[center][h2][b][color=silver]Lhirinthyl[/color][/b][/h2][/center][hr]
It was, at first, a tense, but swift affair, the opening of the doors into the hall, the shift to the next set as he followed behind the others, eyes wide and almost manic as he scanned their surroundings. Then the Knight of the Will forcefully entered the true unknown and what was perhaps the most dangerous sequence of moments unfolded. Filtering into the space, but staying behind those who led for the most part, the deigan mage continued to scan, hand on the hilt of his runeblade.

The sight of the supposed Archangel made his eyes twitch into a briefly narrowed position, before widening again as he took in every little detail. The 'hostages,' how the coin fell through part of one with no reaction, the flames at the edge of the room, and the jumpy--or perhaps simply angry--response of the divine. As Freagon beckoned Irah to speak, Lhirin noted each of the angel's reactions and let them sift through his mind. He noticed as the images and sensations from the room shifted. No heat from the flames. No smoke either--the smoke was really the first thing he'd noticed. Even if it were divine magic, it was likely to burn or affect the environs to some degree...and it simply wasn't. There were no burn marks, no strange interactions between the flames and the materials of the manse at all, in fact.

Then, as Irah spoke with the divine--even after her brief outburst, during which he downed a vial of piaan--he noticed things calming down. From some distance behind him he heard the other woman call out...the non-combatant. Her words seemed to give them time, buy Irah a moment to calm down, and give the Angel something to chew on.

Lhirin, his movements hidden behind Freagon and Irah's bodies, began the somatic workings of a spell even as he barely whispered words in the arcane language. However, before he'd gotten even a quarter of the way through, he realized things were deescalating. He ceased immediately, not wanting to worsen the situation. It was in that moment where his focus waned that the unpleasant pressure and pain between his eyes caused by the piaan faded and was swiftly followed by a sense of lightness and distance. For Lhirin, quick witted as he was and used to the effects, it gave him several instants to see things clearly even before the others perhaps registered that the Thalk was afraid. Yes, it was a divine, it was dangerous, perhaps moreso due to it being scared, but it was also vulnerable in a way that he'd not have expected.

Typically divines had enough power that worrying about a small group of mundanes--even ones as competent as them--was not something that would necessarily inspire something like fear. This impression was reinforced as more information was exchanged between Irah and the Thalk. It became clear even as a pleasant numbness tingled its way through his body, followed by a burst of euphoria that made him grin for a few moments...grin like a madman. He largely ignored the expression on his face, his mind slightly slowed by the shifting emotions and sensations of the piaan high.

He swallowed as a sense of contentment finally settled throughout him, even as it was joined by a powerful burst of magical energy refilling--and somewhat overfilling--his body and soul. He grit his teeth, clamping down on the power even as it tried to spill beyond his vessel. He didn't let it. Lhirin may not have had the same degree of intense control as Irah or some other Necromancer, but he'd done a great deal of training on controlling his own energies...and further he'd practiced what he could of the Necromancer's art without truly altering the innate impression that his soul gave off. It was not enough to give him the edge that it gave Irah, but it was enough for him to suppress what would have been the intense impression of magical energy as the piaan took full effect. He noticed the slight shift in his senses as well as sounds became sharper, smells and taste more nuanced, while light became brighter and somehow more colorful.

While he could handle many of piaan's admittedly pleasant side-effects, one that he struggled with for a moment was the sense of strength and heady power that came with it. He took a single step forward before the situation had fully deescalated, but he moved no further, catching himself before he could move further or take any foolish actions.

It was, ultimately, both a relief and a disappointment when the illusions fully fell away and revealed the room in truth. The blood splattered almost everywhere was...not unsettling, not even unpleasant, just macabre. Evidence of severe physical trauma and--of course--death. There were, strangely, no bodies and the Fallen Thalk was...oddly diminutive. Not in size, but in posture, its form curled up as small as possible in the corner.

Pushed on by the heady power of piaan and his general lack of social awareness, Lhirin finally moved as the situation became one of tenuous peace--not that he entirely realized it was tenuous at all. Stepping past Irah...and then Freagon, Lhirin moved past the threshold of the room even as he sheathed his runeblade.

Unbothered by the blood, his manner intense, but devoid of threat, Lhirin's silver eyes only briefly acknowledged the fallen divine before flitting to the leatherbound book on the ground. Reaching it, he bent to retrieve it from the ground before a thought stopped him in his tracks.

[color=silver][b]"Ah,"[/b][/color] he exhaled, his silver eyes lifting from the book to slide across the room to meet the eyes of the divine without a shred of fear or trepidation. [color=silver][b]"May I?"[/b][/color] Lhirin inquired, his tone inquisitive, his eyes darting back to the book, then to Caleb once more to indicate the subject of his query.