The Barkeep lifted his robes and with each slow, heavy footstep, the stairs creaked. He silently thanked that Ramza was considerate enough to help the older man safely make his way up to the second floor. His trailing robes left thick line in the dust on the steps and the wooden boards leading to the Bard's room.

The hallway bordering the hand rails overlooking the first floor was covered in debris; the area furthest away from the stairs ended in a large hole. The ghost stopped by the second door and tilted her head towards the closed door. She drifted through it.

The Barkeep stepped in front of Ramza and twisted the doorknob, which fell off in his hand. He shrugged, pocketed it, and pushed it open with the end of his staff. The darkened room revealed itself with a groaning creak. An unmade bad was pushed to the corner, and any trace of fine linen had been eaten by moths since the many years it last was slept in.

The Bard was standing above the bed with the lute in her hands.