[center][h2][b][color=#d31c0a]Deo’Irah[/color][/b][/h2][/center]



There was a tense moment of attention when Lhirinthyl–[i]and she only used Lhirinthyl to admonish him or otherwise express her frustration-[/i]-forgot for a moment all of the manners that she’d spent the trip back to Jihni'mah'jehla'nai and then from there to Rodoria trying to drill into him… and even more spectacularly than usual, forgetting not only basic social rules but also the concept of physical space. He then spoke to her in a different language from the others in the room, and not even in Fermian, which maybe someone might have been able to understand and simply assume they were speaking in their mother tongue–instead in [i]Gazzerashei[/i], of all things, just to tell her he was going to the Manor?! She took a brief second to steady herself as a fresh wave of nausea assaulted her senses, and a brief moment of dizziness caused her control of the little orb of water next to her to waver and ripple slightly. She took in a quick breath as the eyes of… well, most of the people in the room seemed to focus on her, and she quickly composed herself and spoke quickly: 

[b][color=#d31c0a]"He is my bodyguard and travelling companion, and he’s going to the Manor to investigate. You should follow, we have the situation in ha–”[/color][/b] she began, only for the clarion call of the bell to draw everyone’s attention. [i]Everyone’s[/i] attention–even the wounded, who all froze in abject terror at the mere prospect. It was bad, then–and Lhirin was right just a little bit before everyone else. As usual. She took a look over at the other wounded, taking into account their injuries as best she could with the casual glance she’d be able to get. None seemed like they’d expire within the hour, the only [i]imminently[/i] urgent case being the one that she and Kinder had just healed. The others would require some sort of longer-term convalescence, even with all of the tools at their disposal, and frankly the thing that they really needed was their own healer, returned hale and whole. She turned then to look at the surgeon, her expression focused and calm, her eyes flashing towards the door. 

Something about the half-Palanter reminded her of Sel'kahr'wander–a… colleague of hers, a barber-surgeon. Unsurprising, given the shared overlap in their professions, but there was something about the [i]sharpness[/i] of her features and her dress that really tipped it over the edge. The same primal edge, honed to something between graceful and savage–she could see it in the beautiful fit of her clothes and how the contrast of the thread glinted in the dim firelight, meticulous detail clear to Irah’s focused gaze. With how neatly organised and clearly well-cared for as her tools had been, it seemed to Irah that she seemed to be ready to go at a moment’s notice, like a predator in waiting. She burst into action herself with the same focus and drive, beginning to dart out of the room and speaking simultaneously:

[b][color=#d31c0a]"[i][abbr=Fuck me...]Mehknai bre...[/abbr][/i] We should follow--quickly.”[/color][/b] she said, her voice steely, and followed just behind Jordan (and Sir Yanin, if he acted more quickly than she) on their way out towards the Manor. Just to her right, clear as day across the way, was a well beside what Irah had presumed was the inn earlier and confirmed upon closer inspection. She made sure to rush out towards it, reaching out with her left hand as she did so, and she once more extended the force of her will out towards the water she knew must lurk below it. She quickly upturned her palm and clenched her fingers inward, feeling it rise up at her call and flow upwards towards her. It burst forth from the well quickly and smoothly, the bucket and rope previously hanging freely below flying up into the air with the force of the movement and falling to the side with a clatter. Irah drew around a hundred or so litres of water from beneath the ground, enough for a large bath, and with clearly-practised movements began to make it twist and turn into something of a halo, almost, floating above her. After a couple of seconds of focusing, and then a couple more to steady herself for whatever might come next, she turned to follow suit and observe the situation as it was. Lhirin, Sir Yanin, and Jordan would have no trouble getting in–Sir Yanin in particular seemed like he was [i]exceedingly[/i] difficult to deny entry to, with the forcefulness of his gait and the imposing heaviness of his build. In the distance she could hear the galloping of hooves, much more closely than she expected, given the suddenness of what'd just happened, and her head twisted out towards the sound to catch the sight: two nightwalkers, armoured, and racing toward them. She paid them little other mind in that moment--figuring that Lhirin and the others would engage them should they be foes, to reassess the whole situation.

Then, from the winery across the street, Irah caught a glimpse of something quite unusual in the unusually bright and stark day: an individual clothed in what might as well have been Laon’s own night, with a similar hue in their skin that Irah had never encountered before. She blinked for a second before really registering the information, running towards the gate simultaneously, and with a flex of her right fingers and a pointing motion out towards the figure with her left she willed a ribbon of water to whip out from her towards the figure, frozen in an arc but poised and ready to lash out. She made no immediate assumptions about the figure, but given the timing of the bell and the skulking she was attempting to do in broad daylight, Irah elected simply to call out in Rodorian:

[b][color=#d31c0a]”Friend or foe?”[/color][/b] and ceasing her own movements while still holding herself in that state of readiness.

With two unknown parties having joined the fray suddenly, she looked over toward Jordan and Yanin for further instruction, expression tense and alert, and then behind her to see if the surgeon had followed too and what she'd brought with her if so.