[h2]Jordan Forthey[/h2]

	"This is the place?" inquired the voice of Jordan Forthey - a young guy atop a sorrel horse. In addition to the white linen shirt, grayish pants and brown boots any old peasant might wear, he had donned a slightly bleached blue-green gambeson and the cuirass, faulds and tassets a keen eye might recognize as being identical to many of those handed out to Fadewatchers, just without the tabard they typically displayed when on active duty, and leading along a bay pack mule that was nearly as big than the slight horse the guy himself rode on, and sturdier still.  
	"Yes," responded the other man, this one astride a large white gelding, about the length of a horse ahead. Not only did the other man seem much more blunt and laconic from the brief exchange, but he was also a much more imposing figure, both tall and fully armored - helmet and all - in a much better quality steel, clearly bearing the viper-and-falcon heraldics of a family of some note from Etlon. 
	"Looks ... smaller than I expected for a detour that long, I guess? I mean, not that I'd really have been in many estates besides the Glades' one." [i]That one[/i] was more of a heavily guarded mansion, with a number of associated auxiliary buildings in the vicinity that directly belonged to the estate, and had their own workers employed by them. And then several dozen surrounding farm buildings in addition to those, scattered out among the fields. [i]This one[/i] was more like a little village, buildings all neatly lined up against the road, with the manor just one of many on the same dirt street, just a little nicer, fenced in, and well, much bigger. "Sir," the young guy added after a pause, remembering that they were no longer alone on the road as some kid gawked at Sir Yanin Glade's big white "warhorse" and scurried off. 
	 "Tareon is a warlord. Baroness Vela Bor is a retired adventurer." The statement was delivered matter-of-factly, as if this info alone was enough to explain everything. That was about par for the course for the young guy's master, who himself was not that much older under the helmet. Either he was arguing with someone, or particularly exited about something, or speaking just to fulfill a duty ... or you had to pry [i]every single thing[/i] out of him separately. 
	Even the reasons for coming here in the first place were somewhat occluded. The most he could get out of his master was that there was something he needed to figure out ... and rather than show up at the Glades' mansion, where he was [i]not[/i] bound to be welcomed (by his father, Sir Tareon Glade, anyway - Jordan thought Sir Jeran actually liked him, and the others either didn't care or just didn't want to piss Sir Tareon off), or try their luck with either of his older sisters in Zerul and Relimon, he might as well pay a visit to someone who [i]was[/i] willing to invite them in. Granted, not [i]them [/i]specifically, just any ... adventurer. 
	Not that Jordan would complain - they had pretty much taken a single day off from being guards [i]or [/i] training for the past two years, so some change was nice. Now he could travel [i]and[/i] train rather than patrol [i]and[/i] train. It appeared training was not optional even on the move. Not that he'd be surprised after three years of what felt like disappointingly little progress, but ... his right shoulder still hurt from yesterday, for starters. And his left shin. And probably a few more places, though those were harder to tell over just muscles being sore from training and riding for so long alike. 
	"We will be stopping by the Fadewatcher Station before paying a visit to baroness Vela Bor," Sir Yanin suddenly interjected Jordan's mental recounting of every single place in his body that hurt. Did he decide that because he just happened to see the long wooden building with the sign of the Fadewatchers coming to sight, or?

[h2]Sir Yanin Glade[/h2]

	For the most part, he just wanted to know if this place had gone to shit just like everywhere else, legendary ex-adventurers or not. The roads were probably the least safe they had been in the last two decades and trustworthy men were too few, too far, or too weak to do enough about it. Not that he alone could do much about it, either, even if he didn't have his own personal demons and shortcomings to deal with. 
	Good memory, attentiveness, quick thinking and and outright extraordinary fighting ability were ultimately still limited. Very few [i]actual [/i]problems consisted of armed humans conveniently lined up for mostly fair combat one or two at a time. Disease, toxins, being doused in oil and lit on fire, just blowing up the entire damn building, nonhumanoid threats, famine, total war, being ambushed while trying to sleep off exhaustion, pick your damn poison...
	Politics were bullshit he could only figure out by watching people and their interactions for a long time, and then what? Who was going to listen a less favoured son of a minor noble? You could be a bloody mind-reader and expert negotiator and still someone figured out a way to remove you if they didn't like what you were advocating for. 
	It was always bastards like his father who found ways to stick around. No desire to be like that man. No ability, either. They, however, both knew that if the old Glade were to ever raise a sword against the Viper of Glades, he would die - and since killing him would have been too obvious, he was simply made unwelcome in his childhood home. He was worried about his oldest brother. Too nice of a guy to be allowed replace Tareon. Might have had something happen to him already if Manin hadn't just coincidentally gone and gotten himself killed first. His mother was not in a much better position. The others? Yanin guess they were less likely to be [i]in the way[/i] for the time being. 
	All that aside, their colleagues were probably the closest thing to implicit allies they had, the couple family members who tolerated Yanin, and he didn't wish to drag into further mess if he could help it, notwithstanding. Even if they couldn't be as selective with whom they recruited as during better days ... it stood to reason that the odds were at the very least better than average.

	The streets looked normal, if a bit empty, presumably because a lot of people were either in their respective workshops or out in the fields busy harvesting crops. A couple people glanced in their direction, but they always did. There had, indubitably, been a number of opportunistic odd folks going through coming through here ever since the open invitation went out, but in spite of that, they - or at the very least he - stood out [i]enough.[/i] 
	Even so, his eyes behind the visor were constantly scanning the street, as if he were still on patrol. There was no reason trust this place - or any open area. And since he apparently lacked the innate ability of most people to simply know what anyone he was staring at felt unless they were expert at hiding it, the best he could do to make up for it was watch the people, too, and remember what they did. 
	There were no Fadewatchers in sight, not even as Prince, the knight's big white steed, came to a halt next to their building, impatiently huffing, stomping his hooves and shaking his head. A handful of kids were watching nearby, a few people were still on the street, there was no generalized panic, yet trouble was there before they had even arrived. 
	"Something is wrong," he stated, still trying to cover anything out of place in the broader vicinity, looking for anything else out of place in or near the adjacent houses, people who should not be there, watchers, ambush. 
	The horse danced around himself even as the man did so, making a nearly full turn before being urged behind around the corner into the year so that Yanin could dismount with a distinct clink of metal and loosely throw the reins around whichever object was closest. More for show rather than effect - Prince was quite capable of getting loose if something threatened him. Or biting off the ear of anyone who wasn't either Yanin himself or Jordan trying to touch their things.  
	Jordan followed suit. Yanin didn't particularly know yet if he would have been more useful on the ground or horseback, but... 
	"There is blood on the ground. Fresh." Red, semi-coagulated clumps of sludge left behind where the fluid could seep into soil and stone, not browned and flaking away. And there would usually be at least someone out at this hour. There wasn't. "Watch my back." Jordan was fumbling something, but dropped it to follow him back around the corner, to the double doors of the main entrance. 
	There had been some detective work in the past two years. Other things, you could fill in just by logic. Why was there blood outside? There didn't seem to be enough commotion for something dramatic - even a farmer injured by shrapnel while splitting rocks was bound to generate a spectacle in such a small place -, yet someone had gone in bleeding, or left bleeding.
	Was there a distinct trail like someone shot or stabbed might leave? High marks of fresh, violent injury? Someone had said that if you lost half the blood in your body, you still had [i]some chance[/i] of surviving. That was a lot of blood if it was distributed over a floor, even more so if it was a quantity that would [i]definitely[/i] kill at least one person. Something else entirely? Acid? Acrid smoke? Anything but the scent and sight of blood itself?
	As he neared the doors, faint sounds could be heard. Groans. Wails. [i]There might not be enough time.[/i] The bloody fuck was going on in there? The voices were several. It kept feeling like the street was too peaceful for an overarching threat, for [i]multiple[/i] someones to have escaped [i]in[/i] while painting the ground. So what then? Something exploded in someone's face? People came in and attacked, with the last one stabbing whoever was in front of the door, dragging them in before anyone noticed, and neatly closing the door behind? Not enough time to analyze it properly when whatever was the cause could still be in there, continuing to do harm. He gritted his teeth, his right gauntleted hand wrapping around the handle of his sword so he could draw and parry with it in a single move. The left one grasped the handle of the door. 
	"Keep from line of sight of the door," he noted to Jordan, who side-stepped and turned just in time to see a woman in green tunic promptly slip behind a carriage across the street. 
	He'll be leaving the door between himself and whatever was inside for now. He was trying to listen keenly to whatever words might be possible to be made out from inside, but it didn't give an absolute guarantee whether the first one out would be a foe, an injured person trying to escape, or something else entirely. The door itself seemed strong enough to take a blast of some strength.  

[h2]Jordan Forthey[/h2]

	Jordan looked from the carriage, to the kids on the street, to the surrounding houses, to sideways at Sir Yanin Glade and the ... muffled noise from behind the door. Even with just two or three seconds of hearing it, the... Well, he should probably get the civilians out of the way, just in case, he guessed. So much for vacation. 
	 "Uh, kids? You should [i]go,[/i]" he instructed, loud and clear, if a tiny bit more shaken than he would have liked, his right hand straying near his hip in reflection to Sir Yanin even as his left vaguely motioned sideways, [i]move along.[/i] "Go tell a healer to come here, I think we'll need one soon. Something ... not very nice is going on in there." 
	Next to him, Sir Yanin had moved in position behind the left side of the double door, skipping a beat - presumably to let the onlookers to actually scatter. They were both on the same side of the door, so his master was next to his left shoulder. A louder wail made the squire flinch. 
	"Actually, I think we might need [i]several[/i] healers, if they're not all in there trying to help people already." 
	
	The wait was over. If the door was not locked or barred, Sir Yanin would tear it open as he stepped backwards, ready to face whatever was or wasn't inside. 
	Maybe it would all be for naught. [i]Maybe [/i]it was all over and all that was indoors would be just a couple injured avid complainers, a healer that couldn't find fresh bandages or boiled water and a couple farmers who had seen what went down and were rather animatedly trying to convey its horrors. In which case they would have just opened the door a touch too aggressively, no harm done, they could all sigh a sigh of relief. 
	At worst ... well, they were as prepared as they could be in a dozen seconds.