[h3]Jaelnec, Freagon, Irah, Lhirin, Nabi, Yanin, Jordan and Madara – Forest north of Borstown, Bandit Farm[/h3]
“I do not sense any sapients nearby besides the ones who arrived here with you and your prisoners,” Kinder was the first to reply to Yanin's query of suggestions concerning the one potential crusader that seemed unaccounted for. “Caleb also confirms that he does not sense anyone nearby within sensory range. This could mean that the last sapient has died and not been found, or that they left.”
“I'm guessing the latter,” Vela sighed, idly tapping the fingers of her left hand on the back of her right hand, producing a faint clicking noise from the gentle impact of exoskeleton on exoskeleton. Her eyes lowered and half-closed as she shook her head in resignation. “[abbr=Mountainspeak for “dented” or “damaged”. Also a mild expletive][I]bhûhl[/I][/abbr] it, we should have expected someone might get away when we all attacked from the same direction rather than surround them... but we didn't have the manpower for that either. Nothing that can be done about it now, the little [abbr=Mountainspeak insult meaning essentially “piece of shit”][I]g'vassi[/I][/abbr] will be long gone by the time we find his trail.”
“It could be someone unaffiliated with the rest,” Kinder pointed out hopefully. “Like a second prisoner that got away during the confusion. We do not know that the missing sapient was one of the crusaders.”
The baroness scoffed. “As if we'd be that lucky. I admire your optimism, angel, but I'm sure this just means we let a child-murderer get away unscathed.”

“I'll see to that it's done,” Vela acknowledged Yanin's recommendation that the coins looted off the dead crusaders be distributed to the families of the crusaders' victims. She offered him a small smile and a nod of respect, clearly impressed by the gesture.

“[I]Not in a way that would be practically useful,[/I]” Caleb telepathically responded to Irah's question. “[I]You are right that I could theoretically create an illusion such as you describe, but this would be on a whole other scale than the one back then. It would require a tremendous amount of energy to create, and more energy to sustain than I could siphon even if I were to stay here.[/I]”

[h3]Jaelnec and Jordan – Forest north of Borstown, Bandit Farm, under the tree[/h3]
Over under the tree with the now-retrieved bodies arranged neatly beside it, Jaelnec had taken to simply standing there, staring blankly at the body of the young nightwalker boy, his expression inscrutable. This was not his first time seeing something like this, nor was it the worst he had been exposed to. Not only had he witnessed gruesome things while traveling as Freagon's page, including dead children in various stages of decay or having been partially consumed by some vile beast, but... yes, as Jordan surmised unbeknownst to him, something like this did indeed evoke his own origins. He looked at the boy, someone he had never met before and had no connection to past the fact that they belonged to the same species, and his brain “helpfully” and unbidden recalled the scene when he had discovered his family fifteen years ago. His parents. His younger sister. The blood. The flames. The sword.
It was difficult to sufficiently put what he was feeling into words, but what came to mind for him was “empty” or “hollow.” It was not that he was feeling nothing, but that he felt as though everything that had filled him prior seemed to drain away and leave him feeling cold and heavy inside.
He only tore his attnetion away from the boy when Jordan addressed him, which made his eyes widen with a start, as though he had been jolted awake. For a moment he just looked surprised, but then he donned a small, mirthless smile as he averted his gaze from Jordan and the corpses alike. “I'm okay,” he lied in the grand scheme of things, but not intentionally so; he was just referencing a more specific circumstance rather than his general state of being. “I think I've calmed down a bit. Thank you.”
Looking down, Jaelnec noticed the sword in Jordan's hand, which prompted him to first check the scabbard on his hip and then glance back to where he had dropped it earlier and visually confirm that it was missing from both. He went to retrieve it with a sheepish smile.

[h3]Irah and Freagon – Forest north of Borstown, Bandit Farm[/h3]
“Hm? Urgent?” Freagon grumbled when Irah and Kinder approached him, turning his lone eye on them with disinterest. “Yes, I suppose I did tell Sir Yanin that I'd let you waste your time.” He looked around to check that no one else were within earshot before continuing: “I bear the mark of the Withering.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” Kinder immediately started doting, waddling closer and reaching out one crumbling doll-arm. “You must –”
“Save it,” the knight sighed impatiently, dismissing the affectionate Angel of Mercy with a wave of his hand. He turned his attention back to Irah. “What I didn't tell Sir Yanin is that I've had the mark for over a week already, and as you can see I'm still here. So I'm not really as worried as him. I'm guessing it has to do with my soul not being what you'd call 'normal', but it seems it's not killing me as fast as it does other people. And even if it does...” He shrugged. “I've died before. But if you and the scarecrow think you can do anything, feel free to try. It's not as though you can make it much worse.”