"I don't think he's bad news either. I think he's just . . . a guy. Who's a skeleton."

"I hope you're right. Let's bury these kobolds and then . . . wait a while to see if he wakes up, I guess." Maybe if he doesn't she should prepare an Inflict Light Wounds tomorrow and see what happens.

"Yeah."

Tris and Samora gather up the Kobold skeletons and take them outside to where the ground is soft and swampy. Among the bones and rubble Tris finds some coins, a magic dagger in the shape of a wolf's tooth, and a vial of mysterious black substance with "YUM" scrawled on the side of it, all of which she pockets for later inspection.

Samora digs a shallow grave in the marshy turf as best she can and lays the bones at the bottom. There's no way to tell which head went with which ribs went with which limbs, so it's just a neatly organized pile with all the skulls in a line. She prays to Pharasma to protect their souls on the way to judgement, and to Sarenrae and Desna that they get good lawyers and end up somewhere decent, and to Shelyn and Erastil that, if they do end up somewhere decent, they all end up there together if that's something they would want. 

Tris can repeat the prayers in Draconic; it's what they would have spoken when they were alive and maybe it will help.

What an excellent and helpful and uncomplicatedly alive party member Tris is.

Most adventurers don't do that, by the way. They destroy the pile of cursed undead-generating bones to stop them from regenerating, usually, or at best haphazardly bury them. 

... huh. 

(Marshall is just over here slooooooowly reassembling on the floor. It'll probably be, like, eight hours. Or so.) 

Neither Tris nor Samora wants to walk back into town with a questionably dead body and an unfinished quest, and Samora is an entire watch schedule all by herself, so they just . . . wait. In the room where Marshall is and the kobolds are not.