[She doesn't change expression, but she holds out her hands. They're calloused, with a few marks here and there that look like burns. There's almost something like a smile about her lips, but she's still in a bad enough mood that it doesn't come out]

Not everything in that room looked like a sword. Or any other kind of weapon I've seen before. Is there any sort of rhyme or reason to who they're picking out? I mean-- [she shrugs] I'm a blacksmith's apprentice. Doesn't strike me as the go to person for fighting a war. Unless they need a lot of nails.