She stood within what was once the inn.
The talking stone was shattered and daubed in old blood and lichen, the walls had fallen and the bar used as firewood or stakes. Memories, hers and Ivor’s flowed together, it was too painful and she made her way outside.
The heroes were all active, unlike the old brigade who had been content to often lounge and wait for a tide of enemies to assail them. This new breed, they were filled with purpose, with a dynamism, the lust and need to do and make a difference.
It was working. She felt invigorated by their enthusiasm, and that transferred into the hold via the Ubernatural connection she had with it.
The holds folk were returning, as were the animals. A sure sign the natural order of things was taking hold again. She spied the zeolot priest digging and hefting stones with the aid of several legionaries, her more than normal vision could see the angel watching over them, it smiled at her. She turned from it un-nerved.
Rebuilding work was rife, a group of peasants aided by a burly, bearded ships captain marked out new housing, a make shift hospital was being run by a handsome if somewhat sinister doctor, two large brutish bears lugged timbers and cut stone as if they weighed nothing.
The gates were well guarded by a mixture of wild born and humans. A strange sight.
No less strange than the walking dead, teaching the growing milita ‘wall fighting.