[h3]Sir Yanin Glade[/h3]

	The first assumption had been accurate. The otherwise perfectly average storage space had been turned into a temporary holding cellar for the dead. All human, all armored. The usual faint mix of grains, fabric, maybe a bit of moisture and the vague hint of something molding was overshadowed by the distinct scent of blood. There was a heaviness to places like that that even Yanin could pick up on, at least when alone. Other people distracted from the impression, but just by himself... Eyes could see people, but there was no motion. There were bodies, but no warmth. There were others, but the only one you could hear was yourself. 
	He had no personal bonds to these specific individuals, and hence there was no sadness, no mourning, yet it felt [i]wrong[/i] on a very primal level, and he didn't like it. The best he could have described it as was 'a distinct sense of [i]he should not be here'.[/i]

	But there were reasons to be here beyond checking if this area was currently safe. Four of the bodies down here were lined up neatly, three of them Fadewatchers. Yanin didn't touch the bodies, merely kneeling in front of them and observing for a handful of seconds. The fourth was quite unlike. Civilian? Someone off-duty? One of the targets of the attack? A passerby who intervened or a private guard? From the placement and care of positioning, it stood to reason it had been someone on 'their' side. 
	There didn't seem to be any distinct signs of magical or otherwise atypical method of attack - only injuries from regular old melee and ranged weapons. He could ask the minorly injured Fadewatcher upstairs for confirmation. It was a good idea to learn who - or what - you were up against, the sooner the better, especially if trouble were to make unexpected return. 
	Other dead had also been brought here, unceremoniously dumped into a pile of corpses. The other side of the equation. Six of them, once you tried to count the bodies and respective limbs, variably equipped and not discernibly marked. Common criminals wearing whatever armor and weapons they could loot or buy? The cheapest mercenaries someone could find? Unfortunately, the dead couldn't typically speak, only give some clues. 
	Anything else on them that might have indicated who they were and what they had wanted? If there were any obvious pouches or pockets to check, he would, otherwise... 
	Time to return among the living, at least for a bit. The living could often give answers faster.  

[h3]Jordan Forthey[/h3]

	"Right; we will pay Lady Bor a visit once things have calmed down here," he replied to the notion of her men had attempted to lend their aid. As they had already intended to, before discovering the local division of Fadewatchers in figurative shambles... This was one seriously botched mess... 
	The girl took to recounting what she knew of Bren ... of a smiling, charitable man. 
	"He does seem kind. Can he do magic?" Jordan asked, even as a rather distinct couple on the street drew closer. Distinct, for they were a deigan couple, and in particular a true deigan - who were reasonably uncommon sight - and an ascended, no, ascended-true mixed-blood deigan, which was considerably [i]more[/i] rare still. 
	From what little he knew of deigan culture, the fact that ascended deigan had done their best to genocide all of the true deigan race was one thing he was aware of, atop of many of them holding grudges for long and once adults, living unaging seemingly until something just took and killed them. 
	There was that, and also the fact that they appeared to be headed in their direction, rather than past them. The male eventually fell back, but the female continued forward, if anything only hastening her pace. 
[i]	“You, Fadewatcher – forgive my brusqueness, but there isn’t time to dally. The injured appear to have been brought inside, yes? Are we in time?”[/i]
	Another healer? She had the garb of Reina's follower, at least - and a rather tantalizing version of it, too - and appeared no more overtly armed than the previous woman who had made her way over. Would it really have been so long that someone had, magically or by rider, managed to summon healers from nearby settlements, too?
	"Were you called-" [i]Never mind.[/i]  She seemed intent to push through, doing her best to look him in the eye as she proudly demonstrated two small vials in her hand, as if expecting him to immediately know what the fluid within did. She seemed genuine enough, and if this was a deception, it was the most blatant one he had seen to date. Jordan appeared slightly taken aback as he scrutinized her. "At least [i]some[/i] of the injured, yes." He didn't know yet if any of Vela Bor's men were hurt or killed, and if so, whether they'd have been brought here or to the manor. "It had been hours before we got here not long ago. A surgeon from another down arrived just a couple minutes ago." She might have overheard enough to realize the local healer was missing in action, if whoever might have summoned her hadn't mentioned it already. 
	With this, he took a step back, keeping one eye on the newcomer and trying to see into the interior of the guardhouse over his shoulder with the other. There were two local Fadewatchers, one accompanying the surgeon kneeling next to one of the wounded, the other preparing something at the fireplace. Thankfully, his master made a reappearance from the basement, so Jordan referred to the Reina's follower and raised an eyebrow. 
	Sir Yanin looked at two of the occupied beds the surgeon was not at and shrugged. Barring any protests from the healthier local Fadewatchers, Jordan looked fully at the deigan woman and took a half-step to the side. 
	"I reckon you can go in," he noted, glancing back at the kids - and then the male deigan lurking behind. 

[h3]Madara[/h3]

	Alas, no miracles occurred. Quietly and without much fuss, she tallied up the rest of the apparent injuries on the remaining four who were neither dead nor immediately dying, quietly half-asking them to let her look at them, half simply informing them that she was doing. Two slashing wounds, one hit to the head, two shattered bones (she didn't touch quite yet), missing fingers... 
	Slashes were comparatively easy to repair, though she might have to pull some tendons or muscle together - she could help them keep most of the function of their respective injured limbs -  fingers could be sometimes sewn back - worked quite well with palanters, sometimes with humans, too - but not when they'd have been lost outside for hours, so it'd just be a matter of fixing the skin over the injury the best she could. Reassembling shattered bones was not her particular favourite, but she'll make do. Head injuries were the hardest to do much with, and most unpredictable the worst way possible. Scalp injuries bled a lot, but weren't overly dangerous, it was potential fractured skull and swelling she was worried about.  
	She'll fixing the injuries one by one, and afterwards seeing to additional medicine that could be drank with tea and actually getting them comfortable. They were still half in armor. 
	Most of her skill relied on physical reassembly and various chemicals derived from plants and creatures. If so desired, people could also seek magical healing to finish the job afterwards - aside of the most potent, radical forms of it, magical healing was complementary, not an equal or a substitute to surgery, nor was the latter [i]only [/i] a means to make one survive for the first. 
	As a lot of what magical healing did was to mimic and accelerate natural healing, hence it was entirely possible to get a much worse result with magic alone - even leave someone unnecessarily crippled. On the opposite side, only cleaning and stitching flesh together still left a lot for time to mend. But bring the two together, reassembly first, a level of magical healing attainable for most people after? Everything clicked together. Everything was in its rightful place, the mage saved their energy, even divine taint was not much of an issue if you only had a hair-thin gap to bridge. Quick. Efficient. 

	Madara knelt next to one of the wounded - the one with a slashed shoulder - and wasted no time picking out things from her pouches - a larger bottle bottle, a spool of thread, fabric - a set of implements rolled in leather - that she inverted and tied to her upper left arm like a toolbelt of sorts -, two tiny bottles and three vials that she fitted alongside the implements, three needles, assorted bandages in their own smaller bag-within-a-bag, two small bags of herbs...  
	The multitude of tiny bottles and vials she carried were an art form onto itself. Of painkillers that worked on humans alone, she had five different kinds on her, not counting the very minor secondary or ternary effects of concoctions of other primary uses. 
	One of them could remove virtually all pain where it touched exposed internal tissue, but too much of it in blood and it could kill, mostly because it was also slightly paralytic for the hour or two it was effective. If someone drank it, it did barely anything at all unless they also had a terrible case of ulcers. A second kind was mostly supposed to be taken with food or drink, but it also made one inebriated and drowsy. And in much higher quantities than that still, it could make one's body forget how to breathe and have a heartbeat. A third one, consumed or applied directly, helped quite well against pain [i]and[/i] inflammation [i]and[/i] fever, but it also made much harder to stop bleeding. A fourth one removed pain and inflammation, and also left you clear-headed, but if someone took more than a drop for five kilograms of body weight they [i]allegedly [/i]turned slightly yellow and died a slow, painful death that was particularly hard to stave off - after several days of feeling perfectly fine after. She had not confirmed the latter fact for herself, but nevertheless had a bit of a morbid professional curiosity in regards to who and at which cost had figured that specific quantity in particular out... The fifth one, when applied directly, would alleviate pain and leave a pleasant warm sensation, but was also significantly weaker than the others, hence being less useful against the kind of debilitating pain that could give you a heart attack. It also did nothing when eaten, besides tasting positively [i]vile[/i] for just about any mammal out there. 
	And then you had to remember how those, and all others, interacted between themselves. There were definitely reasons why she didn't permit anyone touch her vials' and bottles' contents in their pure form. She could genuinely state that she had nothing with the primary purpose purpose of causing death, but medicine used wrongly was just as harmful. Then again, a bottle of strong alcohol could technically kill just as well, and that was something people had been drinking for fun for millennia. 

	"I can help fixing your shoulder and mute the pain - if you could try to hold still and lean forward a little," Madara informed the man, her natural melodic mezzosoprano quiet, calm, giving him a second to accept that she was there as she wet her hands with a small amount of liquid from the larger bottle before actually touching him and starting to unravel the bandage covering the site. The fluid evaporated almost instantly, though the lingering smell indicated some kind of spirits. 
	There was some kind of commotion by the door, but she just about barely spared the follower of Reina a glance. She spoke, though, one hand briefly relieving itself as the second held everything in place, motioning towards the one of the occupied beds hosting the man with the head injury, but immediately resuming its work.
	"If you have Reina's mercy by your side - or very potent anti-inflammatories - lend your aid to him first." He was the one she felt she could do the least for, and was also the most uncertain about. 

	If prayers could indeed summon followers, Reina must have had quite the sense of humour.