[h3]Madara[/h3]
	[color=39b54a]"I've only ever seen angels in imagery, never in person before today, let alone speaking with them," [/color]the half-palanter admitted, briefly withholding hersef when Kinder finished what she and Irah had started. 
	[color=39b54a]"Palanters, all full-bloods, at least, but most half-bloods, too, can also choose to fly - but only at the expense of the ability to birth new life and their old form, the dexterity of their hands especially, never to be able to revert back to their old life even if memories persist. Strange thought, that."[/color] 
	Angels didn't remember their past lives, after all. And not all appeared to have the same fondness for their full body. Caleb, in particular. 	
	[color=39b54a]"I can only venture the guess that for many of the more gentler souls among angels, it's not about the pleasure, but the cost,"[/color] Madara surmised, leaning over to brush hair from Bren's face and see if she could arrange him more comfortably until the time came to transport him off. His mind might not remember it, but joints could complain something fierce if they'd been forced into an unnatural position for too long.  

[h3]Sir Yanin Glade[/h3]
	There was very little. 
	No letters, no names, no items that were obviously taken from these people's previous targets, just small, personal things that Yanin, much like the pieces of armor they wore and the weapons they had held, futilely checked for any kind of markings or insignia. If the mismatched and patchy armour - some probably taken from non-humans of similar size and build, he suspected - wasn't enough of an indication, then these people hadn't been wealthy. A lot of seemed to have even taken the effort to specifically conceal what little coin they had on their bodies. 
	The knight gathered up the occasional Rodlin into a piece of fabric he had liberated, but once ascertaining none of those were engraved or otherwise distinguished, just left the rings and other jewelry and knicknacks on the bodies. Money was just money; those things were personal. Even children's toys and a silver locket that, albeit otherwise unmarked, held a lock of hair, perhaps from a lover. 
	He stared at it for a dozen seconds, jaw glanced, before returning the locket to the corpse and getting back up again. Even those bloody sods had definitely had family and children, at some point or even now, survived by them. [i]They had talked about going back home, didn't they?[/i] 
	One could only wonder how many of these people were truly evil, and how many of them merely sought to provide for their families or had lost too much, and were now trying to find purpose and an enemy to blame. Some of them could have joined for the lust of killing or power, some of the items could be trophies of fallen victims, but not all, and most likely, not the majority. There really wasn't that much that needed to go wrong for an average person to go down a twisted path.
	
	Not that it was of any consolation to the poor penin and nightwalkers caught in the wrong place, at the wrong time, or any friends and family they might have had. Senseless violence during an age of death. 

	Thirty-one. Thirty-two with Bren. Didn't bode well for their little group, Yanin figured as he headed back to where Vela and a couple others were. 
	[color=f7976a]"Caleb said there were thirty-two sapients other than us here. That leaves one crusader unaccounted for. Nabi, Caleb, Lady Bor, any ideas?"[/color] He assumed that Kinder, who had now moved closer to stop the two remaining injured crusaders from bleeding out, would simply forward it to Caleb. Quintin could have an idea, too, but he was a bit out talking distance.
	Long shot, but worth a try. The last thing they needed in this bloody mess was a witness-messenger of indubitably hostile intent. 
	
	Once it was evident whether or not there was anything to do about [i]that,[/i] he showed the tied-up cloth of Rodlin relieved from the dead to the Baroness, perhaps even just handing it over if it appeared she wanted to take it here and now. 
	[color=f7976a]"Naught anything on them. Just unsigned personal memoraphilia and some coins. Reckon the latter should go to the families of the fallen,"[/color] he commented. Who knew whether everyone Lady Bor had at her disposal were equally honest. Seemed more reliable for the Baroness to have full control over the redistribution of the Crusaders' wealth. [color=f7976a]"Request the items not on the bodies to be brought over; maybe there's yet something indicative of their plans and deeds in there."[/color]

	[color=f7976a]"And Kinder? Please do get Sir Freagon and Deo'Irah together for a talk. Now rather than later. Time [i]is[/i] running out. I'll see that the others have something else to do."[/color]
	Now was as good time as any, with few people around and not [i]too[/i] much time lost. Withering only took about a week to kill, maybe day less, maybe day more, and for as far as he knew, Sir Freagon might have lost one of those days already. 
	There weren't many iriao available, and while they couldn't possibly remove the Withering completely, seemingly nothing could, not even the full gods, he had at least heard divine healing could [i]delay[/i] it. Was it a day, a week, even two? He didn't know. The least they could do was take any time they could get, the sooner the better. 
	One could only imagine how much divine taint one would accumulate by trying to get a third of an entire body's worth of gray decaying mush restored to functional flesh. It wasn't illogical to conclude that one could only beat it back in its early stages so many times before the divine taint from the healing itself became lethal. 
	Divine taint could be devastating; Kinder's makeshift form was already beginning to visibly crumble. Caleb might yet end up needing to resummon her, preferably into something else than Deo'Irah. Couldn't have done her any favors, this day. 

[h3]Jordan Forthey[/h3]

	Quintin had been wrong. None of these three had been humans. The three he had thought were turned out to be nightwalkers, like Jaelnec and Sir Freagon were. And, from the other people talking, not too subtly from the prisoners' side, and Lhirinthyl bringing out a red tabard, he could only infer these people had been from the Crusaders' Guild. The same people who had killed Jaelnec's family fifteen years ago. 
	Even if these people weren't literally his kind, that could only be relatable in the worst possible way. That really was the worst thing he could have chosen to do, was it not? Or maybe not, maybe it was some kind of weird closure thing, or maybe he'd break down or swear vengeance - in a cruel twist of irony, not unlike the guy Yanin had spared and Quintin had killed, violence-begets-violence-like -, or... 
	Jordan had grown still  with indecision, his blood running cold, looking from the dead nightwalkers to the living one. What [i]did[/i] one say in a scenario quite like that? The other squire hadn't reacted immediately and violently, at least, but he probably still needed to do or say something other than stand there in silence like a fence post.
	[color=00aeef]"Er, Jaelnec?"[/color] He asked, closely looking at the nightwalker's face. He wasn't going to repeat Irah's mistake of trying to touch him if he wasn't exactly sure there wasn't anything he could snap out of or into, even if he now had [i]all[/i] the weapons and Jaelned just had a dagger still on him. 
	Or actually, maybe he did have an idea ... he knew very little abut nightwalker customs, but... But he might still need to see how the other reacted first.