While typically two days on the road would have Sinalare feeling more at ease than she would in a fort, the looming threat of undead, a headless horseman, and a strange cult certainly put a damper on her comfort. She spent the days in unyielding sobriety, thinking far too hard about the situation. 

So, for once, being inside a keep was [i]almost[/i] comforting. Almost. The tall stone walls of Ken Muhyr and the slightly damp, chilled air in the hallways was oppressive. As Sinalare wandered the halls, glancing into living chambers one after another. The swing of the heavy wooden doors and the sound of her boots thudding against the stone floors was uncomfortable. She brushed off the uncomfortable memories with the first gulp from her flask in two days. 

“A good sized window would do…” she muttered to herself, pushing open the next door. This chamber took her request and up-sized; there was, in fact, a hole in the wall. What was perhaps once a window was now a hole three times the size, with rubble strewn around the floor. The Bosmer took three steps into the room and dropped her things. 

Standing at the open ledge, the wind blew into the room. It would be chilly at night, she figured, but Sinalare would take the chill of a fresh gust of wind over the bone-chilling feeling of sitting in a stone room any day. You couldn’t pay her to head into the store rooms. She took a few long drinks, overlooking the valley below. 

“‘Make yourself at home,’ he said,” Sinalare joked aloud. She shoved the two, old looking cots next to each other against the wall, near the hole-window but not so near that she may fall out. The rubble which dusted them wasn’t of much concern to her, since she’d slept many unsavory places. 

As she set about making the room feel as un-dungeon-like as possible, banging and thudding as she moved and cleared pieces of rubble, she figured a fire would make the place feel more homey, and moved to the next task. Three move swigs from her flask. 

With her work done, she flopped on her back across the cots, and finished off her drink. She lifted the flask, turning it over and tracing the engravings with her fingertip. She’s picked it up off someone she’d killed during a job in Elsweyr, like most of the other things she owned. A job clearing out bandits, along with the rest of her company. It was a different time, as she’d been alone since then - until now, she realized. 

Quickly, she tossed the empty flask to the floor. Where else would she go, she wondered - what if they ran out of drinks? Was there more somewhere in this keep…? Her thoughts got to her more and more - what was she doing here, in some imperial castle? 

Abruptly, Sinalare jumped to her feet, wobbling slightly from the drinks. Hurrying, she left the room, looking for just about anything that would occupy her - and ideally get her outside of the oppressive stone walls.