Shienvien

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Sir Yanin Glade

Caleb expressed dismissiveness of Deo'Irah's attempts at trying to forge a new pact of some kind, and asserted, once more, that it was quite ... resigned, perhaps, to the perceptions the denizens of both realms were bound to have of it.
It was strange, then, to comprehend how apparently similar both worlds were, despite appearances (or lack thereof). In the end, the only difference between them was that divines were not liable to truly die. Not like deigan - indeterminate though their lifespans were, deigan were just as mortal as anyone else. Caleb, in turn, had an eternity to sort its existence out, so a more permanent form of enslavement might have indeed been the only thing the fallen angel truly feared.
Evidently it was no quicker to trust any chance encounters than he was, and it was fair.

Caleb seemed to agree that subterfuge when dealing with the approach of the lady of the manor was ill-advised and ultimately futile. Freagons reply, if a bit superfluous at this time, was thematically a bit more interesting. He had cited what was a part of the code of the supposedly-extinct Knights of the Will, Yanin believed, and asserted that truth was the honorable and loyal option. There would typically also be also 'evil' in that chain, would there not?
Perhaps it was a matter of irrelevance to the scenario, not of any significance. It hadn't taken long for the old nightwalker to bring up his order again; the question was, then, how truly did he believe the tenets he swore by, and what his personal interpretation of the more subjective aspects of it were. Truth was truth, there was no changing it. Loyalty was, for the most part, straightforward, however too freely given by many. But honour? Honour - or at least components of it - were up to interpretation. And, unfortunately, so could be aspects of what one considered to be evil.
As for how to handle the matter with Lady Bor, though? In the end, the talkative lot had taken long enough to contemplate that it ceased to matter entirely.

The penin had made her entrance, giving the room an once-over, then relaxing. Evidently, she knew Caleb, and took but a second to deduce what had taken the lot of them half a dozen minutes. It made things simpler, if just. There was no telling whether most of the town would be as understanding of the fallen thalk's continued presence as Lady Bor was.
“Is it over?” she simply asked.
"Reckon so. There ought to be no other divines left here but Caleb, and I am reasonably confident in the exact fates of every guest. Requested my squire to ascertain and see to the survivor."
Deo'Irah gave her own, much more elaborate overview of the events, "[...] Lhirin? Sir Yanin?"
"That's the gist of it," the knight affirmed. The wraiths could have been all Feveesha's, but this detail was most likely not relevant, and Caleb took it upon itself to remind them that it could just depart on its own. Earlier, it had outright stated that not only could it, but short of magically binding it there, they would not even had means of stopping it.

So the scout was back. Unlike the others', Yanin's apparent demeanor - what little of it could be seen through the armour, anyway - didn't seem to change, though he, at last, opted to re-sheathe his sword as he listened.
Lady Bor would be coming with, along with who exactly? The butler and the cook - if that was what the two unarmoured folks outside had been - were hardly suited for the task.
"The bell-ringer and the scout? If I am not mistaken, the former is already injured." Injured people were more liable to make mistakes, and vastly more liable to die. You only got them involved in extreme need. The scout had been a while from what he had gathered. Could be a long way to limp over, even after Madara and Deo'Irah had done what they could. It had been implied the female deigan was quite spent. The male, if he'd seen and interpreted correctly? Perhaps not, though his rationality could be impaired. Seemed a bit rash even before.
As Freagon lumped them both under "mages", Yanin actually turned his head to look at Lhirinthyl.
"Do you?" he inquired. If he was right, he didn't, not really - but the unpredictability could prove an issue. "We can't ascertain we have the time to rest. I don't have anything to recover from; neither does Jordan."

"Caleb, can you wear garments other than your own robe?" he - quite abruptly - addressed the thalk as Lady Bor quite explicitly invited it to come outside with the rest.
The matter of the town's opinion of him remained, and Caleb itself had said it couldn't move and keep up a magical disguise. As far as Yanin was aware, thalks always seemed to come equipped with their particular robes, and as far as he knew these robes might have been literally parts of their actual bodies, not garments at all. In any case, with the height already making them stand out, the robes did little to make them even more distinct, even before you saw their claws and red faces. Something different, even if it ended up having to be atop of the robes, could help.
People talked. It was inevitable.

Now, if Caleb could be in position and wait before they make a move? If the bandits had no mages, it should be a while before it would become noticeable.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Jordan Forthey

Quintin seemed to have no objections to moving to the station, either, though he also seemed to prefer waiting for the baroness before switching locations.
"Very well then," the half-palanter concurred, briefly touching hand above her bosom and nodding her head in a slight bow. "I shall await you there."
And just like that, she was off, not running, but effortlessly gliding, only the fluttering of her tunic and the passing of objects betraying that she was doing so at a pace that surpassed that of any regular walking speed.

"Unless any of those the healers could take a look at have recovered enough or someone else has arrived, then maybe two men, and one of whom had at least a bandaged arm," Jordan surmised, rubbing the bridge of nose ... and suppressing the sudden urge to try and dust his hair of any errant pieces of pottery, which would probably have been quite the stark contrast to the overall gravity of the situation. He can do that later.
He hadn't gotten quite as close look as Sir Yanin or Madara, but there hadn't exactly been many people who could be fit to come, even disregarding the sheer mental and physical fatigue those still standing likely experienced. They hadn't ran to the alarm ringing along with the rest of them, after all, and realistically, they might have been barely standing by sheer willpower. "Please, no more," one of them had pleaded when they first entered.
His master might also point out how leaving the town with literally just a dozen farmers with pitchforks to defend it might be on the risky side. The whole damn mission was on the risky side. One could only hope against hope that no more lives would be lost just to save a single one.

Nabi shook her head in response to his query, but just as quickly switched over to clarifying a couple points in what Quintin had just said. Wouldn't that be better done when everyone was gathered around a table, so to speak? Maybe, maybe not.
"We might need a way to contact one another that wouldn't alert the bandits, at least, then. As you said, lines of sight might be a little unreliable at times."

It didn't escape the squire's attention that the young nightwalker seemed a bit dejected when asked to fetch the others rather than stay part of the discussion. Well, someone had to, and out of all the options there... In the end, he had just about enough time to glance first at Madara's disappearing back and then at Quintin before offering an apologetic shrug in the brief moment preceding the nightwalker, too, turning and disappearing off, though in the opposite direction from the half-palanter.
"Could not someone else have done that? We could really use as much help as we can get..."
"Do what, ask the others to come join us?" Jordan was momentarily confused, and perhaps a little flustered. "They are are our help, and, well..."

Out of the nine people there, Jordan wasn't exactly going to ask the healer not do her thing, Tedwyn was definitely out of the question, and maybe he shouldn't preferably order around Lady Bor's people, either... Not to mention that while Quintin and ... Cole, apparently, might have had the stomach for it - and even Cole looked a bit put off by the happenings -, then the two people who were clearly just house-help ... might need a bit process what the insides of the building looked like.
Could you kindly ask your lady and the rest of the lot there to hurry up, and maybe try to ignore the dismembered corpses littering the floor for a bit while you are at it? Yeah, that ... might have been a touch more awkward. Jaelnec at least had the somewhat questionable advantage of already knowing precisely what had ensued in there. Oh, and he was also one of the three people remaining on site who actually knew where the others were without further description.
So it had been between him, Nabi and Jaelnec in any case - and while his master was as decked out as could be, Jordan himself would probably need a bit to actually properly prepare before setting off, and even if he had nothing more to ask from Quintin, then he should probably at least try to not delay the others later on. And Nabi was asking questions, so she probably wanted to hear the answers... Jaelnec was the completely logical option.

"Faster to ask someone who already knows what's going on inside." He supposed that was the main takeaway, and sighed. "I might need to swap out a bit out of my equipment and fill out the missing parts before we go, at least. Today is just one of those 'a bit of a mess' days."
A bit louder, aimed at Quintin, he stated, "Can't imagine Lady Bor would be for long, in any case; the others were mostly finished from what we could tell."
For a moment more he lingered, seeing if anyone had something to add before he followed the healer.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Jordan Forthey

There was a new man - nearly as tall as Sir Yanin, maybe slightly taller than Sir Freagon, probably somewhere close to between the two in age (with nightwalkers living longer, anyway), fit and apparently unharmed, though dressed a bit less impressively than either of them.
For some reason, Jordan's mind automatically wanted to describe him as a ranger, even as the man scrutinized him and he, in turn, made note of the apparent armaments he carried. Probably a primary archer, reasonably capable swordsman, and three daggers? Either he was liable to use them in a way that could result in them being temporarily lost - throwing them maybe? it was not like smooth blades were particularly prone to getting stuck - or there was something that differentiated them, material maybe...
Jordan simply clenched his jaw and listened as Quintin delivered his initial report.

So there was probably at least (26) thirty bandits - safer to round up a little in any case - and they would probably be there for some more hours, maybe leaving the next morning, seeing how they were comparatively numerous but didn't look like they were preparing to pack up ... an hour ago, seeing that Quintin would probably have taken something like an hour to come back if he wasn't running most of the way. The knights and their respective squire and page had horses, too, but trying to chase someone down, especially once they got to some road that didn't leave obvious discernible tracks would be nigh impossible.
And there was maybe seven people on his side for certain (counting himself, Sir Yanin, the nightwalkers, Nabi, Caleb and maybe Quintin), which was something like - seven, fourteen, twenty-one, twenty-eight - four to one? Well, as the saying went, you'd need to be an absolute moron if you wanted to fight fairly four to one. With luck, they might be able to take between four and eight out from distance - the patrols, perhaps - before someone raised an alarm, but then all chaos would break lose and they'd still be three to one ... and they'd have to keep Bren alive, too, not just themselves. Regardless of what they had needed him for, right now they had no means of figuring out how intent they were on not actually killing him. Who knew, maybe they already had what they wanted and the healer was only a burden?
If only they could get him out without engaging the bandits, somehow.

"If I may?" It was Madara, who had followed them outside, speaking out first. She appeared to have stopped a slight distance behind Jordan, quietly assessing the newcomer and his words.
By all means, she was an attractive woman - the tall, hourglass, vaguely socialite type of attractive -, but something about her just told you that she could literally smell weakness, weren't nearly as defenseless as her profession and apparent lack of proper weapons let on, and maybe also that you shouldn't look at her for too long if you weren't up to her standards, whatever those were.
"Yes, go on?" the squire agreed after a brief pause, glancing at the half-palanter over his shoulder.
"Could we move this discussion to to the Fadewatcher station? I have unfinished business there, and it'd be most unkind to keep a man with a broken jaw waiting while you make whichever preparations you deem necessary for this upcoming endeavor, don't you agree? I will lend whichever additional aid I can before you depart; my pending tasks aside, I would be ready to come with as soon as I've taken possession of my remaining implements and medicine. Either myself or lady Deo'Irah I'd recommend coming along with you - as I expressed just earlier, anyone injured might have a handful of minutes, not an hour."

"Right. Well, most of my and Sir Yanin's stuff is there, and probably the deigan's in addition to yours, too, so we would have to briefly drop by there, anyway -," and it was technically on the way to their destination -, "so I guess I don't have an objection. We should pick the best equipment we have for the task and set out as soon as possible; best guess it shouldn't be more than maybe dozen, twenty minutes?"
"I shall see what I can do within that time," the half-palanter asserted, but not without - somewhat peculiarly -adding, "And, mind, anyone who deems discourse in the station not to their preference could, perhaps, wait for us behind the resident healer's lodgings."
The nightwalkers would likely have anything useful on the horses they rode in on, so that only left... "Nabi, do you have anything you might need to bring along that's not currently on you?"
"And, er, Jaelnec?" he continued, "Could you call the others and tell them where we are going? I have a feeling sweeping the rest of he house might be not that necessary anymore."
It was highly probable it'd be pointed out that they didn't really finish checking all of the building regardless, sooner or later.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Jordan Forthey and Nabisisstra Rhe'anyl Qelarn

"Good to know," Jordan had acknowledged when Jaelnec affirmed that he and Sir Freagon didn't need a break. So it was at least five (or six, counting the divine) people against ... how many exactly? He thought the local Fadewatcher his master had been speaking to said something about sixteen, which meant there were probably more; Sir Yanin himself would probably have better idea than he did from merely overhearing.
It would be preferable if the bandits could be apprehended alive, somehow (if there even was someplace to effectively contain them here), or the healer be freed and escorted out beforehand and then the bandits be dealt with, whatever it entailed... In the end, they had to be equally ready for things to turn nasty.
What had they even needed a healer without any apparent other 'hobbies' for? Enough that they'd get several of themselves killed to take him alive? Did their leader's significant other fall ill or something? No, if something like that was the case, they could have just walked in like normal people...

Nabi scratched at her jaw again. "The idea of 'being able to see me' could be hard to assure, if we have to go into a forest or somewhere similar. I will try and remain in sight, however. I will be honest, it is not you or Sir Yanin that I have concerns about. It is those of less martial culture." She noted Jaelnec and Freagon's readiness - or at least Jaelnec's assumption of readiness for the both of them - with an approving nod.
"That is good... As for you, madame," Nabi looked at Madara in turn, "it may be best to possibly stay here whilst we are out hunting - doubtless your healing skills are needed. Further... forgive my bluntness, but too many people in a tracking party has a habit of making both too much noise and attracting too much attention. I do not doubt that we are all skilled and versatile people here, but... a general does not send their entire force to scout - only those who are the best at doing so, and the quietest to avoid giving away their location. I feel that we in turn should act similarly."

If there was a change of mood in Madara's mien, it was hard to make out definitively, though as before, her one eyebrow arched slightly as Nabi spoke. "I do have pending business to attend to back at the local Fadewatcher station, and I make no pretense of being a fighter of substantial prowess past what comes with my blood. I'd not expect my skills to be required before you engage - but once the fight's upon you, the little time anyone wounded might have is a definite risk you must assess."

Jordan didn't really have time to respond before being distracted by the small figure of their temporary employer coming to sight, and hadn't outwardly reacted when Lady Bor took aim at them - just a precaution, he was sure - nor did he immediately pay attention to the sounds coming from outside past the fact that they didn't seem to be of combat, simply too preoccupied with the aftermath of their fight (under Lady Bor's apparent scrutiny, no less) and the fate of the final guest.

Nabi gave a singular nod in response when he asked her to come, and followed closely behind Jordan, a hand ready on the hilt of her sabre, ready to draw it to deal with any residual threat that might emerge. One could never be too careful, lest yet another ambuscade make itself known - and there had been quite enough of those already for Nabi's liking. "I am right behind you."

It was only after Jordan had called out for the sole survivor - and had received a rather eager response indicating that the subject was likely not actively in the process of dying, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like a makeshift barricade being dismantled - that he noticed Lady Bor latching onto Jaelnec and ... inquiring where the rest of them were? Oh.
With them being tasked to deal with the wraiths and guests, it hadn't actually even occurred to him that Baroness Bor might be expecting an explicit statement on the fates of his companions, too, in part precisely because nothing severe had happened to any of them. Sir Yanin and other superiors, as a rule, tended to take silence as a sign of exactly that, since any death or injury would need to be relayed immediately.
Ultimately, it was Madara, stood waiting by the door Jordan had just entered, who further supplemented Jaelnec's hasty reassurances: "None of those who entered with me suffered an injury that needed tending to, though the mages might need a rest before using a significant quantity of magical energy once more."
Somewhere deeper in the corridor, the guest was done shuffling around furniture and was now busy unlatching and unlocking the door. There were also voices coming from outside, however, both exited and - for one male voice - grim. Someone had arrived with news, then?
Jordan wasn't quite willing to leave his position - not before he could ascertain for himself the guest was in one piece and still human, at least -, but deigned it appropriate enough to look back past the doorframe, where the lady of the house had let go of Jaelnec and hurried toward the stairs. He could probably confirm whether there was one less missing person, at least ... and, incidentally, it might also be a good idea to give those upstairs a slight heads-up.
"Lady Bor?" he shouted after her as she was already midway up the stairs, "Has the tracker returned?
"Quintin," Madara specified.
"What? Ah," the squire was momentarily confused, but raised his voice again, "Uh, Quintin, I mean. We were told one of your men went to track the bandits."
Lady Bor paused just long enough to reply without even looking behind herself, "Yes, Quintin is back."
"Got it, thanks," he replied, and immediately snapped back to attention as the door to the final guest's room swung inwards, revealing what looked like perfectly ordinary, slightly disheveled human man, if one in a bit oddly chosen attire.

The man had returned? Then the bandits - or whoever Nabi was needing to track - had either slipped away, or were not far, and could be - if swiftly pursued - caught relatively soon. Nabi looked at Jaelnec and then to Lady Bor. She opened her mouth to speak, but the penin had already hurried off. Nabi growled and swore in Erashyiri under her breath, before turning back to Jordan, her look one of grim determination. It was as if something had switched in her head - her training. You always fell back on it.
"Then after we are done here - and let us be quick - we find this Quintin and talk to him. Clock is ticking. And I need to know what he knows."
Jordan simply nodded with a brief glance in Nabi's direction, jaw clenching. No dallying. Yes. That much didn't need repeating.

“Thank the Primes, the gods, and of course thank you, my fellow heroes!” the red-headed fellow greeted them with arms spread wide.
My fellow heroes? Well, just aren't you in a jovial mood now - in stark contrast to the grotesque still-life behind the squire. Not that he could entirely blame the guy. Some people were just glad to be alive.
And, regardless of hiding being ordinarily seen as shameful for a ... someone who had probably claimed to be capable ... it was doubtlessly the right call, though. It didn't take having Sir Yanin's ability of assessing others' martial prowess to jump to, Yep. You'd have been killed. Absolutely. That would just be another wasted life atop the already too many.
“I tried my best, but there were just too many of them, so I retreated to this room to, uh, regroup!”
Who are you trying to convince? Honestly, if the rest of the situation weren't quite as severe, the appearance and overall demeanor of the guy would have been almost comical, more in line with a 10-year-old kid playing dress-up than fit for a man a dozen or more years his senior.
Well, you had to start from somewhere, some just slightly later than others. Jordan himself had been a peasant kid who had decided to tack himself onto a somewhat unapproachable member of the family he was serving, after all. But what was up with the knick-knacks?
"I am certainly glad you haven't been turned into a ghoul, mister...?" Jordan settled into a more conversational tone, if somehow, still appearing slightly taken aback. He left a bit of a pause for the man to fill in his name. "Are you unhurt?"
You are not a ghoul, right? Unlike the confirmed ghouls, he did not appear visibly injured, or in any way like a ... well, corpse. Then again, corpses only started looking like corpses after a few hours; it hadn't even been enough time for the bodies (or what was left of them) to cool down and start to stiffen. Could ghouls mimic breathing? Having a pulse? How likely were they to remember that humans tended to blink every now and then? One probably quite definitely wouldn't know what name a body would have had before it was appropriated, yes?
"Tedwyn, my good sir!" the man responded. "I'm a bit bruised from my, uh, epic battle against the table-monster, but nothing serious."
"Epic... battle. Hm. Yes! It must have been quite the conflict." Nabi's hand moved away from the hilt of her sabre, relieved that this man at least was not a direct threat.
Tedwyn seemed encouraged, perking up and thrusting out his chest. "It was! I almost had the cretin, too, but I had to retreat before I could, uh, deliver the, uh, killing blow!"
Do not encourage him too much, he might actually believe it and become tempted to come along and try to fight the bandits, the human squire thought to himself. This fellow didn't appear, how'd you'd put it, ready for real combat. On the more positive note, he also didn't appear like a ghoul.
"Right," he said - more just as a filler to gather his thoughts than in the way of an actual reply, "Good; then why don't we head outside? I hear we have news."

Nabi fought back a smirk. Her sarcasm had bounced off of the man's inflated ego... but even now, she didn't quite have the heart to puncture his dreams with any further cutting comments. Thankfully, Jordan had given them the perfect excuse to extricate themselves from the situation - and her mind instantly switched back to the man Lady Bor had said had only just returned from pursuing the bandits.
"Yes. We do. Mister... Tedwyn?" The name did not roll off her tongue easily. "If you need assistance with any injuries from your... valiant struggle... I believe we have a healer with the others. Myself and Mister Jordan, however, have business with one Mister... erh... Quintin, yes. We must go, if we hope to act quickly."

The survivor's response was immediate, "Gladly!" ...And he just marched out. (Oh well.)
Jordan simply looked at first Nabi, then Jaelnec, then Madara in turn, "Eh, shall we, then?" He didn't really wait too long for replies before hurrying after the survivor; it was more rhetorical. Nabi rolled her eyes and headed off behind Jordan, muttering colourful phrases under her breath in Erashyiri... Madara shrugged and followed after the others.
"Jordan Forthey, Fadewatcher and Squire of the Glades," he began as the group outside came to sight - awfully many introductions today. "Lady Bor went to call the others, I believe. What's the situation?"

From Downfall ReRisen

Day ??? of year 384 Post-Downfall
74:21:75 LNT (early evening)
Sunstorm imminent

Notrau appeared to be watching Gramps keenly, even as the man stood with his back turned to him. If the Eighfourian's demeanor was severe, momentarily faltering, then the renegade Anderekian was more akin to tensioned spring, stiff and but for his eyes, almost motionless. Only once the device embedded in Kay's head was mentioned did the young man's eyes briefly flicker to the woman, then return.
"It looks different from the enhancements I saw embedded in the bodies of the men and women I fought. Could be from some other faction. Or maybe just older tech. Kay-Gee, she told me a bit about its discovery, and her accident. It's not new, but it's also from someone who clearly lived a fair bit post-Downfall. So it was some fragment that had survived, and rebuilt after; as such, it was unlikely the environment got them. Must have been some other faction. Whether it was my old hosts or someone else."
Kay-Gee seemed to be taken aback by the notion of thought-reading machine minds.
"So they - our commanders - told us. I have not seen it in action myself. I just know that the warning went for the machines of the west, and for being captured alone. Whatever means they have for it, it was heavily implied they don't even need you to be part machine yourself. They just need to have you. So don't permit for any hostages to be taken." Quieter, he continued. "And don't let anyone return who might be suspected of having been captured, even if they seem normal. Just shoot them on sight. Those were our orders."

Gramps spoke of the upredictability of machine and the most probable courses of action by the two factions he knew best.
"Seems accurate enough," figured Enn. "I will note, though, that I haven't seen signs of Anderekians taking in people - unless they're literally too young to remember." Don't ask me what they do with the adults. "Trenians ... maybe. They have entire civilian cities, after all. I don't know for certain, but I suspect they would let people join, at the cost of being part of their war, too. Either would probably kill me, at least."
He hadn't left to die without a fight, so if they reconsidered and went that way, he'd have to take a separate path. Or fight.
"Even if I ditched all my equipment, at least the Anderekians would still be able to identify me up close. I could only walk away since whatever would permit my own former faction locate me out of sight would also light me up for the enemy. So really, they just couldn't always track us effectively, let alone when everyone else within kilometers was already dead, dying, or preoccupied with trying to not become one of the former. Truth to be told, I don't even know for certain if I'm the only former Anderekian currently in these forests. I did wonder if it was a deliberate suicide mission."
Enn's recounting seemed almost detached. It was interrogation. He was reporting.

"We need to go south. It's our only chance.”
Indeed. South. The only cardinal direction left that wasn't an apparently endless field of water for someone without sufficient water or air transport.
"If you intend to slip past anyone, doing so before the rising sunstorm has waned might be the only viable option. South... It is ... mostly swamplands and dunes that way, isn't it? But some paths should be passable by land vehicle, at least. I think there are humans there - non-machine humans - but I personally haven't had contact with them. The people here earlier ... they said you are a former trader? How much do you know about the south?"

74:53:30 LNT

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Sir Yanin Glade

Unfortunately - but not wholly unexpected -, Caleb knew fairly little. There might have been other, smaller things ... something written in that tome of Hai'vreh'era's, as comments, or implied by the prevalence of atypical magic. An uncommon rune or construct they might have sighted on their way out. But it was all much more circumstantial than names and directives. Slaves in binding circles? To use as hosts to divines?
The names he mentioned could have been incidental - they were the rulers of the land they resided in, after all -, or they could bode ill for anyone undertaking dismantling whatever business Hai'vreh'era had been running.

"I see. Let me know if you remember anything else that could shed light upon what was going on," he concluded. Deo'Irah had a lot more to say about Caleb's past than Yanin himself - even going so far as to suggest it might be better off without his old god, or even put its faith in her. Daring, maybe, suggesting the fallen angel abandon its quest to reunite with its only friend and stay in a place and body it seemed to hate, to fight a fight the human knight was nowhere near certain was even within their power to win.
Divines and deigan could live indefinitely - but it was also no harder to kill a deigan than to kill a human. Seven hundred years of life, cut short for nothing more than not expecting thugs on that road and that day, just like that... And to set yourself down for a pursuit with uncertain fate, with the same fanaticism that turned what would have otherwise been an act of mutual interest by a friendly individual into a well of all-consuming devotion? What would it be, a long dance of undoing the ills of the world, or an attempt to claw through anyone on one's path to accomplish a singular goal, a path of war and undue suffering? A new imprisonment, a punishment worse than the one the divine had already been through?
"You prefer exile in your realm to living in this one? If you can maintain hope you'll find Feveesha again? It is not likely to be an easy path either way, and your patience and resilience will be tested anew. That much, I can relate to. Deo'Irah is right in that you probably needn't manage alone indefinitely, though."
Another realm, yet the denizens seemed haunted by the same power struggles and maintaining relations as those here.

Deo'Irah seemed to want a confirmation on how to handle the situation before she turned to meet the penin.
"She's neither an enemy, nor a fool," Yanin stated, simply. If she were to pick up on them lying to her, they could forget about any goodwill or trust she might otherwise have had towards them, or especially their new acquaintance. They didn't have too many allies of much significance to begin with. "She also cursed the actions of the witch-hunters, but not of Feveesha."
Words were not always reliable, but sometimes they were the only thing to rely on. Furthermore, the last she had spoken to them, she had no means of knowing the felid was no longer walking this realm, and she had given no instructions to apprehend or otherwise deal with her. So ensuring punishment for her apparent transgression hadn't been Lady Bor's first priority.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Sir Yanin Glade

The fallen thalk confirmed 'broken one' had been referring to Freagon as the human knight had assumed, although it didn't seem to be willing - or able - to describe in words what exactly a broken soul entailed, or what phenomenon would produce one.
Could be that the older nightwalker was indeed somewhat more than the already remarkably rare instance of someone who might actually be able to hold against The Viper himself - all other things being equal, Yanin was just as fast and strong, with slightly more reach and unhindered by scars, but ultimately also pitting sheer unmatched reflex and endurance against what was bound to be entire decades of additional experience. Appearing out of seemingly nowhere, insisting that he was a member of centuries-dead order, with no estate or apparent wealth, but yet wearing enough equipment to be able to buy an entire small duchy for himself. A man who had, somehow, managed to break his soul. In comparison, the origins of Sir Yanin Glade and his ranks were about as blatantly clear as they could be.
Yet another thing to keep in mind for later.

Caleb and Feveesha making a break for it happened in southern Gilmah, about half a decade ago... He would have been still living at home then, yet to be knighted, but already with bit of a local reputation. Slightly more immediately aware of political happenings, slightly less involved in actually protecting the country.
More than a dozen fully summoned angels could do a fair bit of damage - much more than a lone fallen thalk, never mind the peculiarity of so many showing up in one place. Enough that there had been a passing mention or two within his earshot, at least. Probably closer to slightly more than six years ago to date.
"Most likely unnecessary," the knight commented when the divine stated it could lead them to the place it had spent many a year trapped. It was a site of a massacre that had garnered some public attention - if Hai'vreh'era was still walking this realm and in the same business, he would have nigh indubitably set up camp elsewhere, and not only could they track the original site down without Caleb's aid, but others before them had probably turned every rock there was to turn in the place. "I doubt it'd lead to Hai'vreh'era, if left alive, or his potential superiors - but someone will need to put an end to it, if they're still in business. Do you, by any chance, have at least an inkling what the divines or mundane slaves were kept for, or any other names that might have been mentioned?"
There were still things - urgent affairs - they needed to be taken care of, but given that Caleb's connection to this realm could be sundered any time between now and the next opportunity to speak, by will or violence, Yanin figured some things needed answers now, lest they lost even that thread.
All the while, he could only hope it was something individuals with comparatively marginal standing could hope to unravel, and not something conspired by the functionally untouchables.

It wasn't the first time Caleb expressed displeasure at staying in Reniam over returning to Drigall, even if he had seemingly been fine with tolerating it for Feveesha's sake. Maybe there was a place for the fallen in the divine realm, after all. Strange thought. Yanin's home, after all, was liable to be rather unwelcoming, even if at least one of his more friendly family members still resided there. If anything, him visiting could increase the odds of him getting killed, so it was best to steer clear.
"What awaits you in Drigall?" he had asked before, but the divine had seemingly ignored him. It wasn't a functional question, but for once he was just curious.

Regrettable, the whole affair with Feveesha. Most of a life as a slave, six years of freedom starting from nothing, and then a momentary misjudgement. And that was that. Wiped out by quarter dozen vigilantes not ten minutes before someone more reasonable and well capable of containing both sides arrived. Should have been more careful. Should have observed the local laws, at least in public, among strangers. Should have many things... Fucking waste, all in all.
If Caleb deemed fit to answer this time, he had about a minute to do so before a louder shout from the hall - Yanin made out "Lady Bor" and something about a tracker, in Jordan's voice. Company, then.
"Lady of the house, I believe. Best to conclude it here and refocus on the bandits. Deo'Irah, if you'd do the talking?" Baroness Bor had cursed the witch-hunters. Here was to hope she would be at least somewhat tolerant of divines that were willing to be questioned. It was, strictly taken, not even illegal to be one. Safest to assume she was keen enough to pick up on any attempts to obfuscate the truth of what happened. Being able to count to ten was probably enough to figure it out. Something a particularly bright and well-trained pet could do.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Sir Yanin Glade

The fallen angel laughed at him. The human knight, in turn, merely looked at it, steel helmet turning slightly to face the thalk, and waited for it to be done.
Someone had trapped it here last time? Not that he'd have an idea how it would even account for the passing of time if it had, indeed, been stuck in a basement, save for the dilapidation of its environment and the comings and goings of others, or perhaps even the aging and eventual ceasing of their appearances - which, strictly taken, contradicted the "forgotten" part of the basement's description. Then again, people weren't always the most precise in their wording of statements, which made it bloody inconvenient if you wanted to assert their internal consistency.
The divine did, however, reiterate that it wanted to help them deal with the bandits, much as Deo'Irah had requested it did - which, realistically, could go any feasible way. Unpredictable.

The older nightwalker remarked that the spirit preceded his possession of the sword, and that Deo'Irah was free to do whatever she wanted with it.
"Might be worth checking who it was, and how did they come to inhabit the sword. If you can do so without being commandeered yourself."
Caleb had said it was powerful - extraordinarily so. The fallen angel most likely had no cause to lie about that much. Power, by definition, was an amplifier. The benevolent could do more good, the evil, more harm. So if this lich - if that was what they were - was as potent as implied, it could most likely overpower Deo'Irah's will, to whatever avail. And liches, if the well-known ones were to go by, tended to skew extremely self-interested, if not outright wicked. The only moderately reassuring factor was that Freagon seemed just fine wielding the blade that hosted the spirit as a weapon, despite being at least somewhat aware of its presence. What would a potential lich-spirit lie in waiting of? Someone with more political influence, perhaps?
It was not entirely improbable that someone of notable impact had gone missing from history, and only made a reappearance here of all places.

Lhirinthyl had meanwhile picked up and cleaned the tome found on the bed, then signed something to Deo'Irah which, going by her next words, seemed to have made her immediately suspicious. Caleb didn't have much of a persistent magical reserve - just what it could accumulate from being a fallen thalk specifically. Something happened with Lhirinthyl?
"The broken one?" the human knight inquired, audibly. That could only be Freagon as cited - but why?
The divine spoke of revenge. Something he would have to prevent. Hate begets hate. Meaningless suffering. And one probably quickly forgotten, much against the fallen angel's expectations. Not only would it need influential survivors and victims alike rather than a retired adventurer and a bunch of would-be opportunists, but the whole country was down in flames. Some small town being razed was hardly going to perpetuate through times to come. As an aside, Feveesha had tried to help these people. She'd hardly have approved, even with as close to nothing as Yanin knew of her.

The divine went on to describe how he - and as consequence, other angels - had been bound.
"Hai'vreh'era sounds like a deigan name, maybe ascended," Yanin reasoned. Especially with the timescale Caleb proposed for its imprisonment. Many lifetimes for his kind. There was a skip of a beat as the knight looked for the words. "The Benevolent Light of a Stage ... a Generation?"
The name was not immediately familiar, despite its carrier being apparently based in Rodoria for a long time. Not active on political grounds? Illegal activity that had managed to stay hidden for many years - centuries, if to believe the thalk? So covert that not even most in the know were familiar with the name?
There was one statement, however, that was more severe than the rest.
"Feveesha freed you - it was fairly recent, then? Do you know where the place was?" Female Melenians could live somewhat longer than human women - but not that much longer. If he knew the place and time ... then maybe, maybe he would be able to put something together. "And sometime between then and now, you were sent back to Drigall - once?"

The fallen thalk - to an extent where even Yanin caught on - genuinely seemed to hate itself, and what he was. After losing its only friend it had turned into a god, since it appeared to be the only relationship it knew how to have... It didn't happen too often that the Viper found someone who seemed to have an even worse time with interpersonal relationships than he did, past the shared notion of not really trusting nigh anyone.
"People are what they decide to act upon," he shrugged, "Those who are liked in advance just for what they are simply have it easy."

Jordan Forthey and Nabisisstra Rhe'anyl Qelarn

Nabi thought for a moment, a hand scratching the underside of her cheek subconsciously. “It could work. It should work. My only concern - okay, two of them - is whether there is enough of a track in this sort of land, and whether I can keep talking to you well enough… and whether you will be able to keep up, but I think that should not be as much of an issue.”
Nabi caught on to the idea the mages might need time to rest almost without realising. She stopped for a second, and shook her head resolutely. “No, they cannot rest, we cannot afford to waste more time whilst they sleep. Either they join us or they rest and follow us when they are ready. We cannot - we should not wait. We cannot afford delays like that, it would give our quarry more time than they will need to cover themselves… or kill their prisoner, if they have him.”

"Well, that's my main concern, too ... that they'd get whatever they want out of the healer, and then he'd be, well, unnecessary witness."
The tracker already after the bandits would definitely be unnecessary witness, so if he had been gone for many hours now, and still not reported back... Best guess? Either the 'bandit camp', as it were, was quite some distance away, or ... there was no longer a second missing person. At least the family would get something to bury if they found what was left of him.

The hall past the corridor was much as they had left it - still, bloodied, and reeking of smoke and fresh blood. The elegant, and considering the overall state of the building, oddly immaculate figure of the surgeon-seamstress standing by the doorway gave him a bit of a pause, however.
"Excuse me, Ma'am?"
The half-palanter raised an eyebrow.
"As you might have heard, we are checking rooms for potential additional threats, and think there might still be a survivor hiding - you might want to follow, just in case they're hurt. The ones in there", he pointed over his shoulder with the back of his borrowed truncheon, "should be able to manage themselves."
"Very well," she responded, straightening up, but evidently content to let the rest of the party lead.
Jordan glanced at Jaelnec, "And maybe you, too. Checking the other rooms, I mean. They should be empty, but just in case, and it'd be faster."
Sir Freagon had said the younger nightwalker could fight ... but was just preferred to not. So even if there was someone upstairs, or in one of the other rooms, he would likely be fine. According to Deo'Irah, there should be no more surprise divines ... just the one guest. And they probably needed to check on the guest fast, just in case they were bleeding out as they spoke.

Right...
He turned his attention back to Nabi as he strode towards the closest set of stairs. "As long as we can see you, we can follow a short distance behind. We just need ... uhh, Sir Yanin can a least tell me things like wait, danger, fall back, take cover, come, and in sight just by motioning, I suppose. Which is not much, but at least that's only half a dozen things to remember if you see something. I don't think master needs rest any time soon, or me, for the matter. Doubt it's much different for the nightwalkers."
It had, more or less, been enough for Jordan to catch his breath, standing around and listening while the others negotiated with the divine. Could maybe have a drink of water and he'd be just fine, he supposed.
As he turned the top of the stairs, however, it became apparent that they were not quite fully alone anymore. Lady Vela Bor had evidently stepped inside, and was now surveying the damage to her manor.

Well, shit. That probably needed some kind of explanation.
Not so much the damage to the building itself - that was mostly limited to a singed banister and some wraith-appropriated furniture and dinnerware, but the rather disturbing amount of blood and ... bits of people strewn about. It looked like a bloody, brutal massacre. It had been a uniquely destructive takedown with the ghouls being involved. The ghouls that he had, in the heat of the moment, briefly managed to avoid thinking as "just-were-people", but Lady Bor, who had had time to talk to the humans they were, before all this...
Jordan's heart sank as he tried to formulate some kind of report as he slowed down his descent, or justification, or ... well, it was mostly him who tried to calm down and guide people, but the actual overview was mostly Sir Yanin, who was 'terribly pragmatic', as he had put it earlier. Almost detached. That would have to be it. Just ... stick with the obvious facts.
Ultimately, even with his somewhat slowed pace, he ran out of stairs to walk down.
For a second he stood, looking at Baroness Vela Bor, lips slightly parted, looking startled, as if someone caught stealing. Which he hadn't ... he had been doing exactly what the lady of the manor had requested, it had just ended up being a lot more messy than expected.
"We met ... five hostile wraiths." Did he count it right? He was speaking slightly too fast, but his voice was, all things considered, just his normal voice, at its regular volume. It shouldn't have been surprising, but at this stage, he wouldn't have been overly surprised if he abruptly discovered he had forgotten how to speak. "And five ghouls... The dead guests had been turned into ghouls, before we even entered the building."
He didn't know how to even begin to explain Feveesha and Caleb, so he just didn't.
"We believe there may one guest still alive, hiding down here, so ... we might need to check on them fast, just in case they're injured."

That was explanation enough. The ... east? It had been implied the guest was east wing downstairs, the one where the table Freagon had fought had come from? The door was still open from it having burst though.
"Come?" he muttered at Nabi - and glanced over his shoulder at Madara - before pacing across the hall (hoping that Lady Bor didn't try to halt him), past the tatters of the carpet that had wrapped around the male deigan mage and the table Sir Freagon had nearly cleaved in two, through the doorway and into another, slightly shorter corridor than the one he had been in upstairs, but boasting a grand total of eight doors at close intervals.
The half-palanter halted a short distance behind him, for the time being turning to look at Lady Bor by the entrance of the hall rather than what the squire was doing.
"Hello?" Jordan called out, knocking on the frame of the door directly to the right of him, even though he still kept ahold of his borrowed weapons for the time being. "My name is Jordan Forthey. I am a Fadewatcher. The hostile divines have been removed, and the building should be safe now. If you can, speak up; I am here to help, and I brought a healer."

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Sir Yanin Glade

The fallen angel specified that his return to Drigall was not imminent, and specified that the spirit of the sartal sword was a very powerful mundane. A mage who is not quite undead? Would that be what a lich feels like? It was probably hard for even Caleb to tell much more, not unless the angel could somehow see if Delian Gilmah herself left the same kind of impression.

Caleb itself seemed to be persistently curious whether he'd allow it to leave. Deo'Irah offered no resistance, but also reaffirmed Yanin's earlier note that while being a divine was not illegal, people would still be prejudiced, especially here and now, so soon after two incidents that by all means could be described as massacres.
Sort of rendering itself unseen, there might not have been all that many disguises that would work - Lady Bor and her people likely knew how many had gone in, the various bits and pieces of five of the guests were spread all over the hall for all to see, and Feveesha herself would likely have been in deep trouble, had she lived. And the last guest was, by the appearance of it, still alive, the other issues with impersonation aside.
"Provided you have been telling the truth, I don't have a reason to keep you from leaving once I've fully figured out what exactly happened in here," the human knight stated. "As you probably haven't been in Rodoria beforehand, I'd also recommend familiarizing yourself with the local law. Hard to avoid conflict when you don't know what would cause it."

Deo'Irah had more things to share, a lot of which he had suspected - though confirmation, offered willingly, meant a lot. Probably more than the deigan could infer from his fairly formal, laconic reply, carried out in what was a close match for his usual voice, just lowered. Usually, people would assume that anything could be used against them. And too trusting people who had enough power to do harm didn't last long. Nevertheless, if he had more knowledge, he could at the very least mentally prepare for potential future scenarios.
Yanin wasn't confident his younger sister was any safer in Zerul than she had been at home. Especially with talks of what could only assumed to be covert equivalent of a coup.
"Good to know. I appreciate you telling me, and the risk you take with it. Best to be more conservative, if possible; I won't always be the the only person perceptive enough to notice." It was as he had already told Caleb - he could only do so much against the prejudices of other people, and that was before it came to matters that were explicitly illegal.
Mostly for arguably good reasons - there was much harm one could do commanding someone akin to an angel of fear, and a lot of people striving to be summoners did have nefarious intent in mind. So the land had collectively decided to root out as much of the knowledge itself before it could even found its way into wrong hands. Left one to wonder, though, if the well-meaning and genuinely concerned lawmakers hadn't designed a system that was too rigid - and vulnerable for it.
If people who called forth iriao who themselves wanted to help were treated the same as summoners of orlgarhi, it left fewer people who could heal the injured, and no one at all who could hope to take the orlgarh out without actually fighting it. There was probably a better point of balance - but that would require a lot of careful consideration, and enough sway to make an entire country listen.
The human knight sighed, setting the thought aside for the time being, before delving too deep into matters that felt suspiciously like politics. For now, there were people to watch in the room, and happenings to analyze.

Jordan Forthey and Nabisisstra Rhe'anyl Qelarn

The squire could, realistically, do very little but listen during the whole debacle.
He had spoken up in the beginning, and perhaps won the others some time, but from then on, first Madara, and later Deo'Irah and, somewhat surprisingly but also decidedly unsurprisingly, Sir Yanin took over. His master was the first one to admit he was not much of a people person, but this here was a combat scenario and a crime scene as much as it was a place of ... well, people socializing.
So the knight was just there, investigating and interrogating, ready to fight, while the more tactful of the two deigan, now sufficiently calmed, seemed to try and smooth things over. It was only after things had seemingly relaxed, and Sir Yanin addressed him and the dark-skinned foreigner directly - "Jordan, easterner, check the other rooms," - that there was something to act upon.

"Right," Jordan muttered, glancing at the stranger, "There is still the probability that the things we've been told are inaccurate, and that there are more things out there, so I definitely would appreciate you coming along."
There was a crash from the adjacent room, Sir Freagon saying something Jordan couldn't quite make out, and both the deigan healer and Sir Yanin expressing their displeasure.
"I ... think we better assume Sir has whatever is going on in there handled and focus on ... I think there is a ... one person, at least?"

"My name is Nabi, not 'easterner'... and I am fairly certain we have already had this discussion..." Nabi grumbled - loud enough so Yanin could hear her from the next room over - and nodded to Jordan. "Lead the way. We have one more person that remains... ehm... how do you say, unaccounted for? The Melenian, yes?"

To be fair, Jordan wasn't even entirely if Nabi had formally introduced herself to Sir Yanin - they'd only seen her after the alarms rang, and the entire mess kind of blended together after that.
"Right," Jordan muttered, pulling on the door that had ever so faithfully shielded them from divine energy, briefly pausing to give some more context to Nabi before he stepped into the corridor, "Unaccounted for, yes ... I think the Melenian was the one next door, who seems to have ... sacrificed herself maybe? And there was only one Melenian, so the final guest, should be something other. Human, maybe? Five of the others were ... or a deigan, or penin like Lady Bor, maybe." That was slightly too many maybes.
There was just one unopened door left in the hallway, in the opposite wall to the two rooms all the action had taken place in. The door creaked in protest as the human squire pushed it open, holding the silver sword out in front of himself, watching for motion on its gleaming blade before peering into the room past the door.
It was a bedroom - quite a bit larger than the one they had been in. It seemed undisturbed. The most notable thing about the room was a statue of a humanesque torso stood on a small coffee table, thin, rough and faceless.
"Seems undisturbed, I think," he noted, before turning and taking a couple steps to behold the scene within - which seemed to consist of a divine - a fallen thalk from the conversation he had overheard -, almost huddled next to a wall, Sir Yanin holding a guard, seemingly ready to act against either the thalk or anyone between him and the door (more specifically, Sir Freagon), and the two deigan, one intently staring at a bloodied book, the other trying to placate the divine.
Jordan ... hadn't seen the aftermath of a full summoning before. There was so much blood looked like the Melenian had exploded, bursting open like an over-ripe fruit to reveal what was an entity that by no means would have fit in her frame.
Despite his master having brandished his own blade once more, it appeared that things had at least calmed as quickly as they had escalated, this time.
"First floor, east wing; beware," Sir Yanin noted; Jordan simply nodded before moving along the corridor, to where Madara and Jaelnec still waited. Staring into the room wasn't going to help with finding the sole survivor.

The visage of the summoning was… disturbing to say the least for Nabi. She quickly turned away to calm her rapidly fraying nerves… and focused on the words of Yanin. The east wing… on the first floor. Nabi followed Jordan, her sabre at the ready in her hand just in case there was another unwelcome surprise, even if it was unlikely given the situation.
She decided to at least communicate with Jordan - in a low, quiet voice, she said, “I am beginning to think I would have been best tracking the… ehm… bandits… from the start. So far this has all been very far out of my comfort zone… especially the ground floor…”

"Ain't that a familiar feeling..." Jordan muttered, glancing back at Nabi. "At times I just kind of hope I know what I'm doing. You did help, though. There were more of them than us, and if there's a thing that's obviously much worse than trying to fight an strong unfamiliar foe, it's trying to fight two of them at the same time."
Fundamentally, dealing with two opponents - even those who were not as fast or skilled as you - was exponentially harder than dealing with just one, and three or more bordered on impossible unless you could use the environment to make them fight you one at a time.
"For the town healer's - and the previous tracker's sake -, I definitely hope we can get to finding out what happened sooner rather than later. The mages might need to rest, and I think the local Fadewatchers still need the healers' aid, but I have no idea if we'd have that much time." If they were even both alive - if they captured Lady Bor's man, then ... well, it didn't exactly look like the bandits cared about sparing any would-be obstacles.
"Perhaps me and Sir Yanin - and maybe the nightwalkers - can follow a short distance back while you scout ahead?"

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Sir Yanin Glade

"Five," the fallen angel had stated, which matched what he had witnessed earlier. Often the only way to figure out the truth from falsehood was to keep checking things, even those he already knew, to see if a discrepancy cropped up - so he could hopefully figure out who, or what, was unreliable, and whether it was on purpose.
The thalk volunteering that there was another mundane in the building was certainly interesting - if it was accurate, and not another go at subterfuge to get rid of them, then that would mean that Feveesha had sacrificed herself alone, and the last guest was indeed alive.
Jordan should know enough to expect traps, and he'd already told him to take the dark one along and go inspect all rooms. Faintly, whoever was paying attention might make out some muffled low speaking from the next room, and bit later, the door tugged open.

Irah appeared to be agitated at Freagon; the latter simply noted that he could have killed the thalk. Yanin had no doubts about it - at least if it were just the two of them. The human knight didn't intend to let him, at least not as long as the thalk cooperated. It was no coincidence that he had placed himself directly between Freagon and the divine, and was watching the nightwalker as much as the thalk, or even just observing the room.
The fact that the old had managed to get a projectile - even a nondirectional one he had already been holding prior to the incident - past him was an abject failure. It would have been much harder with a dagger, granted. The nightwalker would have had to draw it first, and unlike a coin for the purposes of testing illusions, it actually needed to be point-first to be effective at killing. It was still a single, fluid motion, but one that was about a tenth of a second longer - enough to be intercepted. It was even possible to somewhat reliably intercept arrows - provided that you could see the archer aiming, and it was roughly at you. And it was just one of them.
Yanin made a mental note to ask anyone else he might need to interrogate to, quite literally, take cover. Preferably behind at least solid wood. Or alternatively just fully remove Freagon from the room. If he decided to put himself at greater risk to help with his investigation, then that was prerogative as a knight and Fadewatcher. If Freagon decided to be unreliable, he could stay out of it.
Of course it was ready to kill us. Someone else had already tried, and you announced quite clearly that you will kill it.
Bafflingly - even to Yanin and his general social insensitivity - the male deigan asked why Caleb appeared afraid. Clearly, there were at least three individuals in the room who could swiftly send him back where he had come from; it was cornered.
Against expectations, something did come of the details the fallen thalk offered freely. There was a spirit in the sartal sword, and someone in the other room was ... strange? Couldn't be Jordan; enough of him being around mages and sensitive folks of all ilk for someone to have noticed something before. The dark one, then. Did Freagon really interfere because he suspected the fallen angel of further tricks, or was it because he knew the divine could tell something about him he didn't wish them to hear?

There was a creak somewhere behind him as Jordan (presumably with Nabi in tow), very carefully, checked what was behind the lone door in the opposite wall of the hallway, and seemingly not finding anything much out of order, looked into the room where his master, Freagon, Lhirinthyl and now Irah congregated, eyes flicking from the Viper's blade to Caleb. If Deo'Irah or someone else happened to look at him, then his expression was a vague mix of uncertainty and inquisitiveness.

Yanin made no move to stop the female deigan as she entered the room; she seemed to be taking appropriate amounts of care. Freagon showed no such consideration, but by this point, he was reasonably certain he had gleaned all that could be, so he mostly just continued to watch for signs of hostility.
"First floor, east wing; beware," he noted to the squire, and the younger human disappeared from sight, only for some more hurried talking to occur once he was back in the hall.
Two angels; an iriao and? And, her earlier assertion had been wrong - the ability to draw energy from the divine realms was innate to thalks, not achieved through the deity they served.

"Leave - for the Neverrealm?" he inquired. "What will await you there?" That was largely out of curiosity, not any fact-checking. He had, though, wondered if there was even a place for the fallen in the divine realms. Maybe the denizens of Neverrealm, at least, were a touch more tolerant. Couldn't be that bad if Caleb still wanted to be there rather than here, potential hostilities of those outside the manor notwithstanding. He took a couple steps, still with weapons brandished, though no longer in active guard, as he followed Freagon in his attempt to locate his two missing rodlin. "Can you also tell what kind of spirit?"