grips the hilt of her sword tightly with both hands as the group approaches the door. The dying sunlight playing on the ancestral weapon grabs her attention as she scans the length of the blade for nicks and scratches. Distracted by this task, it takes a while until she notes the Warforged is speaking to her.
Markings? What markings? Ah, those. Right. Let me see...
squinting her eyes in the gloom of the entry hall, she kneels down to examine the door and jog her mind for any pattern recognition flashbacks.
If no conclusive answer appears, she'll move the sword to her left hand, and trace a small circle in the air between the door and her eyes, in search of more clues.