[center][h2][b][color=silver]Lhirinthyl[/color][/b][/h2][/center][hr]
No traps, barely anything of note at all, not even an unexpected threat. Simultaneously good, slightly satisfying, and yet disappointing. It was the result of being primed for action and then finding that one’s vigilance was not rewarded. Still, he was grateful and though he did not let himself relax as of yet, Lhirin did allow himself to focus more singularly for a moment. His eyes trailed first over the armor, then once he could he carefully shifted it, and when nothing else occurred he fully moved it aside and there it was: evidence of interest.

Lhirin’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. He unfolded one of the shocks of red cloth…. [i]‘The Crusader’s Guild,’[/i] he thought darkly, briefly gritting his teeth before he balled the cloth back up in his free hand and then rose. Lhirin didn’t care about the cuirass, it was of middling quality, well-cared for, but not truly remarkable in any way. It was like the armor of the brute Freagon had killed.

Lhirin stood, casting one more lingering gaze over the interior of the building that he could see, before shaking his head and leaving it from whence he’d come.

Irah was gone, but he’d heard her footsteps fading in the direction of the other battlefield, it was just as well that she checked on the others if the mistake he’d made had already been ameliorated. That in mind, Lhirin’s silver gaze shifted over to the healer, noting Irah’s work before he looked to Freagon.

[color=silver][b]“Unwise to leave the healer alone,”[/b][/color] he stated. [color=silver][b]“Would you stay, or should I?”[/b][/color] The question was delivered in a neutral tone that spoke of it being a purely practical communication moreso than anything else. It would be especially…problematic to leave Bren alone given they were still catatonic from the influence of the Swaigh.

Freagon offered a curt shrug. "I'll stay. Someone has to tie up the thugs in there anyway. You can go catch up with your [I][abbr=Fermian term of affection translating to 'my light'; also what Lhirin called Irah moments prior]vreharhn[/abbr][/I]."

Lhirin nodded in reply, but glanced at Bren again, his gaze lingering this time. [color=silver][b]"Messy business...I am...usually much more precise. It is the drug,"[/b][/color] he commented, the emotion in his voice difficult to parse, perhaps regret...perhaps annoyance directed inwards. He shook his head. The Knight of the Will hadn't displayed any sense of caring for such things, but it bore some explanation, if brief. Lhirin could recognize that the blunder would have made him look reckless and perhaps even foolish. He could be the former sometimes, he knew...but this had been less about that and more a result of interrupted cognition. [color=silver][b]"Should not have used so much magic at the manor. Inefficient  given we knew the heale--no, that Bren needed to be retrieved."[/b][/color] Lhirin pursed his lips briefly, looking up from Bren's catatonic form.

Then, without any further words, nothing to cap off the voice self-reflection or properly end their interaction for the moment--as people usually would have done--he turned and walked towards where he'd heard Irah's footsteps heading. He’d make his way across the distance, regarding the tree upon which the five bodies were hung, partially obscured in the foliage.

When he came into earshot, Irah was addressing Lady Bor, but he only caught the last sentence, [i]‘Judge him as you see fit.’[/i] Lhirin closed enough space to be easily heard, and spoke up before anything was actually done with the one-handed bandit. [color=silver][b]“Crusader’s Guild,”[/b][/color] Lhirin offered, half raising his previously free hand and letting the scarlet tabard emblazoned with their distinctive symbols. His tone was somewhat perfunctory, words ever-so-slightly clipped in a way that made his speech sound somewhat staccato–though this was essentially how he always spoke.

[color=silver][b]“Found in a chest where they were holding Bren. One of many,”[/b][/color] he added as he came up beside Irah. He let the scarlet tabard drift to the dirt as his silver eyes moved to the wounded bandit. When the tabard landed, Lhirin–still looking far too intensely at the man–deliberately ground his heel down on it. [color=silver][b]“I know not if he told you anything of worth,”[/b][/color] the deigan mage began, something dark and electric in his eyes as he stared at the man with an intensity that differed entirely from what the others would have come to know–to some degree–was the norm for him. This was more like…carefully controlled anger, but more targeted and precise, sharp.

He sheathed his Runeblade, finally and as he did so, he lightly rubbed Irah’s forearm nearest him before reaching into one of his pouches and extracting one of his iron needles. Among the same needles he’d used to deal with the divines back at the manor. [color=silver][b]“...but I doubt it is what is needed.”[/b][/color]

[color=silver][b]“If need be, I am…certain, we can coax more useful things from this creature.”[/b][/color] It would seem, to the others, that Lhirin didn’t even consider the man to be the same as them, as if he weren’t even worth considering as a sentient, thinking being. In fact…the deigan was looking at the bandit more like he were a particularly difficult object he’d violently stubbed his toe on…or as if he were an insect–perhaps a centipede, or something equally unpleasant and grotesque. It was…more emotion than he’d shown for the majority of their time knowing him. Irah would understand that Lhirin was essentially saying he’d be exceptionally willing to torture whatever information they needed from the man.

Of course, as she would also be aware, torture was not necessarily an effective interrogation technique. Physical torture especially. Still, the threat of further, prolonged harm, rather than a likely swift end by hanging or other form of execution might serve as a much more effective motivator for the man. Especially given the fact that his unnecessarily tight grip on the needle, along with his expression, would pretty clearly indicate that it was neither an act nor an empty threat. He was…very willing to carry out the grim task and though he did not precisely relish it, well…Irah always said it best.

[i]‘Forswear Mercy. Invite Malice.’[/i]