[h3]Jordan Forthey[/h3]

	Amid the many things going on, the deigan couple, the two nightwalkers - the younger of whom seemed friendly enough, if a bit shy, and the older of whom had every bit of the approachability Sir Yanin had, along with seemingly similar amount of love for chatter. 
	It had taken a few years to get used to the thought that his (back then future) master was not [i]actually[/i] an intrinsically violent man, just exceptionally [i]capable[/i] at fighting. And distrustful. And duty-bound. And about as hopeless with being socially agreeable as he was intelligent and liable to remember everything ever said and done. It remained to be seen if it was any similar with Sir Freagon, but something in the look was immediately similar. 
	Granted, the tall human knight was currently [i]fairly[/i] talkative for himself, seeing how he had a specific task to focus on, a task that required coordinating. Jordan suspected that it had something to do with tactics being approachable with sheer logic, no emotion of innate understanding of empathy required. Almost as if people were slightly less reliable weapons to be commanded, rather than ... well, people. Once the fight was over and the living weapons returned to being humans and deigan and penin and nightwalkers and assorted other folks, Sir Yanin Glade went back to compensating for cluelessness with borderline paranoia. 
	If "the boy's" - Jaelnec's - master was anything like his, then some amount of apprehension was understandable. [i]Trust me, I don't even know why am I bothering half the time, either.[/i] Three whole years, and it seemed he had no more hope at ever being his master's equal than the day he had started training. At least until the few actual conflicts as a guard came up, and at least somewhat fortified the understanding that the [i]average [/i]person knew to fight ... almost not at all. And the average thug was not vastly better, relying on ambush and being bigger, stronger and more armed than the hapless target. 
	So perhaps not quite as hopeless. He didn't need to be [i]better.[/i] He didn't even be [i]as good.[/i] He just needed to be good [i]enough.[/i] Use the environment. Use every single unfair advantage there was. Isolate your opponents. Never leave line of sight or yourself exposed. 

	The deigan woman - Deo'Irah - seemed to be faltering. Had she already spent herself healing others? That was ... concerning. Jaelnec seem to have taken to guarding her especially, which was... Well. She was a petite woman, bestowed with the same beauty deigan were famed for, wearing garments that were very from-fitting and a touch too thin for the advancing autumn, and they were essentially marching into battle. It probably wouldn't have taken too much effort from her to make Jordan himself noticeably flustered. Jaelnec was just slightly too obvious about it even without her [i]doing[/i] anything. Besides, she already came with a companion. 
	Once inside, he followed Sir Yanin's example and swapped the spear for a truncheon, only for Lhyrinthil to wander too deep in his assault, be caught, and prompt the knight to grab a second truncheon and rush to intervene before the wraith could just go and snap the mage's neck. By the time Jordan made his own way over to the other side of the door, his master had already thrown the extra lump of metal and retracted to the comparative safety of the manor, causing the animated water to toss the male deigan aside and fall in front of the door. 
	Driven mostly by the appearance of the lump of fluid close to his feet and vaguely assuming Sir Yanin would be able to counter whatever else tried to lung at him from his high guard with the remaining truncheon from the other side of the door, Jordan took a half-step forward, careful to only expose only his arm and the truncheon to bring the latter down on the barely coherent remnant of the wraith, and, if it dispersed, use its end to swipe the fourth truncheon back into the armory, along with retracting himself and sending a glance behind him, at the little congregation of people who had yet to join the fight - the nightwalkers, Deo'Irah, and the black-skinned newcomer, who appeared equally ready for combat and indecisive. 
	Lhirinthyl didn't seem to be faring quite as well, as just as he landed on his knee, the carpet came to life and wrapped itself around him. 


[h3]Sir Yanin Glade[/h3]

	Sir Yanin, ever ready to act upon anything that decided to come for his squire or any other of them, was making a mental list of everything that was in the room, from the two destabilized wraiths, to the third, new one, to the image on the opposing wall, to the brief image he had been able take in as he reached out, to anything that could move freely, from dust to ... hopefully not the walls of the manor itself.
	There was a glint of metal in the air;  Lhirinthyl's magic still held. Good control. The injured potential witch-hunter moved forward. 
	"You!" the human knight snapped at him. The glint of metal flashed into the rug. The table was still scampering about. Before anything else happened and if need be, he would have just about enough time to give a single other instruction, or more likely direction - left, right, up, down, halt, back, stop, forward, retreat. With his equipment it was not overly likely one of the wraiths would like to give him a hug, but throwing something at him or magic were still options. 
	As were, equally and indistinguishably, sheer unadulterated fanaticism and some misguided attempt to help on the other side.
	

[h3]Madara[/h3]

	A big yet empty house indeed. Even with their brief interaction, one could tell that Baroness Vela Bor was still an adventurer at heart, not pampered nobility. Might nevertheless have gotten more than she bargained for when she eventually brought the adventure to her instead. 
	Madara lightly touched her fingers to the man's shoulder and looked up at him as he explained their situation. Their losses. The unspoken probability that his second colleague might not return, either. Back in the guardhouse, the more combat-oriented types had promised to try and get the healer back. Yet to be seen if they'd be more successful, should the battle be won here.
	Her eyebrow raised slightly as he continued to answer her second question, awaiting, until finally expressing... Ah! Naturally, it could be quite important indeed. Could make the lives of those inside quite a bit more interesting. 
	"Of course it is important," she affirmed - tone more assurance than scolding. But also a tiny sliver of the latter - self-doubt could easily bring men and women to ruin. "If you're right, it could yet beget a much more significant affair, and a lot less reason." Amber eyes narrowed as the half-palanter glanced at the unassuming form of the manor, fingers absently slightly tightening their grip on the man's shoulder. "Thank you."
	And just like that, she was gone, her slender and strong figure almost gliding down the short path to the manor. 

	Inside, the assortment of armored and magical combatants had already engaged; she herself remained by the exterior entrance for the moment, quite content with letting the fighters render the room [i]mostly [/i]safe before getting herself further involved. 
	"Evidently," her voice cut over the ruckus, eyes fixed pointedly on the two nightwalkers, as they seemed to be the least busy out of the lot with the humans and deigan tackling at least three wraiths and barking orders at someone stumbling around further inside, "The little summoner imbibed something as she fled to the upper floor. [i]Might[/i] have been piaan. Thought you lot might want to take note of it."