[Stolen eyes watched the adjustments, the power of words, but Ianthe's demeanor didn't change. She simply took a sip from her tankard and observed the last throw.]

I see you as a soul of the dead clinging to a corpse, using it as a vessel to continue affecting the living world, likely with some vengeful or at least driving purpose that simply won't allow you to rest.

The details are of little concern to me. You're hardly the first I've come across.