[h3]Madara[/h3]

	For most of the skirmish, the half-palanter was relegated to the position of an observer, eyes and ears tracking the motion and - as one was wont to do if one had spent long enough being in a more hands-on medical field of expertise - idly analyzing the mechanism and severity of each and every injury sustained in the conflict. The unaffiliated sometimes found it a bit morbid - well, at least the humans did; palanters were more likely to find it ... quaint, one might say. 
	Punctured lung - not very lethal without an infection setting in unless there was blood or air escaping to the chest cavity and compressing the heart. Intestinal injuries? Usually a slow and gradual, messy death unless one of the few main lood vessels in the area was involved. Piercing thigh injury could go either way. Either [i]fairly[/i] survivable or - oh, it was the version with massive bleeding. Multiple fairly imminently lethal throat injuries - about half of which from Freagon, who was more just executing already-disabled targets rather than fighting... 
	All-in-all, it was a fairly speedy affair. Between arrows, bolts, blades and magic, it was but a few minutes until every bandit she could see was either dead or quite severely incapacitated - by her count, only three remained with the human knight more or less dragging one last remaining bandit out of the barn, to join the one with a punctured lung that had been among the first to be injured (and another who was preoccupied clutching his abdomen). By the manner Yanin seemed somewhat unconcerned with whatever was left behind in the barn, one could conclude there were no more living humans in there - not counting the human knight's very own squire. 

	All remaining action was concentrated by the farmhouse which Madara didn't unfortunately have a good vantage point of - she had seen Deo'Irah and Lhirinthyl vanish entirely behind the corner, followed by the older nightwalker who, it seemed, went forth to enter the building. Or not quite; there was a bang the half-palanter could hear even from her perch quite some ways off, prompting Freagon to hurriedly jump back, partway back into the surgeon-seamstress's field of vision. 
	She couldn't see what the human squire was doing - as far as she knew, he was still in the barn - but Yanin seemed to snap to attention, though keeping his halberd loosely pointed at the unarmed bandit he had extracted from the barn. 
	Faintly, [i]just about,[/i] the half-palanter could discern the words of an unfamiliar man, proclaiming the end of fun and, oh, threatening the life of 'their healer'. So Bren was alive, then, at least for the time being. To think of it, Borstown's healer was most likely [i]not [/i]immune to the influence of an angel of fear, was he? [i]Seemed like a terrible oversight indeed. [/i]
	But[i] that[/i], as they said, was a matter for later. For now, the battlefield was reasonably secure and if she yet had a role to fulfill here and now, it was likely to become actual very soon. Granted, there was one tiny little matter to take note of still - their employer, Vela Bor herself. The little old lady of Borstown did come with security detail of her own, but technically, the half-palanter had also been told to hang back with her. Which could either complicate or not complicate matters. 
	On one hand, things could yet get unpleasantly messy for the penin to witness, on the other, it was better to be ready as soon as the fighters were done doing their thing, and there was not much left to see here. Besides, Lady Bor could see as easily as Madara did that the threat other than the roaring man was as good as neutralized, and from what little she had seen about her personality back at the manor, she was [i]absolutely[/i] the kind to go forth as soon as possible when the lives of her subjects were concerned. 
	The baroness hadn't exactly waited for any of the fighters to declare the manor safe before she entered and rushed upstairs, after all. 

	She paused for a brief moment - no, there was no feasible way for even her fairly keen hearing to distinguish what, if anything, the two deigan and nightwalker responded, especially not over the rustling of leaves and other foresty ambiance. 
	[color=1a7b30]"I would appear it's now pertinent to relocate,"[/color] Madara noted - just about loudly enough for the penin to hear in the next tree over, and with that, she dropped to the ground, with nearly the same ease she had displayed climbing it. Graceful landings were a bit tricky in a tunic, but could be worse. 
	She could hear the roaring man continue with his demands as she neared Yanin's position (about thirty meters, he had said; it was safe enough to assume wherever he was, was reasonably safe position. Good enough to have an overview - though not [i]soon[/i] enough to have any means of giving input on their plans in this hostage situation, if they even had ones. 
	Lhirinthil opted for [i]lighting [/i]of all things, relieving the bandit's brain of its duties and letting the current operate the man's muscles in tearing their subject's throat open. 
	Madara didn't quite wince; the palanteran expression of displeasure tended towards a bare-fanged rasp, and it was a faint version of that which momentarily marred her countenance. That was ... annoying. Not overly likely to be lethal with the three of them there, but nevertheless quite tedious to properly fix. She didn't see clearly enough from her position, but she wouldn't have been overly surprised if it required some opening up again to fully undo ... magical healing could be very [i]blunt[/i], binding together whatever came in contact, much like a mangled wound left to heal on its own over time. 
	Vela Bor hadn't explicitly stated she preferred as little additional harm to Bren as possible, but those things generally went without saying. It wasn't a good look for them, least for the ones directly responsible for the mess. 

	In any case, the brute was very definitely dead, and whoever was left indoors, their fate in the middle of being discussed, was probably firmly under the watchful eyes of both Freagon and Lhirinthyl. The swaigh was hardly needed for longer, was it?
	[color=1a7b30]"Deo'Irah? Would you mind?"[/color] Surely, the deigan might have noticed that other action had functionally ceased and they had a bit of an audience now, albeit one that kept its distance. 

[h3]Sir Yanin Glade[/h3]

	The last bandit was one of the apparently younger ones, wearing mail and still a couple pieces hardened leather on his right hand and arm - though neither the shortsword he had managed to draw nor the leather vambrace and gauntlet had managed to save the integrity of his right hand, nearly split in two. 
	Yanin had pinned him even after mangling his dominant hand and made him discard anything even remotely harmful - belt, dagger, pieces of armor that were easy enough to remove, even boots. He was now glaring at the human knight from where he had been rather unceremoniously dropped, holding his trembling injured right hand to his chest. The guy had been the last man standing on his side, and had hence received the rather dubious honour of being the only one who was still reasonably able to speak. The others were all too injured or, overwhelmingly, too dead.

	[color=f7976a]"Was that anyone important?"[/color] the Viper asked when Sir Freagon impaled the brute, sounding perhaps even more detached than usual. Most of his attention was on keeping track of anything and everything, rendering the usually expressionless man even more so. 
	From observing the killing field, to trying to figure out who those bandits were, to trying to figure out a way for Deo'Iran, Freagon and Kinder have a little meeting bar most of the people here before Kinder's time for visiting this plane expired. 
	His group - and the other - were all alive and did not appear to be grievously injured, which was well enough, even though the hostage situation could have gone better. For the time being, Yanin opted to simply not think about the undue suffering inflicted on Borstown's healer. There was not much he could do about the limp body lying by the farmhouse's door. 

	[color=f7976a]"These people don't work entirely on their own,"[/color] he raised his voice to remind the others once they began to discuss whether or not to execute the remaining incapacitated bandits on the spot. [color=f7976a]"It's yet uncertain how much any of them know. Past that, it's Lady Bor's prerogative to decide what to do with them."[/color]
	Even if neither he nor Irah - nor anyone else here - had no qualms about playing judge and executioner, at the end of the day, not only was he a knight [i]and [/i]a Fadewatcher, they were also presently directly employed by someone who was, for better or worse, a higher instance of local law. 
	At least some of them ought to uphold proper procedure and whatever semblance of justice the world had left. Even if something deep within insisted that some of these people might already know enough to become a threat in the future. 

	But once they started taking out anyone who might be a problem ... well, his father might approve, which was enough to reinforce it was a rotten tactic. A world for those who could [i]get away with[/i] things, a world of the strongest and most cunning's right.