking. What she could feel through the clothes made her rather uncomfortable too. Despite someone who was really, really good at killing people, she had a weird aversion to dead bodies. The cracking and and other noises that came from the wagon as old boy pulled them made Kathryn want to puke. Again, despite her doing much and worse to foes she fought, the idea of a corpse making so much noise and being messed with so much really bugged her. Thankfully loading them back up wasn't too much trouble. Barricaded into the workers quarters if they turned hostile, they would get a short heads up. So they had that going for them.

On the plus side, Kosara seemed to be hanging in there alright. "Well, they can be unsettling in that glorified closet of a bedroom. Until we know what is going on with them we should leave them be and " When the shattering crack, or boom, came from the now barricaded room, Kathryn sighed. She was really hoping that they would have more answers before things turned sour. With BB now inside, it was up to Kosara and Kathryn to handle things. SO handle she did. "I didn't see anything." Kathryn said matter of factly as she began to dismantle the barricade. Pulling the silvered knife from her boot Kathryn put one hand on the lever that opened the door, and turned to Kosara. "If they fight back, I will force the first one back into the others, see if I can get them to stumble up and create confusion. Then we hit them with whatever we can quick and fast. Then back the hell out. If they are getting feisty, they may want to come out. After the first push we let them and pick them off where I have room to fight them, and you will have a better line of sight. Alright? And make sure you stand back for the first bit. If they want out, they may try something similar to push me." Not that she thought any of them were strong enough, but they were dead, so their rules were different. Dagger drawn, Kathryn opened the door and prepared to shoulder check the first fucker who could be in the room, with a dagger in hand.

When the half giant met no resistance, she had almost fallen over. Not from losing balance, she was careful and wanted to keep her options open. But she tripped. She almost tripped on... Glass? Bones? "What the fuck nugget..." Kathryn mumbled confused. She supposed this could be a trap to counter her actions she just took, but this seemed so... wrong. Looking about the room at the jagged remains of their guests, their clothes, and the distinct lack of... well guests that seem to remain. Kathryn just seemed more confused than anything. Before backing out of the door way, dagger in hand, though not presently in a fighting grip. Just holding it in one hand to carry it. "They... exploded. They exploded Kosara." Kathryn said as if she were still trying to process this herself.

Weather: Temperatures rise a little in the presence of the now full sun. It is still below freezing, but more tolerably with appropriate clothing. The breeze has slowed considerably but is now near constant. It is still quite cold. The cloud cover seems to be increasing with the new day.

Time: Morning, bright and quiet.

Ambience: The sun streams down over a near idyllic series of rolling hills inscribed with the meandering lines of grave vine supports. There is a quiet cold that sweeps over everything, doubly so as the staff remained indoors - partly because of the hour, but greatly influenced by the hard night which had just passed. Cut paths of footfalls mar the smooth snowfall in the most trafficked places in and around the fields nearest the Estate House, which still bear the glowing braziers keeping the remaining Honigblume varietals from dying off in the midst of the sudden temperature plummet. The river's usual hum in the distance, ordinarily barely audible in the quietest times of the day, is as still as it was an hour ago, covered with a questionable layer of glassy ice.



Inside of the Coach House, it has gotten a bit warmer. While it was nice to be out of the wind, the place didn't quite get to a much more appreciable level of comfort until Baronfjord stoked the fireplace in the main taproom. A few minutes past this and the place became downright comfortable.

Lizbeth stared at Baronfjord and Victoria for a moment, seemingly unwilling to answer the question put forth from the both of them. Her face turned away from their peering eyes and onto the papers on the table, one original, one inscribed with phonetic Abyssal, and one translated into readable, nuanced Common. The girl's voice repeated the syllables from the second one, occasionally making a correction of pronunciation as she went along as her voice was a little shaky. But as she continued, her words became more confidently fluid. Those capable of understanding Abyssal will hear a young girl, not quite an adult, with pretty, flowing hair and a cuirass made of ankheg chitin wrap her linguistic abilities around a tongue extraordinarily difficult to speak by someone with humanoid anatomy. Where certain vocal impossibilities crept up, she effortlessly utilized the accepted mortal analog, demonstrating the proficiency of a natural speaker in a Human body.

Her language then slipped into the more accepted language of the Prime Material Plane, "Farid al Ramil Sabaj al Hazred." After she spoke aloud the name of the original note's author, she looked back up at the two of them, and answered in a quiet voice, "I don't know." Looking back down at the pages upon the table, in the same quiet voice, "Do you mind if I stay here for a while, please? I don't ... I'm not feeling very well right now." Lizbeth absently slumped down into the chair nearest her at the table.



Splintered masses of rock-solid, corpse-based ice were all that remained of the five figured placed unceremoniously within the servants' quarters of the Coach House. Where the desiccated remains of the figures were exposed from beneath the voluminous layers of fine textiles, these tiny shards of dead people spilled out and clinked to the stone floor like glass scattering beneath a thick, recently broken window. Oddly, they still had physical cohesion of a sort, as if something were holding them more or less together beneath their noble wrappings. Also curiously, there wasn't a drop of liquid nor scent of death upon them. The completely frozen state of these "diplomats", coupled with the low temperatures of the air and unheated accommodations worked wonders for this, barring a less mundane explanation.

Aside from the occasional tinkling sound of frozen shards slipping to the ground, the room remained deathly quiet. Outside, the near constant wind continued. Luckily, the walls of the Coach House's courtyard helped to remove some of the edge to those winds, but one's breath still condensed like a draconic fog upon exhalation. It was cold, and looked to be for some time.

Kosara did in fact NOT find a window to peek inside the room they had put the probably undead in. Magic thought them undead, but they weren’t all living hungry either so it was weird. In any case after a quick walk around the room and no openings found she walked back to Kathryn while the woman was opening the door again.” Sure will!” She replied and hopped a few steps backwards, her scimitar appearing in her arm in a flash of golden motes of light so she wasn’t going to be unarmed. Not that she was going to use much melee most of the time. Kosara was very much a Celestial Blast kind of warlock when she could get away with it…

She waited patiently until the door was opened and Kathryn poked her head inside. Hearing the exclamation, Kosara let her weapon vanish in a similar scatter of golden motes as she sneakily walked over to the huge woman.” Oh?” She made a questioning sound and squeezed her way next to the warrior to look into the room and the remains of the remains of the occupants.” Ohhhhh! Yeah, they exploded alright!” She agreed with a theatrical nod.” Never seen a body explode? Well… me neither like this I guess, but I’ve seen other things and I’ve heard stranger tales from traveling adventurers growing up. Well they more like simply shattered rather than exploded… I don’t see scorch marks.” Kosara finally commented and moved a bit further in, looking at the weirdly still kind of coherent? Like something was keeping most of the chunks loosely together.

“I’m pretty certain they shouldn’t have just shattered like glass. Its not cause of the frost, they should have otherwise exploded while we were transporting them around or unloading them, not when we closed the door.” The tiefling stated with certainty.” There’s magic at work, but honestly I have no idea what exactly...” The white haired woman commented and looked around with narrowed eyes.” Alright, we cannot leave them like this here. Kathryn, grab a big barrel or two, some brooms and a spade! They are more portable this way! Then I can just set the barrel aflame in the yard and problem will be solved!”

BlackBerry sat at the table and with a strange sense of not-quite-deja-vu. He watched and listened to Lizbeth as she went over the letter again in Abyssal with the dawning realization that he had been in nearly exactly the same position that Lizbeth was now in; a young child with knowledge they shouldn't have and without a clue as to how.

Lizbeth said she didn't know how she knew Abyssal, and BlackBerry believed her.

The initial shock had now worn off and he was able to keep his face locked into one of mild but calm concern. His leg bouncing frantically betrayed him however, and his thoughts scrambled in his skull trying to slot this new piece of a puzzle into place while at the same time trying to work out how to calm Lizbeth down. Bravely she was trying to keep a brave face but BlackBerry could see the gaping holes in her mask. She was scared.

"Well. Well that is quite alright, Lizbeth." He kept his voice low, quiet, as soft as he could. He pulled the offending pages across the table towards him. Folding both the offending pages together and held them up. "In Any case we shall get to the bottom of this."

Pinched between his fingers the offending letters hung in the air. He hoped he could inspire at least some comfort in the poor girl. But the first instant he got BlackBerry planned to question Madame L'Rose about the sort of man her father-in-law had been. Something rotten was going on around here and BlackBerry was going to get to the bottom of it, one way or another.

"If I may try to lessen at least one worry, Lizbeth. I have been in almost the very same position that you find yourself; knowing a language you have no knowledge of ever having gained." BlackBerry paused for a moment to chew his cheek wondering if this was really the right thing to do. He plunged forward and in the Abyssal tongue spoke. "I also haven't a clue why I can speak Abyssal. I simply remember waking up one day and found the words sitting on my tongue. Y'know I was so scared that I just stopped talking. For years I didn't say a single word. Practically mute, some even thought I was deaf."

BlackBerry leant across the table and in a stage whisper behind his hand, trying to make light of the situation, asked in the common tongue, "Can you perhaps guess then, what happened when people found out?" He waited a beat for Lizbeth to wonder or answer, before he gave a shrug and leant back in his chair. "Nothing. Admittedly they were shocked, of course, who would not be? But in the end it made no difference to those who knew me that I could speak such a language."

This was not, of course, the whole truth and BlackBerry hoped that Lizbeth would not see through his half lie. BlackBerry could no longer remember what it was he as a young child had been found reading, whether it was a scrap of parchment or a bound tome he had stumbled upon, but he remembered the shock and fear that had rippled through the Monastery. While Brother Rorvil and several others had come around to the fact without a second thought, it had taken the rest much longer. It had been a lonely period for BlackBerry. Even now, an old rumour that he had survived that storm by a devils kiss would occasionally resurface.

But Lizbeth didn't need to know that. If BlackBerry could take away or soften the blow of even one of the many questions and fears that accursed letter had dumped upon the poor girl, then the lie was worth it.

"But onto more important matters." The letters disappeared under his poncho as a smile appeared on his face. BlackBerry put some faith into the old saying 'out of sight, out of mind'. Slapping the table enthusiastically he did decree, "Tea! A marvellous idea indeed Victoria. I for one could do with something warm before some shut eye. We are all simply exhausted and no good ever comes from making rash decisions especially after a night of hard work and no sleep. Actually, now that I think about it I do believe I may have some biscuits stashed away somewhere to go with. I may not look it but I can make a marvellous spread of treats myself. We can fill in the other two on what we have uncovered about this 'Farndip el famal cabbage al hazard', once they get back in from...whatever it is they are doing."

BlackBerry stood up and headed towards the kitchen to find the promised treats. A second after entering the kitchen, his head then reappeared around the door frame.

"And Lizbeth. You are of course more than welcome to sit and rest here for a while. Either myself, or perhaps even Kosara or Victoria can walk you back once you are ready."

Kathryn prepared herself for a combat situation. A situation which she was most skilled. As she gained experienced her training and strength would soon make her unmatched against any other humanoid. A force to be reckoned with. So opening the door to find out that this problem was not one to be settled with blades and fists, but brooms and dustpans, Kathryn was a little disappointed. She had never done well with traditionally woman's chores. She couldn't clean that well, she was barely passable with a broom, and the only dishes she ever learned how to clean were camping supplies. Its not to say that she was useless, or that she thought herself above such work. But it was work she was ill suited for, and it was work that she rather didn't enjoy. Fighting was fun, clean up? Less so. Growing up kitchen work was sort of fun, but she also had a crush on one of the serving girls in her parents kitchen. Before she really understood why she had feelings for a woman she only spoke too a few times. Kathryn figured she had a stronger attraction to woman then men, but not an exclusive attraction. But also, Daisy gave her cookies. A lot. And for a woman who focused more on her work than on her ability to be beautiful, she was rather attractive. But, she was 9, and she learned later that Daisy was in fact, married. Probably best considering that her father rather harshly exclaimed that she was not only forbidden from marrying a commoner, but needed to marry someone who could give her an heir someday. And, she was way too young to be attempting to find spouses.

All of this did not change the fact that Kathryn loathed the kind of work that didn't come from camping, and from fighting. "yeah we're definitely gonna need a spade and a broom." Kathryn said as she dragged a barrel over, grabbing a shovel from behind it. "I've seen whole bodies explode a couple times before. But it required a lot of force... from a man far larger, stronger, and a lot more violent than myself." Albeit, Kathryn was rather violent herself when fighting. But her uncle was something... more. The assassins who had come for her while she pleaded her case? One had been... exploded. Had been lifted by his leg, and slapped against a stone tower with enough force that all that was left was his leg. The other was probably not an assassin, but someone who decided he wanted a ton of praise from his lords. When Kathryn's case had gone sour, and things were clearly turning against her, a band of soldiers without their marked crests had stopped her and her uncle. Harsh words were spoken, and the officer clearly intended to capture Kathryn and her uncle. That officer who was leading this band of soldiers with hidden allegiances drew his weapon, and clearly intended for his men to do the same. Kathryn's uncle made an example of the man by growing to his full height, and pulling the officer in half with his bare hands. The others backed off after that, but it became another hurdle to work over while Kathryn pleaded her case. A battle that at the age of 10 she stood no real chance of winning. "But that explosion, was nothing like this. They were stiff when we loaded them, but not... not like glass. Like... well... corpses." Kathryn said puzzled as she set up the barrel to be filled with undead people bits.

As Kathryn began to sweep poorly, and shovel marginally better the bits of undead people pieces, she turned to Kosara to speak up. "I suppose if you really want some of this clothing you should grab it before it fills the barrel with the... the bits." Kathryn said rather uncomfortable. She really didn't like the idea of taking clothes off the dead. Even less so since these corpses seemed rather cursed. Sure, the clothes were nice, sure, maaaaaaybe she could try and fashion a half decent dress that could fit her and look nice. Hell, with the right pins, knots, and pieces, she could make a rather attractive dress that could compliment her figure rather well. But corpse clothes, silk wasn't very protective, she had little understanding of fabrics and how to use them, and she worried that she may come across as rather indecent should she begin wearing clothes like that around the lands. Plus, there were no special events here going on that would warrant such apparel. And there was no one here she was trying to woo over.

Should Kosara dig through the bits of... bits. Kathryn would let her. But she wanted to get this job done asap before her legs failed her. She wanted nothing more than to drink, sit down, and pretend everything would be okay from here. And maybe devour some tasty food... breaded chicken? A real sandwich? Steak? Gods she would kill for some steaks and mashed potatoes. Or even some good tomato soup for something easy and warm to down. A nice cheese sandwich to go with it... FOCUS! Whatever Kosara didn't pick out, Kathryn had shoveled into a barrel and dragged it into the yard. "Kosara, when you're ready, we got a barrel of dead people chunks to burn." Kathryn sang songed. And wondered for a brief moment if the exhaustion was starting to wear on her sanity as they prepared the bonfire of corpse dust. "I wonder if they froze and exploded because they weren't outside or in sunlight anymore.... seemed weird though... why explode into pieces now..." Kathryn pondered looking at the barrel.

The majority of Victoria's goods were still in the taproom, as she had hastily emptied her errand cart in preparation of the previous night's events. As a result, she could wearily trudge over to them to retrieve her newly acquired tea set. It wasn't the most glamorous of items; simple glazed ceramic with a copper bottom, the pot and cups both, but it held a quaint sort of charm that hinted questionably at humility, considering its owner. The huge pot of water was still sitting at a covered simmer in the kitchen, be it much lesser of volume now. Still, it was much more than enough to suit her needs at the moment, which was providing a simple cup of tea for those present. The nigh-exhausted Bard filled her pot, packed a slightly more than appropriate amount of tea into a copper wire infuser, and set it to steep. While she was getting these things together, she spoke to Lizbeth. "Certainly, you may stay. We are only guests, after all. After tea, if you think it's okay with your aunt, maybe you should get some rest here." She gave a glance over to Baronfjord. While in agreement that she should have some time to collect herself, Victoria did take a liberty in suggesting that she more fully recover herself before leaving. She was unsure as to what was happening outside of their walls, but the shtick about safety in numbers came to mind. And if she was a threat, keeping her away from others might be a good idea for the meantime, too.

After enough time for the tea to steep, Victoria placed a full, steaming cup in front of Lizbeth, and then another for Baronfjord. She reserved hers for a moment, first putting a dram of the very interesting brandy into the cup before bringing it high with black tea. "I have honey, if either of you would care for some." A moment's worth of consideration informed her that she did indeed want a bit for herself, just enough to give her morning cocktail a bit of rounding. She inhaled the vapors coming from the cup deeply and sighed with satisfaction. "Lovely." The first sip was worth it.

Quick mental commands had Morty set up along the wall, nearby but out of the way. She took a moment to check in with her Raven, who had flown elsewhere in the hustle and bustle of their return. It was still within range of her sensory notice, and Victoria took advantage of this to look through its eyes briefly. This gave her an interesting view of Kathryn and Kosara in the courtyard, doing ...something... with the corpses. "What in Acheron's frigid gates..?" she whispered, invoking the name of an interesting Hell alternative.


Victoria saw the shovel. And the barrel. And the goods for making a fire out of it all. And her face dropped. "All that silk," she whispered. Summoning up her familiarity with the abilities of her Raven counterpart (which she was beginning to appreciate more and more as the days passed), she understood that this telepathic and sensory connection with the bird paired excellently with its capability for Mimicry. While presenting her wishes to this spirit-made-flesh at the speed of thought from within the taproom of the Coach House, the Raven itself manifested said wished outside, near the rest of her party.

The ebon, winged, majestic creature perched above the scene outside and cawed loudly to get their attention, then croaked in a recognizable but obviously approximated version of Victoria's melodic, colorful accent, "WAIT. Don't. Burn. Yet. Please. VaLUable. Maybe. Clues. rrrSearch later. TEA INside. Hot."

Victoria stood ready to make a move outside, just in case they wanted to continue the plan to set all that valuable silk, linens, and whatever other noble-worthy articles that qualified as vintage at the very least aflame. She intoned to Lizbeth that it was probably best to stay in the taproom or kitchen for the meantime, but declined to mention that the reason involved the shattered remains of previously undead creatures outside. Smiling through a tired expression, she turned to her Dragonborn associate and inquired, "Did you mention something about biscuits? That sounds heavenly." Her smile remained as she took a sip from her teacup, eyes regarding Baronfjord and Lizbeth in even measure.