[h3]Jordan Forthey[/h3] He hadn't had much time to mull over Deo'Irah's note that divine energy was invisible, odorless, silent, intangible in the direct sense, but ... itchy, painful, exhausting. A bit like a sunburn, or lye, perhaps ... those, too, felt like nothing at first, but then started burning, itching, and finally, your skin started peeling off. Except, for excess contamination with divine energy, in the end, you also died. That did [i]not[/i] seem to be like a pleasant way to go, if there even was such a thing. [i]So, how soon would I know if too much was too much?[/i] went unasked. "It moves fast," Sir Yanin had noted, almost inaudible. He always seemed to listen, and have unusually good hearing at that. Once opening the second door, odd warmth and numbness taking over his body - was it the fire he heard, the hopefully minuscule amounts of divine energy seeping through the door he and the dark-skinned woman had just passed, just him responding to a new threat before even fully winding down from the last? - he was confronted with ... nothing? Carefully peering through the crack between the door and its frame, and glancing at the rear corner behind him, he came face to-face with little more than a quite nice, if a bit sparse bedroom. No fireplaces, no additional doors, just a bed that on any other day, would have looked quite inviting, a table, some chairs and candleholders... Neglecting the idea that this, too, might be a trick, he turned his attention to the minor commotion ensuing in the corridor, which seemed to involve his master preparing to open his door and Sir Freagon simply opting to stand in front of it to - Jordan's eyes widened as Sir Yanin quickly motioned him to back down with his sword-hand, even as the rest of the human knight's body remained motionless. He trusted his master's judgement in matters of combat, so he didn't even think, let alone question it, he just grabbed the foreigner by her shoulder, half-showing her in, and slamming the door after himself, just as another crash indicated that the nightwalker-knight had probably just opted to kick the first door open. "Sorry-that--" he began to apologize to the dark-skinned woman, slightly out of breath and not really having a pause between the words. [i]“Stop!” [/i]a voice boomed, and the squire flinched. "--meant... get... back," he finished, much quieter, and now leaving [i]too much[/i] of a pause between words. The corridor was probably flooded with divine energy now, was it not? Maybe diluted compared to what it had been in the more enclosed space, but flooded regardless. The door here would probably slow it down again, maybe for even longer than the first one had... He could... Would it - at least some of it get out if he were to open a window or something, like you could with smoke? Half dazed, he meandered several steps closer to the window ... no, he didn't think it could be opened, not unless he decided to whack it with the truncheon until it simply shattered. Which ... he might do if he felt his skin starting to crawl and burn, he guessed. Doing so [i]now[/i] probably wouldn't help the ones in the corridor, but maybe it would be worth the further disrespect of Lady Vela Bor's property if it meant not having all of everyone's skin peel off. [i]And then death.[/i] [i]"I said stop,"[/i] the voice of what Jordan could only presume was the divine thundered again, even louder, [i]“Not one more step, villain!”[/i] [i]"Talk,"[/i] another voice said ... that was Sir Freagon, he thought. "I don't think the window can be opened, but we might have to break it if there is too much divine energy ... I think," he muttered to the foreigner, resigned, as he moved back to the door. It's not like he had anything more useful to do here, but listen. It was the divine who spoke again. It? He? He sounded wrathful. [i]“You hound summoners and divines mercilessly, come here to destroy me, and you bring your own angel slaves? Disgusting creatures!”[/i] [i]The what now!?[/i] In spite the circumstances, the notion was enough to give him a pause. Well, it couldn't have been aimed at him or Sir Yanin, because neither of them was proficient enough with the right kind of magic to even [i]try to[/i] summon anyone, and at least Sir Freagon seemed to think the Melenian was dead, so who-- It was Deo'Irah who answered, in Fermian, which Jordan couldn't comprehend past simple greetings and farewells and thank yous. He thought he heard Reina's name, though, and the deigan's voice was uncharacteristically (what he knew of her character, anyway) irate, icy, enraged even. He would probably finish digesting her hidden skills afterwards, once he can stop wondering if his skin would slough off or if everyone in the corridor would, without warning, just be reduced into charred smears on the opposing wall. [i]“You expect me to believe anything you say? This one comes here bearing a silver sword and declared that he would kill me, and even you said you would see me banished or slain. You mundanes are all the same. A conversation? What would that solve? You said it yourself: I do not belong here, and someone had to…"[/i] Pause. [i]"To die for me to be here. Because of you!”[/i] Well, standing here was probably utterly useless ... talking, though, was usually ... often, his job, though. Sir Yanin was more of a 'what do you want' and then either agreeing with it or not agreeing with it kind of person. "Uh, my lord, if I may..." he began, staring at the door. What was the correct way to address divines, anyway? "We are not with the one summoning you, nor the ones hunting her. The swords aren't ours, either, we picked those up after coming in because the ... the frentits I guess already had them." What was he even doing? "We all were just nearby and were told there were guests still inside..." Fighting ... divines. "See if there was anyone left to help." The divine certainly had much better hearing than could be expected, though it probably had little to knowledge what had ensued before it had been summoned, nor what had been said outside. Should he try to convince the divine to go home? Distract it? Would be impolite to just ask if it wouldn't prefer to leave without a fight? He ... honestly had no idea. He felt vaguely faint. [h3]Madara[/h3] The half-palanter had tailed the group, remaining stood by the entry to the hallway as the combatants took in their places, and Freagon, without further ado, promptly kicked the door in. She had felt the odd itch and heat crawling upon her skin, not pleasant, but stinging, scraping, like caustic sap. Were there really anyone mundane left in that room, it certainly didn't bode well to their sustained wellbeing. Once to flood of divine energy unleashed by the opening door hit her, she actually jolted backwards as if dodging an invisible punch, teeth baring in a primordial callback to an ancestral inhuman beast, one reminiscent to the winged palanteran form. This expression of a cornered animal, brought upon her visage by expected, but still abrupt pain, disappeared quickly, replaced by a stern expression as she straightened her back, drew close to a wall, and listened to the exchange. Deo'Irah had brought an angel of her own? Huh. Pity she could not speak Fermian; the deigan seemed quite displeased indeed, whether it was with the reveal of her secrets or something else was anyone non-Fermian-speaking's guess. Jordan tried to, a bit haltingly, explain the situation once the angel claimed they wanted naught but violence. "Indeed; we are strangers to this house, to one another, and to whoever used to be in here before us. I, for one, am simply a healer and a seamstress - as a rule, I don't fight at all." Well, not unless she was absolutely cornered and there was no way for her to simply remove herself and, if possible, whoever was her patient at the time. "It was implied there would be injured here, was it not?" A deception in one count, and a lost cause in the case of all others, but an implication regardless. "Whom would you expect to draw in with such a call?" A person bent on murder alone would be indifferent, would they not? Luring healers in just to mercilessly murder them was a strategy befitting of the true evil, lowest of the low, so if the angel's pause before admitting people had to die for him to be summoned wasn't but another feint and cruel deception, then surely he'd agree with this much? "We were not welcomed most kindly, however." That much was true; the combat-ready lot might have been [i]ready[/i] to fight, but the lesser divines were the ones to give one of them a good tossing around first. None of them were so kind as to have a nice little chat over a cup of tea and discuss what exactly went wrong. "I would hope that you might excuse those who, as a consequence, might a bit predisposed towards more violent solutions." Was it her duty to excuse the old nightwalker's bluntness? Perhaps not, but she had already left patients waiting to be here, and she had absolutely no interest in adding to the dead and injured. [i]And your mere presence, [b]it burns,[/b], as yourself and our new knight acquaintance certainly are aware of.[/i] That didn't particularly help matters, either. "If it is not suffering and death you yearn for, what is it that you seek in staying here?" [h3]Sir Yanin Glade[/h3] [i]Impatient,[/i] the human knight noted at Freagon's behavior, almost reflexively motioning Jordan (and indirectly, the dark one) to remove themselves from the scene. These doors weren't particularly soundproof. If they were needed and could be useful, they could be called. Until then, it was more reasonable to spare them from being cooked alive while they waited for the need to engage. Anything that could take the four of them here out before they could even call out? Nothing they could do, anyway. If they were wise, they'd just jump from the window, evacuate the town, and find whatever Deo'iel they could to sort the divine out, if it didn't feel like leaving Reniam on its own. The same went for the two waiting by the end of the corridor, besides the differing exit route. And if they were somehow, against all odds, severely injured, but not killed? Better to have someone with enough strength left to drag them out, if the place really teemed with divine energy. The effect from Freagon kicking the door open was not quite as immediate as he had anticipated. Perhaps it had not been long enough, was less immediately obvious than he'd thought, the divine was sinking so much of it into its deception that it accumulated only gradually, or Deo'Irah had misjudged. Fire - warm, bright, but not burning the floor. Not natural. Hostages? Archangel? He'd read about them, but meeting one had, until now, remained vastly unlikely. [b] Everything could be a lie. [/b] The six wings were unmistakable, but much like the fire, and the hostages, it could be naught but a glamourous feat of magic. Freagon had tossed a silver coin at one of the hostages to confirm the last item. Clever, but aside of confirming that there was no one in that spot to save, maybe not overly conductive for making a plan of action. It was, indubitably, [i]much more[/i] probable that it was a thalk pretending to be an archangel, hostages, and a wall of fire than a Melenian, only having one sacrifice to give - two, if surrendering herself to the ritual was plausible, three or more only if there was someone entirely accounted for -, wounded, half-mad with piaan, managing to successfully summon one of the most powerful divines short of a full god. The fire, if it wasn't vastly more potent than that of a furnace, could be passed without harm; the lightning, if more than a vision, could be fatal if not interrupted. [i]Care to throw a handful of coins at the angel to see if his wings are real?[/i] That was unfortunately wont to be interpreted as beginning of an assault. He could figure as much. The angel was yelling. [i]"Your own angel slaves?"[/i] Based on Deo'Irah's response, that was her, and she referred to the entity she had evidently been hosting as a friend. [i]Necromancer [b]and[/b] a summoner?[/i] Unlike the Melenian, the only one - if what the deigan claimed about her and the divine's relationship was accurate - Deo'Irah had been harming with her choice to bring angels to this place was herself. Even with the Melenian, the whole shitshow could have been averted simply by the other guests not immediately acting upon the information. If there was ever a case to demonstrate why both summoning and vigilantism were illegal, that was probably it... For the sake of everyone, he hoped Deo'Irah would be far more careful with her arts than that. [i]"You expect me to believe anything you say?"[/i] That was, ultimately, mutual. It had brought them there with a lie, and persisted the deception even now. Even its very kind remained suspect. Ironically, it would probably just as easy for an archangel to pretend to be a thalk, so even if it claimed to drop its disguise, it could to the opposite. [i]Lies upon lies upon lies.[/i] Curiously, either it wasn't able to tell him and Freagon apart by voice, or it failed to differentiate silver from sartal in spite of their vastly different magical properties. Even as Jordan and the half-palanter took turns in trying to explain the situation, perhaps to placate the divine and find amicable solution, time was ticking - now [i]truly[/i] ticking, ever since Freagon had made the move. If it was a thalk in disguise, ten seconds of coordinated combat, even up close, was hardly comparable to the accumulated exposure standing around for, by now, closing in for a minute and a half. Opening the door, aware of the apparent wall of flames right behind it, and [i]then[/i] proceeding to talk was the worst combination of both options possible. Yanin himself didn't feel the more obvious effects of the divine energy - yet. But he was also not magically exhausted before entering the room, and mages were usually a bit more attuned to picking things up like that. He was, for all intents and purposes, more or less average for humans. It didn't escape his attention that Lhirinthyl covertly downed something. [i]Piaan?[/i] Too much to endure without? Expecting a fight? [i]If they decided to fight, about two seconds of the opposing magic being disrupted and the glamours dropped would be enough.[/i] It was unfortunate that they had no meaningful, mutually agreed for way to coordinate. For all their repeated insistences that they needed to hurry, the others always seemed to talk too much. He hadn't had the time to interject - it was at this moment that Madara finished speaking. He'd give it another half a minute - enough for the angel to reply. After that - presuming the divine didn't take offense to the others and attack -, he only really had one question of his own. Would probably initiate the fight immediately if it didn't comply ... but time would run out either way, and if they had to fight, it was better to do so [i]before[/i] their ability to do so degraded too much.