[h3]Jaelnec, Freagon, Irah, Lhirin, Nabi, Yanin, Jordan and Madara, outside Bor Manor, Borstown[/h3]
If Freagon had an opinion regarding anything Yanin said or did, be it his introduction or his apparent lack of interest in the old nightwalker, he did not show it. He shot a look at Jordan when he offered his introductions, just enough to signify that he was paying attention, but similar to Yanin, Freagon then turned toward the open gate and stepped onto the walkway as he finished fastening the straps of his gauntlets.
“I'm Jaelnec,” the younger nightwalker offered, looking at Jordan with a nervous smile and waving a hand at him in awkward greeting. But even then it only took a couple of seconds for him to glance back to his master, realize that he was moving and hurriedly follow him.

Approaching where everyone else was congregating, Freagon let his detached, dispassionate one-eyed gaze sweep over the crowd. He did not outwardly react to anything, and it was too difficult to tell exactly where he was looking to even guess at what he was thinking behind that expressionless face. He did offer a curt nod of the head upon hearing Yanin describe the most effective methods of fighting wraiths, as if in a vague sign of acknowledgment or approval. Then he stepped past and headed for the front door along with him and Lhirin.
As he strode down the short path before him toward the manor, Freagon reached his right hand to his left hip, grasped the ordinary-looking hilt sticking out of the ordinary-looking scabbard attached to his belt, and drew the sword in a quick, smooth movement. Though everything else looked normal, there was absolutely nothing ordinary about the blade. Impossibly pure, smooth and bright, its double edges curving gracefully along the length of its leaf-shaped contour. With a color that seemed like that of silver or even platinum, anyone familiar with extraordinary materials – and Irah in particular, who came from a city that on rare occasions had produced weapons like this – might realize that this was a sartal blade, and an incredibly well-made one at that.

While Freagon walked past without a word and Jaelnec hesitantly followed, the penin woman turned to Yanin with a serious mien and nodded her head resolutely. She pointed toward the front door. “Through that door, the first room is a small armory. There should be a few iron weapons, among other things.”

Taking a moment and listening closely, Yanin would just faintly be able to make out the sound of a woman crying loudly and desperately. It sounded like it came from one of the second floor windows.

Behind them, the bell-ringer – who had seemed somewhat relieved that attention had shifted from him to the penin woman – seemed surprised when Madara opted to address him rather than his employer.
“Ah, yes,” he admitted, gesturing vaguely at his right thigh. “The town was attacked during the night, and I...” He paused, shot a sidelong glance at how everyone else were focused on the manor and what was going on inside, and seemed to stop himself from telling the entire story. “It's just a flesh-wound, it can wait. I was lucky. I saw a couple of guys get clobbered pretty hard by one of those monsters inside while we escaped, though... they probably need help, if they're still alive.”