[h3]Jaelnec, Freagon, Irah, Lhirin, Nabi, Yanin, Jordan and Madara, outside Bor Manor, Borstown[/h3]
While it was hard for Jaelnec not to stare too openly at the petite deigan beauty that was Irah – though he did not know her name yet, nor did any of the others know his since Freagon had simply introduced him as “the boy” – from the moment she entered his vicinity, it became an impossibility for him to feign indifference when he realized that she was looking at him, meeting his obsidian gaze, and his mind started racing with dreams and fantasies of what meaning he could find in that simple connection. And just a moment later, time almost seemed to stop when a tendril of water snaked out of the liquid halo hovering above her to seemingly wash over parts of her form briefly. He swallowed hard, captivated and fascinated by the sight of this small white-clad woman, who somehow managed to seem defenseless even while demonstrating her dangerous magical powers, and whose choice of outfit seemed to so expertly straddle the line between being provocative and scandalous, both chaste and tantalizing at the same time.
It took until Freagon elbowed him in the ribs painfully for Jaelnec to remember that they were in the midst of urgent business. Freagon had already removed his cloak and thrown it over his horse, and while Jaelnec started frantically removing his own cloak, the older nightwalker slipped out of his black coat – leaving his lutrium cuirass bare and shimmering brilliantly in the sunlight – before slipping on his gauntlets and putting on his helmet, both visors still open.

Just several meters from there the penin woman broke eye-contact with Lhirin to instead stare incredulously at the spot by his feet where he had just ruined one of the stones that made up the path to the manor. Her chest expanded briefly as she puffed up a little, only to exhale and deflate again in an effort to control her temper; though it had clearly annoyed her, it did not seem as though she had any intention of making a fuss about it. Not at the moment, at least.
She did seem impatient to get things moving, however, and rolled her eyes when Lhirin assured her of his competence at handling wraiths and introducing himself, and seemed entirely unimpressed at his claim of having memorized the Deo'iel Guide to Survival.
Before she could give a reply to the male deigan's words, however, his female kinsman stepped in and interjected her own questions. The penin sighed, still impatient but clearly recognizing that the situation, as urgent as it might be, likely did call for slightly more than the smallest possible amount of information.
She ignored Lhirin and turned to Irah instead. “None of the wraiths have used magic. I have seven guests in there, one of which is the summoner. She'd be easy to recognize, she's the only Melenian among them.” The penin winced. “She's not controlling the wraiths, though, and I don't think she's summoning any more of them. I...”
The penin frowned and stomped her foot angrily. “Ah, [abbr=Penin for “dent” or “damage”. Also a mild expletive][I]bhûhl[/I][/abbr] it, I might as well tell the entire story! I was trying to convince some of my guests to help with saving our town's healer, and the one's that actually seemed like the adventuring types had just started making plans for doing that. Then Feevesha – the Melenian – offered that she was a summoner and could aid the operation in that way, and it turned out that three of the other guests were damned witch-hunters! They attacked her and she panicked and summoned a wraith to protect her, and kept summoning more as she fled upstairs.”
She groaned in frustration. “Last I saw, most of my guests were fighting wraiths. I saw four of them.”

In Irah's head, Kinder hesitantly chimed in: [I]“She's telling the truth. I can feel them inside, faintly, radiating... elation. Amusement. They are not under anyone's control, they are having fun. But I think I feel twelve angels inside. One of them much more powerful than the others.”[/I]