Morro Aramato had no time to gawp at the Illithid, nor process what was happening. First silence filled the room, then uproar. She stared at the undead clawing their way up through the floor, and then at the mage. What the hell was going on? And... had the Illithid said her name? Morro pushed herself to her feet and reached for her sword. It wasn't there; she realised with a sinking heart that she had left it up in her room, not expecting to need it during her quiet, peaceful breakfast. There was no way she was going without a weapon, and her knife would never be good enough in a fight such as this. She ducked down and grabbed a broken leg from a stool, and felt her fingers fit around the heavy wooden support comfortably. With unease, she straightened herself up again and took on a defensive stance. Though the undead minions of the mage... no, necromancer - surged forwards, the knight hung back and watched the fight unfold. She would not choose the wrong side - her actions represented the Three Nations, and she knew that they would be greatly if the Illithid empire went to war with them. With those thoughts in her mind, she crossed her fingers and prayed to the God of Peace that the Illithid was peaceful.

Kij'hara slid under the table as the undead broke through the floorboards and the innkeeper began to shout in both distress and anger. Safely under cover, she set her course for the opposite side of the tavern - where the undead sat and watched the spectacle with amusement. If she could just get over there, she would have an easy way to escape or a good place to help with the fight, depending on what she judged best. The job was not worth the trouble it had caused, she decided, as she darted from table to table. The mage passed by, then the Illithid. Though she tried her best to focus on her path, it was hard not to stare at the events unfolding, and the interesting characters they involved. Not focusing was a mistake. She tripped over the leg of a table and went flying into the murky waters of the swamp, into the undead side of the tavern. The waters seeped into her mouth with the taste of rot and mould. At least she was safe and, for now, out of sight. With clothes that were heavy with water, she dragged herself up onto the platform of the tavern and armed herself with her bow. If she wanted to take a side, at least she could help. She waited and watched to see how things would unfold.