[h3]Jordan Forthey[/h3]

	Just as she had stumbled back from her brief altercation with the ghoul, the dark-skinned - [i]not[/i] very-dark-brown-skinned, like some southern humans rarely seen in these lands, [i]actually[/i] black-skinned, with the crimson eyes of true deigan - foreigner regained her footing, silently thanking him before briefly focusing on his master and his assessment on the course of the fight and responding in a manner that seemed ... almost jestful in contrast to Sir Yanin's fairly laconic matter-of-factness?
	Well, they probably could use some levity, all things considered. The two wraiths he had finished off were more stolen property than living beings, and didn't really die as much as were sent back to where they had come from. But the ghouls' hosts, now hopelessly disfigured beyond all recognition with the banishment of the bodies' most recent inhabitants? Those had actually been living people with aspirations and families and friends and, well, [i]everything[/i] not an hour ago. Best not to think about it for the time being. He didn't think he could ever get accustomed to the killing and death of actual people. Perhaps for the better.
	So Jordan showed it in the back of his mind for now, let out a forced breath through his teeth, and pressed on. 
	
	The foreigner shook her head when he offered her the extra truncheon. [color=000000][i]"No, but thank you. I'd prefer one of those swords, if I have to take something - don't like using heavy cudgels as weapons, even if they are apparently useful against magical creatures." [/i][/color]
	"Right," he muttered, briefly pausing to think. [i]Too[/i] useful to be left behind entirely, perhaps, just in case they encountered more wraiths or needed to block incoming magical attacks ... but the matter of the fact remained that he had one hand too few to wield three weapons at once effectively, and no real place to store extra weapons on his person aside of his own. 
	Sir Yanin and Sir Freagon didn't seem to have a need for one - his master because he had similarly enough, enough weapons to wield one in each gauntlet twice over, the nightwalker because ... well, mostly because he didn't seem like the sort to use whatever was available when he already had a nigh-indestructible blade of his own. In small part because he didn't seem like the approachable sort in general. Lhirinthyl and Deo'Irah, probably also not. Madara or the younger nightwalker, now that they were pouring into the main hall? The latter, he guessed. Hadn't Sir Freagon told him to pick one up, anyway, before Sir Yanin decided it was better used to make the water-wraith relinquish its would-be prey? [i]Was that really some two minutes ago?[/i]
	"Hey, er, Jaelnec?" he briefly interrupted the other as he was heading to follow the elder of his kind. "Here, take this." 
	Jordan briefly bowed down to forcefully slide the spare truncheon across the floor. Seemed like a better idea than trying to pass kilogram-and-some iron object over air. The latter might result in a missing tooth or two. 

	This was more or less all the preparation he could do aside of taking deep breaths and steeling his nerves, so quietly, he took the stairs to where Sir Yanin and Deo'Irah already stood. 

[h3]Sir Yanin Glade[/h3]

	Even now, in the enduring moments of suspense and preparation, the deigan healer insisted only one divine remained. And by count?
	Three witch-hunters, the Melenian summoner, the two other aspiring adventurers on the eastern stairs, and the supposed full summoning sacrifice they were yet to see. Eleven frentits - five ghouls, two tables, the carpet, the water-beast, the pottery ghoul, and the blanket-wraith -, one supposed thalk. It was the third time he counted, and the numbers still added up. 
	Mistakes could happen - there could be more, and if there were, he was prepared. It was preferable to assume things were much worse than they should be, and end up not having to deal with them, than expect to get off lightly and find yourself in the thick of it with no reserves to spare. Deception was unlikely, but also never impossible; in theory, he was ready to oppose any and all of his supposed new allies the same. 
	It would not be an easy fight, [i]especially[/i] if he didn't intend to outright kill them. It was always much harder to stop but [i]not[/i] kill someone who was intent on killing you. He had no intention to have the Melenian summoner die needlessly, either. No matter how badly she had fucked up, Yanin didn't fancy himself judge and executioner. 
	And quite definitely, he wasn't intent on just letting someone die because it would have made removing the actual opponent much, much easier. 

	The Viper was inherently careful. Some would say paranoid. A person with his focus, memory and attention to detail, but lack of ability to really read people under different circumstances could easily end up being [i]too[/i] trustful. Easily manipulated - and even if innately good-natured, knowledge and physical prowess alone could render someone incredibly dangerous. As it was, he had grown up among people who would risk their very lives to save someone, and then stop caring if there was nothing left to leverage out of the someone. So he trusted maybe three people in the world, and even so, he didn't necessarily always trust their judgement. 
	Most of the time, you could only assume other people did not want to die or be tortured - and even that was not absolute. Fanatics existed. Zealots. [i]Liars.[/i] 
	
	"Seven guests, twelve divines. If what we know is accurate, one of each remains," the human knight reiterated. "It is unlikely she was possessed, unless a divine could possess someone to summon a body for itself." 
	Yanin wasn't aware of something like that being necessarily possible. If they could jump hosts under normal circumstances, 'lock them up and wait it out' would hardly work as a recommended method of containing wraiths and ghouls. Perhaps this scenario was just about atypical enough.
	The deigan didn't have a plan, though one of them did inadvertently confirm she was most likely a necromancer of at least some skill. The Melenian, if responsive and able to move, would likely be insane and not cooperative. He might have been potentially the best swordsman alive in all of Reniam, but he was only the third best tactician in his family alone. Maybe fourth, after the Falcon of Glades. 
	"The best physical fighters in the room are myself and Sir Freagon, not knowing Lhirinthyl's skill with his sword unaided by magic, followed by Jordan and the easterner--" he referred to Jaelnec. "He doesn't fight?" That would divide the people roughly into four pairs. More than one pair at a time most likely wouldn't be able to enter the room concurrently. "The Melenian, if it's her still alive, is likely behind the first door in the hallway; if the divine is the same, and there is no door opening to the adjacent room, there are only two pre-existing exits, the main door, and the window." Forcing the thalk to move presumed there was someplace for it to move to. 
	Opening the second door first to confirm was an option. Opening a path to the divine would flood the room with excess divine energy, but also dilute it. The human knight's face was not visible, but even so, his expression had not changed when Deo'Irah mentioned divine energy; he simply seemed fully focused on sensing his surroundings. (Jordan clenched his jaw, but remained listening.) Seeing the Melenian was seemingly still alive, logic dictated it wasn't yet at levels that would outright kill in a dozen seconds - and most unarmored fights [i]properly[/i] lasted a second. Two. Maybe three. More was exceedingly rare. 
	
	 "Why would the Melenian be still alive?" Jordan suddenly interjected, if quietly. "Especially if the probably-thalk is pretty" ('damn pissed' most likely wasn't the most polite way to put it in the company of someone like Deo'Irah) "well, very extremely displeased with the situation... Is it a trap, or does it have plans for her, or just not ... care? I don't think thalks are known for their mercy, exactly..."

	"No clue." He really hadn't. "Smoking the thalk out with existing tools would be difficult, even more so if we'd have to make it move past us or remove it through the window, and not kill the Melenian." Unfortunately, there were no silver bolts to spare. "Better options notwithstanding, we should move in position. Jordan, easterner, second door - we need to check it; wait for sign. Myself, Sir Freagon first door, Deo'Irah, Lhirinthyl, center. Who doesn't intend to fight, stand back until called for, see that there are no surprises." No point in flooding them with divine energy, too. "And whoever needs to hear it, [i]do not[/i] leave yourself exposed. Deo'Irah - do you really intend to talk with the thalk?" 

[h3]Madara[/h3] 

	The seamstress had stood back during the fight, quietly observing the interactions between the various other members of their - now what was it? Assorted bunch of would-be adventurers brought together by temporal happenstance? Seemed that the younger nightwalker was quite infatuated with the lady deigan. [i]Oh dear.[/i] 
	Only when the fighting had ceased and the combatants were making plans did she enter the main hall, arching a single eyebrow and tap a single fingernail against one of the instruments when Deo'Irah knowingly looked at her. She was here to mostly do one thing - and she had not neglected her tools. Sounded like it would be far too late for most of those in the building, though - except for, perhaps, the Melenian. At least unless there were non-medically approved uses for her means, anyway. In the calm, she had sashayed across the marred floor, and now stood next to the planners. 

	"Literally smoke out?" Madara inquired. "It's quite hard to ration doses in free-flowing smoke or vapour, I am afraid, and I'm only distantly familiar with the tolerances of Melenians - compared to humans, palanters or even deigan - and even less so divines. We can hardly assume something that would painfully disable - but never kill - all mammals, but not a bird or reptile, would also force out a divine, now can we?" 
	It would be an interesting experiment, to be sure - but the outcome might be a bit unpredictable with the whole lot milling about in an enclosed space.