Øystein had decided to engage in this little project simply by virtue of feeling his oats. Or possibly his ale, the night the others had approached him - it was a little hard to say with the tall northerner. At the same time, he was a relatively pleasant travelling companion - unlike either the quiet Fateweaver or their designated specialist for property transfer. Full of traveling tunes of both bawdy and clean kind, he made the journey seem shorter than it was, the misbehavior of that quadrupedal pain in the ass notwithstanding. Arriving at the mansion, he considered the door with a raised eyebrow. "If they weren't using them for other purposes first," he noted drily. "And don't throw that word around so lightly."