He held the sheathed sword over the desiccated remains, watching the strange, goblin-like head on the hilt for any sign of ...something. The Medicine Seller only seemed to be half-listening to Wren as he watched and waited.

Whatever he thought might have happened didn't, and he tucked the ludicrously jeweled blade back in the brocade sash.

"Nothing of them has lingered," he stated with surety. So that was good, at least. He stood, and brushed the dust from his knees.

He cast Wren a curious glance.

"What will you tell their families?" If there were any families to be told.