Tiaumil would hum thoughtfully when posed the question, absently lighting a long bone pipe from a nearby taper while he did so, tiny intricate designs of leaves carved into the item that soon sent small curls of smoke from his lips.
"I would halt myself from eating the stew offered at an inn I stopped at some years ago. I was ill for days in the aftermath, as were a number of others. But other than the discomfort, my travelling companions at the time, who had been far more interested in carnal pursuits over eating that night, had to deal with some local nerdowells. They were likely the same ones who had rendered the stew into the concoction it was in order to make thievery easy. The problem was that my companions utilised one of my scrolls to do so. Obviously the scroll burned away in the process, which ordinarily would have been fine, but it was one I had not yet transcribed, and I have never again found a replacement by which to do so. A vexing situation that lingers."
He took another draw of the pipe, and although he was relaxed and at rest, there would be hints or at least memories of his more fearful visage while he recalled that loss. It wouldn't last long, merely a moment or two, before he smiled, the image dispelled as he did so.
"I really need to find another vial of antidote on our travels, for that was indeed a rather displeasing few days."