Thu Aug 09, 2018 9:11 am
"Mmph," he grunts with a whuff, nodding his head, "all that should be well, yes yes, although there is some fear of burying the dead here due to, hrm hrm, past problems with necromancy. Most folks living here, mmph, tend to burn the dead, even that of family. It is why when my sister, Elizia, passed almost two years ago, mmph, Langley--my older brother--and I took her body back home to Westenford for internment there in the family plot."
Treadwell sighs and gives a nod, indicating to his aide the need to start clearing away dishes and mugs.
"I trust we are finished with the meal, Sister, hm hm. Give me the evening, I think, to rest and to read your documents, and we can talk more come the morning about any last details of cost or placement of the initial chapel, hm hm? Does that suffice?"
At this question, Lord Steward Treadwell cannot help but warble out a sleepy, squeaky yawn that sets eyes watering and blinking behind those heavy glasses that keep slipping down his bulbous shnozz.
"You, mmph, are more than welcome to rest here, yourself, if you like, in one of the empty offices, hm, or perhaps at one of the nearby taverns. Simply tell the innkeep, mmph, that I will cover your costs for the night, and let me know where you went in the morning, hm, so that I can remember to pay the fellow off."
Another blink of watery eyes.
"Oh! I mean to ask. . . have you any final questions, mmph, for me at present?"