[h3]Sir Yanin Glade (and Jordan Forthey)[/h3]

	Yanin nodded, once and over his shoulder, at Lady Bor's notion that there would be an armory right past the main entrance. Convenient if you wanted to grab some weapons to protect the front door. Potentially almost as convenient if you wanted some extras when entering the manor, which was most likely rather atypical use case for someone on the side of the rightful owners of the manor. This time, odds were ever so slightly in their favor.
	No motion that he could see. There was the faint sound of crying from one of the rooms. Seemed more human than Melenian. He made a note of the window.  
	Deo'Irah whispered something to her companion; he couldn't make out a word. Might have been the same language he had briefly heard from Lhirinthyl earlier. Just as quickly as she was done communicating with the male deigan, she moved over to him, prompting Yanin to half-turn his head and lower himself to mitigate him being nearly a third taller than she was.
	[color=ff0000][i]”... I sense that you appreciate directness, Yanin, so I will be direct."[/i][/color] It, generally, made everyone's life much easier. His especially. Socializing was a game with too many unwritten rules and hidden meanings, rules and implications he didn't instinctively know, but had to learn and consciously spot, or worse, just [i]guess.[/i] And hope he was right. At best, people were irritated, at worst, removal of undesirable elements was a definite option for less moral forces. As long as he managed to avoid the latter, how much would be left for the first? [color=ff0000][i]"This is, indeed, not my first time…”[/i][/color] She was ... smiling? [i]One[/i] of those expressions. Probably not happy - there was not much reason to [i]be [/i]happy. Friendly, maybe. Polite. [color=ff0000][i]”... the witch-hunters are going to be problematic. You can expect them not to be friendly to us–we should deal with them accordingly.”[/i][/color] 
	[i]What in the Realms have you done?[/i] Nothing that had reached his usual outpost in Etlon, that much was certain... Either it was recent and local, which meant she had a transgression that was known to local vigilantes ... but not known enough for the Fadewatchers or Lady Bor and her folks to take immediate notice of her presence. Or there was something [i]on [/i]her that would be noticeable. Not just noticeable upon search - some self-appointed activists were not going to have a reasonable excuse to commit to a search when the actual law was present. 
	No, if she hadn't a reason to suspect these were witch-hunters she had met before, it had to be something one could notice from afar. Yanin himself couldn't, so not a regular unusually perceptive person, and she had not been worried about the Fadewatcher. A skilled mage, then? Mind control? Summoning - like the Melenian? Wild magic? Necromancy? Wasn't necromancy the only one of those that affected one's soul outside of its active use? Seemed most likely. The follower of Reina, of all people, had learned the art of necromancy? Us... We... Both her and Lhirinthyl, then? 
	The laws were in place for a reason. The mess in the manor was a living proof of it, summoners losing control of their thralls, vigilantes acting without rhyme and reason causing unknown amounts of collateral damage where doing literally [i]nothing[/i] might have just maintained the existing state of affairs... Pursuing every transgression in full force was not [i]always[/i] to everyone's best interest. At least as long as no harm had been knowingly done to someone innocent.
	"Best for you to not draw their attention, then," he simply stated in a low tone, proceeding forth without further comment. Details could be worked out later. 
	The older nightwalker, armor glinting in colours of more worth than most people saw in their whole lives, had caught up with them in the mean, drawing an equally, if not more impressive sword. It looked silvery, but silver readily tarnished, just ever so subtly[i] too bright[/i] to be even the most carefully polished steel. Deo'irah was immediately interested, inquiring about it in Fermian. A rare specialty of true deigan - you could probably buy an entire city for a sartal sword that flawless. 


	"Miss, are you okay?" Jordan asked somewhere behind Sir Yanin, reflexively halting and holding out his non-spear-bearing arm and hand when it momentarily appeared that she might falter and fall, briefly stopping half a step head of her. Since Jaelnec had self-assigned himself to protect the deigan woman, it briefly appeared that she had spontaneously obtained two bodyguards. After a few seconds, though, Jordan's vaguely concerned eyes going from the deigan to his master, the squire hurried on, even as Deo'Irah turned some of her controlled water to ice and set it down, and Sir Yanin appeared to perform one last check before actually entering the armory, even as Lhirinthyl relentlessly marched forward amid chanting up a spell. 


	There was no movement in the immediate inside. Deo'Irah commented something about her magic, and [i]twelve[/i] angels. That was quite a bit more than Lady Bor had counted, if accurate... [i][b]Don't[/b] draw attention.[/i] Useful though the information may be. 
	The only evidently iron weapons in the room appeared to be four iron truncheons, both himself and Jordan grabbed one after setting their borrowed spears down. 
	Lhirinthyl didn't bear to wait, and magic swung the double doors open to reveal a bleeding man and a peculiar conglomeration of Lady Bor's currently appropriated furniture, twisting in preparation of facing its previous or new opponent. The injured man's equipment stood out, however - darker, maybe iron. And [i]this [/i]sword might actually have been silver. Things to counter magical opponents. 
	It was not unlikely, then, that this was one of the "witch-hunters" that had contributed to the mess. It might be best to inform Deo'Irah to leave this one to the surgeon, at least until proven otherwise. Lhirinthyl sent a number of small metal projectiles flying into the makeshift body of the table-wraith ... but despite having access to iron projectiles, continued forth into the room, breaking at least a few cardinal rules for winning unstructured combat. Never leave yourself exposed or enter areas without checking them as closely as possible. If possible, fight only one opponent at a time. That was at least two, if not three. 
	"Sil-" Yanin had began, even as the table-wraith recoiled and- Something grabbed Lhirinthyl. "Ah, fhh-"
	He moved immediately, grabbing hold of the final truncheon with his remaining free hand, darting two strides forward forward, left arm with one properly held truncheon moving into high block ready to transition into parry or hit, right drawn back with the other held loosely by the end, taking the final stride into the doorframe, leaving the other foot back and lowering his body - just a glance was enough, at Lhyrinthyl, at the liquid blob trying to reel him in - and the right arm moving forward and up in an facsimile of a vertical axe-throw, aimed at the center-mass of the blob. 
	As soon as the weight of the weapon was no longer touching his right gauntlet, he was already carrying his weight back onto his trailing foot, quarter-turning and half retreating back behind the doorframe, still ready to deliver a follow-up parry or attack. All in one seamless motion, sent only by the inevitable clinks of metal from the rapid motion and one breath released, and one drawn. In the background, Jordan began to move himself to the other side of the open door.

	Taking a kilogram of iron in the face was bound to be rather distracting if you were made of water and intolerant of iron. 
	
[h3]Madara[/h3]

	[i]“Ah, yes. The town was attacked during the night, and I...”[/i] The man gestured at his thigh. [i]“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.”[/i]
	Madara winced, softly, compassionately. "We - myself and the deigan follower of Reina - arrived at the guardhouse not long before the bell called for aid." She shook her head. "The three we didn't have time to do much for should be fine for now, but we're going to have to return there. We'll return to you, too." She looked up at the man's face. Trying to determine if she should inquire about the state of the manor more. Maybe a little. Maybe the rest later. 
	"There have been more people here in days gone, no?" Baroness Vela Bor's entire party. And now? A couple of servants, a couple of guards - maybe a handful of guards before this day. Seemingly hardly any people who were actual friends. Quite sad, in a way. Being old should not mean being stuck to the past. 
	"I am no fighter - I'm merely a surgeon and a seamstress from a town a bit larger than this one." Madara smiled sadly. "But I will see if I can help anyone in rooms the others have under control. Unless you know something that might help us?"