[h3]Jaelnec, Freagon, Irah, Lhirin, Nabi, Yanin, Jordan and Madara, Bor Manor, Borstown[/h3]
Freagon cocked his head curiously when Yanin, while looking at the older knight, indicated the ghoul Lhirin was fighting as if to direct him to intervene and defeat the creature himself. Aside from this small somatic cue, however, Freagon did not react to the human knight's unspoken instruction in the slightest; he remained exactly where he was, one foot on the presumably defeated ghoul he was standing on, his sword lowered passively as he simply watched.
His lack of obvious action did not mean that he did not appreciate Yanin's intent, though, nor the insight that intent suggested. Freagon agreed on the other knight's assessment: it would make far more practical sense for him to simply run up there and cut down the ghoul with Roct rather than standing by passively and let the mages expend their limited stores of magical energy to take four times longer to destroy the thing. Though he was no mage himself, he still had enough experience with magic to realize that Lhirin, Irah and Nabi had all spent a considerable amount of magical energy already; energy that might have been useful for handling the greater threat that supposedly still loomed ahead of them.
But unlike Yanin, Freagon was not particularly invested in defeating their enemies as quickly, safely and efficiently as possible. He had not come to Borstown for better equipment, in the hopes of riches or even out of curiosity; he had come here, fully expecting to be turned away by Baroness Bor, in the hopes of meeting other adventurers. He wanted – no, he [I]needed[/I] to gather a competent party to travel with... and here they were. Not a party yet, but a collection of adventurers with potential for certain. Had his intent been simply to aid the penin outside clear the manor, the safest, fastest and most efficient method would likely have been for him to simply rush in and wipe out all opposition on his own, at most with Yanin along as support; everyone else just slowed him down. He had waited for them on purpose, had stood back and remained mostly passive and defensive for most of the fight not because it was the best way to win, but to create opportunities for him to observe and evaluate these people. To witness their skills, powers, strengths and weaknesses.
There was potential. How useful they might be in practice would be another matter entirely.

As Sir Yanin vanquished the final, literally disarmed ghoul with extreme prejudice, things finally seemed to slow down in the hall again; words were shared, weapons cleaned, burning blankets moved aside as swift preparations seemed to be undertaken for dealing with the assumed final threat. Freagon did not bother cleaning his weapon just yet; blood – and practically anything else – would not degrade the sartal blade, and the fighting was not over yet. He would spare a few seconds to wipe the blood off before sheathing the sword, if for no other reason then simply to avoid leaving gunk that would start to smell in the scabbard. For now he kept the sword in hand and turned his attention back to the hall.
“Deo'irah, was it?” he called, and though his voice remained eternally hoarse he did not sound winded in the least. His tone was flat and matter-of-factly, as neutral as his posture. “Can you confirm that there's only one divine left? It'd be best to avoid more... surprises.” He gestured at the middle of the floor where the sundered carpet that had captured Lhirin earlier now lay inert and soaked in water.

Over in the armory, Kinder addressed Irah to confirm what the deigan might learn with her own magical senses: [I]“I do not sense any more. It seems that no more are being summoned, at least for now. The more powerful one should be the last divine nearby... except me, of course.”[/I]
Beside her and Madara, Jaelnec finally recovered enough to stand up straight again, though he was far from back to full capacity just yet. His cheeks were wet with tears and he kept blinking rapidly as the world remained a blur to him, with a bright red outline of Lhirin's lightning still burned into his retinas. It would probably take a while for his vision to recover completely – assuming the light had not been severe enough to do permanent damage – but at least the pain had receded to the point of being manageable, and he was no longer completely blind.
Still, this had not been his proudest moment. Any hope he had had to possibly show off his skills and maybe impress Irah, Nabi or Madara had been squashed the instant a bolt of lightning – even a small one as was the case here – had manifested within his field of vision. Instead he now appeared weak and amateurish on top of being actually mostly defenseless. The pain, though severe, was nowhere near as crippling as the shame and disappointment.