[h3]Sir Yanin Glade[/h3]

	Briefly, fleetingly, there was a pressure upon his hand and arm, fruitlessly trying to yank it back. It yielded abruptly, in a snapping, crunching tear as the ghoul's head was all but removed entirely. Mostly decapitated, it began to stumble as its feet found the stone. 
	It didn't [i]have[/i] a couple of seconds to try and regain its footing. In a quarter of one after its sword hit the stone of the floor, the truncheon, having arced back even as the ghoul still amid its newly-beheaded stumble, would have its end slammed into the ghoul's center-back, hard into its spine. If the first contact had partially halted its progression deeper into the hall, then the second one made sure the ghoul fell further into the hall, spine presumably cracked and silver sword clanging against the manor floor. 
	Even if it still had the articulation and presence of mind to try and take a reflexive swipe at him, it would have been too far, too late. Assuming it had been thrown down, even its feet would be a couple meters from his, its arms and torso safely out of reach, and too far away compared to more immediate threats to be the first priority for going after. 
	The second ghoul on this side of the stairs had taken four more running strides down the stairs in the interim, rushing forward with abandon, with the fabric-based wraith just two flops behind.  
	The knight's weight shifted to the foot facing his other two adversaries, truncheon held low to the side, longsword held high. Briefly, the end of the truncheon referred to the unassuming figure of the blanket-wraith making its way down the stairs. Clumsy as it might have appeared, it was a living rope, or an obstruction to be cast over the unwary while the others cut them down. Potentially annoying. 
	"Burn it," he stated - an instruction, perhaps. Or more of a recommendation. You always maintained a plan for handling things on your own. As he said the words, the ghoul took three more strides. 
	[i]Close enough.[/i]
	One stride forward, turn of wrist, and a precise strike from below, aimed at the ghoul's lower sword-arm, truncheon as if [i]incidentally[/i] raised to block the silver sword from parrying the steel one. Barring the ghoul displaying some momentum-defying stunt or swordmanship beyond what most trained humans could muster, it was going to be a hand short for the rest of its brief stay in the mundane realm. 
	And just as quickly, Yanin would retract his final stride, quarter-turn, and arc the sword down to low guard while the truncheon remained waist-level. Out of the way from direct rush, and prepared for what he suspected was to come. 

	Somewhere behind and to the side of him, Jordan took the third step forward since the wraith just about missed having its second arm demolished, into the two shards flung at him, even as his left arm swung out in an attempt to bat the third one aimed at the dark-skinned woman out of the air. The two trained on him shattered into dozens of smaller pieces and a minuscule cloud of dust upon impacting the truncheon he held in his right, the little porcelain bits pattering against his vambrace and chestplate.