---

With his needles giving him some literal breathing room, Lhirin had been preparing to fully extricate himself when the sound of something whirred through the air just above him. Then light shone in, the rug grew almost entirely slack around him and so Lhirin took the opportunity with immediate fervor. Directing his needles, Lhirin punctured the rub anywhere he sensed anything remotely magical. Then, without further preamble, he pushed to his feet, using some of his embedded needles to unfurl the rug from around him. As he rose out of the once-deadly embrace of the wraith—which now ought to have been banished—Lhirin heard the Knight of the Will’s warning.

His eyes twitched slightly, their lids already opened wide to maximize his visual awareness of his surroundings. In that instant, Lhirin relaxed his focus slightly, releasing Bound Blade. Given his experience and the nature of situation, Lhirin would not be making the same mistake again. To avoid that, he would decidedly not be entering close quarters unless absolutely necessary. As such, he would not need to enhance his ability to wield his runeblade. His focus was better used elsewhere.

As if to punctuate that reality, Lhirinthyl drew upon his power and began to chant in a barely audible drone as he tilted the flat of his blade slightly so he could read the runes upon its surface. After a scant several seconds, the deigan mage finished his incantation and—focusing on his blade—released his spell, a series of runes on it surface taking on an actinic glow.

Galvanize

The faintest smell of ozone entered the air, trails of magnetic energy formed pathways that soared upwards into the air several feet before leveling off and going forward invisibly until they connected above the ghoul. Pooling in that space, the magnetic field then cast thin threads of itself downwards. Lhirin, for his part poured magical energy into Galvanize and his runeblade began to crackle and spark with intense arcs of electrical energy.

The instant before he moved, Lhirin levied a warning to the Knight before him. “Withdraw,” he snapped, his voice filled with warning and dangerous intensity. Then, without hesitation, Lhirin thrust his blade aloft and closed the circuit.

Almost instantly the electrical energy once trapped within his blade discharged and as it did so it found the path of least resistance. Too bright to look upon, a trail of lightning arced into the air, pooled above the ghoul and then struck down in multiple scorching bolts. There were a scant few seconds for Freagon to disengage with the ghoul. However, much of the power Lhirin had channeled into Galvanize would be confined to the magnetic fields and iron armor that the Wraith wore—as well as its chosen vessel, which was filled with wonderfully conductive liquid.

After perhaps two seconds, Lhirin cut off the flow of energy to Galvanize and waited, watching closely to verify the effectiveness of his attack.

Freagon did not hesitate when Lhirin told him to withdraw, but instantly released the divine wearing the witch-hunter's flesh and jumped backward, changing his stance mid-jump to seize his weapon with both hands. Way back in the armory, still standing guard by Irah, Jaelnec let out a shriek of pain, threw both of his hands up to cover his eyes and turned from the doorway as the bolt of lightning struck the ghoul, filling the hall with searing light; light which was fundamentally anathema to nightwalker eyes.
In the hall itself, standing but a couple of meters from it, Freagon did not even blink nor flinch. His one eye kept staring at his opponent expectantly, his blade prepared to finish the job if Lhirin's spell proved insufficient.

It very quickly became clear that his wariness was unnecessary, though, as the once-ghoul instantly collapsed on the floor as soon as there was no longer electricity keeping it standing. He glanced behind him and to his left, where Lhirin stood amidst the now-inert rug. Then past him and toward the left staircase of the hall, where Nabi was just ceasing the blaze she had conjured against the table-wraith, but the disappearance of magical fire only revealed the real fire that was currently engulfing the piece of furniture... which was no longer moving. If that wraith was still active, it seemed content to just stand there and let the fire consume it.

For a second the silence was almost deafening in the wake of this short burst of combat, with the only sound being everyone breathing and the crackling of the flames, but Freagon did not relax his stance.

Then, suddenly, several of things happened all at once.
To their left, in the west-end of the hall, one half of the massive four meter-wide double door swung open as another unnatural abomination moved into the hall: a 150 cm tall construct made up entirely of what appeared to be shards of dinner plates and pottery in various colors, making up a frame that loosely resembled a humanoid shape with arms, legs and a small head. All the different ceramics creaked, clattered and cracked as it moved, a pair of orange-yellow eyes alight on what would be considered its face, and it raised its arms in front of it as if preparing for a fight. On the end of its right arm – either held by it or as part of its actual vessel – it brandished a hefty meat cleaver. On the end of its left arm was a carving fork.
To their right, in the east-end of the hall, a smaller door burst open but a second after the first, allowing another table to enter, only this one was much larger, perhaps closer to what one would consider a dinner table whereas the the currently burning one looked more like a bedside- or coffee table. This one had not commandeered any additional furniture either, but merely crashed in as just a table, moving on all four legs in an aggressive stance, like a bull ready to charge.
Finally, up above on the landing that lined upper floor of the hall, four human figures rushed in from the west end – each with different and somewhat obvious signs of probably lethal injury – and moved to stand at the top of the two staircases, glaring down at the people gathered at the bottom of the hall. The two on the left wielded silver swords, but did not wear the armor that the first had, whereas the two on the right wielded a flanged mace and a spear, respectively, and both wore chainmail over gambesons.
Accompanying what was in all likelihood ghouls on the landing was another wraith, though this one seemed much less intimidating than the ones on the lower floor, as it seemed to be made up of sheets and blankets and was just flopping awkwardly over the floor, moving to the top of the left staircase along with the silver-sword wielding ghouls.

The pottery-wraith moved to attack Nabi, who was closest to it. The second table-wraith went to rush at Freagon. And all the creatures upstairs started running down them, the faces of the ghouls in particular being twisted into expressions of mad delight at the bloodshed they expected to be about to partake in.

The ornate carpet was more stubborn than the water-wraith, perhaps owing to its more solid structure, and persisted even as its liquid kin burst under Jordan's follow-up blow and permitted the squire to retrieve the final truncheon.
Aside of the people, walls, and the identified wraiths, only the large picture on the back wall of the room and a chandelier remained. From what they'd seen up to this point, it would have been very alike these critters' typical mode of operation to simply wait for someone to walk under the damn thing and just drop itself onto its target. The image was both more, and less conspicuous - he saw it, of course, with its size and comparative prominence, though he didn't necessarily pay much thought to it other than panning it for change having occurred between passes, or current motion.
The presumed witch-hunter, not content with remaining stood back in the corner he'd been forced into, had begun making his way over to them. As Yanin had no bloody clue if it was aggression towards Lhrinthyl, the carpet-wraith, his escape plan or some other concoction of his delirious mind, it was best to keep him out of the fight. Unfortunately for him, it didn't appear that he was able, or willing to, react to being directly addressed, which meant that the knight would have to physically stop him before he did something stupid or harmful.
Concurrently, even with several strains of chatter enduring behind their backs (so these were presumably frentits, and the summoner was overloaded with magical energy), one of those behind him rushed forth, prompting a split-second division of attention as the human-knight assessed who it was and what his intentions were, ultimately snapping to simply not intervening. The nightwalker in shining armor could do it. That worked, too. A bit flashier than his own usual style, and a bit more distributed in its priorities.
Ghoul? Corpse-wraith. How'd he reckon? Should ask, just in case there were more - this one in particular didn't appear to have any injuries outright incompatible with life, nor apparent decay from divine energy. Wounded people were often irrational and liable to disregard their own injuries until later; the human knight had personally seen a man run through with a sword and seemingly not even realize until someone pointed it out.
The dark one proceeded to move forth, burning the soul out of the table-wraith, the deigan man finished off the last of the carpet's will to remain motile and the healer provided what further insight she could. She guessed thalk ... liable to throw magic at them, then. Tall. Red skin. Deo'Irah said it'll only get more powerful ... full summoning would mean that at least another would have died.
"If you don't have a location, we can go through the rooms one by one. Stay-" Lhirinthyl was chanting for another spell, but the crackles and subsequent warning actually gave the human knight a pause, though not quite enough time for him to get a word in before the room filled with blinding light.
"There at least eight more of the bastards," Yanin snapped a reminder. He had already been about to, and was completely devoid of respect for dramatic pauses.
Eight more enemies that hadn't been all but completely incapacitated. One of them much more dangerous than the others. This disorganized mess will run themselves dry before they even found it...



Jordan had reflexively closed his eyes at the first flash of light (leaving a slight yellowish after-image in his right eye), only to immediately and reflexively twitch at the shriek behind his back, turning to look what happened as soon as the reddish haze of the blinding light as seen through his eyelids went out. And then immediately winced as he saw Jaelnec recoiling; light like that probably hurt nightwalkers quite a lot...
Not that he was given much time to contemplate, since along with Sir Yanin's notion of them being nowhere near done here, everything seemed to start pouring out additional wraiths. Would the black-skinned woman have enough time to conjure up a new spell before the wraith reached her? Just regular sabre wouldn't be too useful against a wraith, would it now? Sir Freagon and the deigan mage ... were probably less likely to need help. Or his master, now that he was rushing forward, too.
Making a snap decision, Jordan rushed forward along with both of his borrowed truncheons, to try and bash the cleaver from the wraith's hand as he reached the stranger's side, left arm reaching out for the hit and the right being ready to block.



Three more conglomerations of miscellaneous furniture and houseware burst forth, along with four more humans in various states of severe injury who, based on the timing, were most likely ghouls. Seven. Unless the summoner had called for more - a possibility worth remembering -, this was all of the minor entities. Along with the first, excessively dispatched ghoul, and the potential summoning-sacrifice, that was also all but the summoner herself confirmed dead. (So it had been her crying? Hadn't seemed like a Melenian voice.)
For the five of them engaged, that was luckily not much over one opponent each even assuming none of the others in the armory wished to join in. The dark one and Jordan seemed to be handling the pottery-wraith, from the brief display earlier Freagon was probably capable enough to figure out how to deal with the charging bull of a table, which left the five up there for him and Lhirinthyl, at least until either of the two other parties failed or succeeded at dispatching their respective divines.
"Take the right," he suggested at the male deigan - more metal, less of it silver. So that was the former witch-hunters and the animated bedclothing for him to deal with. The former would likely fight mostly like humans - slightly weaker humans with less physical integrity you probably needed to bludgeon to paste with iron to make sure they truly stopped their attempts of continuing to fight - the latter was probably going to try to net, tangle and strangle. Not impossibly by jumping at them from above.

Yanin drew the longsword in one smooth motion as the wraiths started to come rushing down the stairs, keeping the truncheon in his left as he moved forth (still avoiding the chandelier), blade ready to slice any parachuting wraiths in two before they would be clubbed back by iron. He'd need to use both of his weapons in conjunction to dispatch those things effectively. If the wraith continued flopping along the ground rather than taking a leap of faith, it was liable to be still susceptible to being immobilized and cut by force, but slower than the ghouls, who could be dodged, parried and hit as usual.
The steel edge of the human knight's sword was by no means as permanent as one made of sartal, but for the time being it was completely void of blemishes, meticulously honed, sharpened and oiled, sharp enough to quite effortlessly cut hair.
The ghouls, if they reached him first, were liable to lose their sword and corresponding arm - gruesome, but this time, there was the confidence they were already dead and gone -, then get their heads bashed in. He'll be meeting them a short distance from the base of the stairs.

---

Nabi had no sooner ceased her spellcraft than a blinding flash of light engulfed her vision from the deigan's lightning spell; she gave an involuntary cry of distress and covered her eyes with her arm, but it was too late. Nabi staggered back for a moment, her head overwhelmed by pain from the sensory overload, and she fought to stay on her feet as she stumbled, her entire sense of place and perception in disarray. Though it barely lasted more than a second or two, Nabi was still recovering when a crash to her left heralded the arrival of more foes for them to deal with, as truly a strange sight to behold made its way through the double doors. A construct made entirely of plates and saucers, as well as broken pieces of the previous and sherds of pottery, wielding an odd combination of weapons indeed - a meat cleaver in the one hand and a carving fork in the other. It was initially rather comical, but the murderous intent of the construct quickly suppressed any humorous thoughts Nabi had on the matter - it was fully intending on trying to kill her, and whilst its movements were ungainly and poorly-coordinated, the distance between her and it was too short to contemplate another spell, especially after that bastard deigan had stunned her - regardless of how accidental it might have been - with his little lightning japery. Apparently the human knight had much the same idea, and had grumbled about how there were more enemies to fight - his tone all-but-demanding the deigan to stop wasting his energies on showy spellcraft dealing with an enemy that was already entirely handled to begin with.

Nabi forced herself to refocus. The construct was taking several steps in her direction, which prompted Nabi herself to withdraw at roughly the same pace towards the centre of the hall. She glanced around at everyone else, and was about to call for aid against this new threat, when the young human, perhaps seeing her in distress and about to call for support, rushed over with his truncheons. A wave of relief washed over Nabi... Good. Blunt force would be far superior to her sabre at dealing with an automaton of such construction, and the iron would have the advantage of disrupting the magical forces holding the damnable thing together, not to mention she could at least trust some of her newly-found companions to come to her assistance should she need it. Nabi glanced at the young human briefly, before deciding on a course of action. She would re-engage, and advance to meet the contact, and with any luck force the wraith to split its attention between the two of them, hopefully giving the young lad the chance to land a few crunching blows of his own with the truncheons. She switched her sabre back to her right hand, and drew her main gauche from behind her back, assuming a ready stance and keeping a watchful eye on both the cleaver and the carving fork, as Jordan made his move.

---

As expected, the ghoul collapsed in a steaming pile as his spell faded, and in response, Lhirin released the portions of the Magnetic field that were no longer necessary, using the rest to withdraw any errant needles back to his person where they arranged themselves in a series of three wide rings. One above him, one at almost ground level, and a third at his midsection. All were arranged such that they would not impede his movement or his weapons in any way. Lhirin, with wide eyes, turned his attention as he heard the exclamations of at least three of his allies, immediately noting that they had recoiled and covered their eyes.

'Ah,' he thought internally, keeping in mind that those individuals were apparently particularly light-sensitive. That considered, Lhirin's gaze swiveled to the fadewatcher captain who apparently thought himself in a position to lecture him. Silver eyes regarded the human for a long wordless moment before the doors on the left and right of the hall burst open, revealing yet more wraiths, followed swiftly by a sound from above as a series of ghouls revealed themselves as well.

Lhirin assessed the entire group of would-be assailants, four ghouls, and three wraiths--the latter possessing a series of various shards, a long table, and a series of blankets respectively--and then promptly realized another factor entirely. The drain on his magic had drastically lessened, and furthermore, the pressure that had been affecting his senses had also largely lifted. Given Irah's words, their circumstances, the number and nature of their enemies, and his position at the center of it all, Lhirin made a decision.

This was a waste of time.

"This is all a distraction," Lhirin said, his voice echoing from the acoustics of the hall. They needed to locate the more powerful divine and deal with it as swiftly as possible. It was the true threat.

Then, having made his proclamation, the deigan split his focus and closed his eyes. For the space of roughly five seconds Lhirin visualized the paths his needles would take while formulating the necessary changes in the Magnetic Field he was generating. Rather than do all the changes at once, Lhirin swiftly set up the pathways for the needles beforehand. Then, preparations made, Lhirin opened his eyes and the halo of 6-inch iron needles around his person, thirty in total suddenly burst into motion. Two shot in Freagon's direction, circumventing him entirely before they whistled past the bulk of the long table and then promptly stabbed into its two back legs, the intent to cripple its movement. Lhirin's eyes darted to the next set of targets.

Fifteen needles soared upwards almost to the ceiling, then leveled off, becoming parallel with it, before turning at a ninety-degree angle and slamming down into the blanket wraith in a roughly even distribution. They came down hard enough not only to puncture it but also to pin it to the floor above.

Four more of Lhirin's needles hurtled through the air as they blitzed up the stairs at surprising speeds and each aimed to impale a single leg of each of the four wraiths. The final nine needles floated down into the pouch he'd originally withdrawn them from and then the spell released its hold on them. Lhirin himself had his eyes darting between targets to make his manipulations as accurate as he could manage. If his attack was successful it would seriously hamper all of their adversaries, empowering the rest of the party to dispatch them with comparative ease to their prior situation.

Thus, Lhirin simply raised his runeblade and continued scanning the room, ready to cast or act in another way if necessary. The only other action he made was to--rather slowly--move towards the shard wraith's location where the strange coal-skinned woman and the younger fadewatcher were convening.

Though he did not examine the painting in the hall closely at the moment, even glancing at it enough to acknowledge its presence, size and potential as a threat would be enough for Yanin to get a general sense of what it was depicting. It was a remarkably lifelike representation of an enormous apelike creature, covered in long, thick, coarse brown fur and with a body that seemed to bulge obscenely with disturbingly exaggerated muscles, captured mid-fight against a scattered group of much, much smaller humanoids. Though it was difficult to determine the exact scale of the painting, the prooga – which is what Yanin might recognize the creature as, albeit obviously deform compared to how their kind normally looked – was shown to be easily seven times as tall as the tallest of the surrounding humanoids.
Looking at the chandelier, Yanin might be able to determine that while the ornament itself was brass and thus possibly a suitable vessel for a wraith, the sturdy chain-links that held it aloft by connecting all the way up to the ceiling appeared to be iron. Not only would a wraith not be able to possess the chain, but it would have great difficulty breaking free from it. The chandelier was also not the huge and ostentatious kind, looking to have a maximum capacity of eight candles, limbs that were only some thirty centimeters long; the whole thing looked to weigh less than ten kilograms.

Nabi responded to the advance of the ceramic wraith's by retreating toward the center of the room, staying out of reach of the ungainly construct as its presented its sharp instruments threateningly in her direction. Before she could be pushed back far enough to potentially either get caught up in one of the other fights herself or accidentally get someone else tangled up in the fight against her opponent, however, Jordan rushed in from his place in the armory to assist her.
Jordan swung a truncheon, aiming at the wraith's cleaver, but even as he approached the creature's glowing eyes turned to him as it ceased its advance toward its initial target. It seemed to begin to draw back in an attempt to evade the young man's attack, only to suddenly freeze in place and start vibrating in place while giving off a loud noise of creaking, straining ceramic. It was an easy target; Jordan's blow hit the cleaver directly, knocking it to the floor and shattering several of the pottery shards toward the end of that arm, all while the wraith appeared momentarily paralyzed, its glowing eyes darting back and forth in what might have seemed like confusion or panic, even as Nabi moved in to reengage and help in the fight.

Freagon, meanwhile, simply stared at the table wraith posturing at him like an angry bull with a blank expression, keeping his sword grasped with both hands and ready for combat. The table rushed at him like a battering ram, but the old nightwalker evaded it with a casual-looking step to the side, causing the table to run straight past him...

Or rather, the table would have run past Freagon, had this not been the moment that Lhirin finished his preparations for another activation of Magnetic Field, and iron needles suddenly darted in and embedded itself in the hind legs of the wraith, causing it to immediately stumble, fall over and noisily clatter to the floor on its side. Freagon afforded the deigan half-breed a brief, ambiguous glance before he rushed toward the table, moving his sword up and to the right as he went, only to deliver a swift diagonal strike to it, cleaving straight through one of its legs and halfway through the tabletop itself.
The table twitched again, and the Knight of the Will instantly swing left to right, rending a second large gash all the way through the wooden vessel parallel to the first, after which the table remained still.

Another barrage of iron needles fell on the blanket wraith from above as it was flopping its way down the stairs, slamming into it with a rapid series of dull thuds and pinning it to the steps. Unfortunately it did not seem that the needles themselves were enough to destroy the wraith, however, and though it was indeed momentarily forced down and held in place, needles – effectively headless nails in this scenario – proved quite inadequate fasteners, as the lack of a head meant that there was nothing stopping the wraith from merely pulling itself off the small missiles, at once rising back off the floor and leaving behind the disruptive iron objects as it continued its trek toward the floor of the hall.
Another four needles went for the legs of the ghouls, embedding themselves in one calf per creature, prompting all for to halt for a second just before they would have reached the bottom of the stairs. Two of them merely growled in wordless frustration while one of the possessed witch-hunters muttered a curse under its breath.
One of the witch-hunter ghouls then leaped off the stairs, silver-sword raised high over its head as it let out a shrill, coarse battle cry as it went to deliver a huge, but extremely telegraphed downward slash toward Yanin. The other witch-hunter went down on one knee, grabbed the offending iron needle in his calf, and unceremoniously pulled it back out.

The last two ghouls seemed to hesitate for but a moment, watching their silver-sword wielding allies for a second or two before both of them knelt as well and simply removed the needles. Then they both ran the rest of the way down, heading straight for Lhirin, weapons poised to strike.
Lhirin would notice that Yanin was to his left, dealing with his own fight, and Freagon had just seemingly finished his opponent right behind him.

Deo’Irah watched the proceedings of combat unfold around her, sticking close to Jaelnec in order to shield herself from the worst of the fighting. It had already taken a lot out of her to summon Kinder, and her aqueous manipulations were not particularly efficient either–if she wasn’t careful, she would expend her reserves beyond being able to act effectively and decisively: relying on Kinder could only go so far, after all, despite the powers at her disposal: she would need to save what remained of her tolerance for those yet-injured… and they still had the healer to go and fetch. When Jaelnec shrieked next to her, she reached out a hand to him and winced in sympathy, chiding herself just a little for not having warned him when she heard Lhirin casting–she’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t even considered it.

Irah was focused almost solely on the feelings of divine energy, the nausea from the taint she’d already accumulated something that sharpened her focus. Though the world around her was approaching the frenzy of combat, her own mental landscape was perfectly serene, as still as a placid lake–despite the external lack of efficacy. She felt the strange disruption to her magical energy fade suddenly, and her senses (honed and ready as they were) in concert with Kinder’s own immediately pinpointed the more powerful divine as having moved west.

”The powerful one is to the west now… and the magical disruption is gone.” she spoke, her words calm but with even more urgency than before. She did not rush them in their gory endeavours, knowing they knew full well the urgency they were bearing the brunt of: but time truly was against them, if her suspicions were correct.

The dark-skinned woman had taken a step back as the wraith approached, but halted her retreat and took a glance in Jordan's direction as he engaged, evidently encouraged by the support. She definitely looked like she could hold on her own in a fight ... although this particular kind of foe was perhaps a bit of a deviation from what she was used to dealing with. Actually, he wouldn't have an idea of what she would be used to be dealing with, now would he?
In any case, her continued presence put him slightly more at ease (just not so much at ease to be unaware of his surroundings). He had been prepared to take on the animated pottery on his own, just in case, but nevertheless it would be harder for the wraith to fight two opponents at once. And it would be good to have backup if one of the other wraiths or ghouls managed to disengage from the others for long enough to try and flank him.
He had continued forward, even as his new acquaintance's sabre switched hands and she pulled a secondary blade and readied herself, even as the wraith turned its glowing eyes onto him and ... stopped? Jordan's truncheon made contact regardless, tearing away the cleaver and a significant fraction of its makeshift arm.
Don't you dare explode or something, the squire mentally noted, instinctively concerned by the new course of action. He kept the truncheon and right arm up, just in case, protecting both the arm holding the weapon and his head and neck further behind it.
With the same momentum from his first swing, he redirected the second truncheon in his left, aiming to take out the wraith's second arm and weapon in an upward swing, and, should that, too, prove successful, preparing to carry the same sequence of motions forward still, and horizontally bash the thing's head in. Fast, before it could seriously retaliate, with maybe only half a second between the hits.


The deigan didn't truly take his advice, though he was certainly doing something after his declaration of it all being a distraction ... and that "something" turned out to be attempted everything. We'll be faster is we coordinate, the part of him that had gotten quite used to having people actually listening grumbled, though this time he didn't speak up, just silently focusing on his next actions and the motion in the entire room instead.
He stood ready, just a couple of meters from the foot of the stairs, both weapons prepared. Needles flew, the table Freagon was fighting stumbled and fell, the ghouls were stung, but only briefly inconvenienced, as was the cumbersome blanket-wraith, much to Yanin's annoyance. It did look potentially bothersome to fight when the thing that cut and the thing that could properly harm that particular foe were two separate pieces of equipment.
Lhirinthyl seemed about ready to leave the second half of the stairs, even as the ghouls all continued their descent, perhaps assuming Freagon would take over now that the second table seemed essentially dead, perhaps just careless, but at this time, one of those Yanin himself was facing decided to take a leap of faith, barring him from immediately drawing attention to it.
It was a blatant attack - not caring for its temporary host's bones, unpredictability or physics. In a manner that seemed deceptively relaxed, the human knight simply moved two strides away and to the side, sword kept in a high parry even as the hand with the truncheon briefly swung out at the passing foe, with the combined forces of the somewhat misguided jump and the swing making the narrow metal rod liable to simply decapitate the ghoul's body, unarmored and beginning to soften from the excess divine energy as it was.
Somewhere in the background, Deo'Irah noted that the main threat was somewhere to the west now. First floor? Second floor? Mentally, Yanin cross-referenced the information with the window he had heard the crying from.
This was not over here, however, for even without a head, broken bones and bent sword, ghouls could still thrash around and try to deliver a final blow, and he had two more foes to deal with. He was now about four meters from the foot of the stairs, to the left of them, ready to move in almost any direction; the pottery-wraith was to the right side and behind, the blanket-wraith mid-stairs, and the third former witch-hunter preparing to follow the second after apparently having pulled the iron nail from his leg.
The truncheon was ready again, and the sword had never ceased to be so.

---

Noting the failed attempts of the vast majority of his needles to incapacitate the foes coming for his allies—and him if they could manage it—Lhirin swore quietly under his breath. Silver eyes flashing from one divine-possessed vessel to the next—both ghoul and wraith alike—Lhirin realized that perhaps he had slightly overextended himself early. Gritting his teeth, the Deigan mage—now feeling the exceptionally unpleasant effects of the second stage of magical exhaustion— swallowed hard, noting the soreness in his throat and the ever-so-faint aching of his lungs. With a shuddered breath he nonetheless focused himself, moving despite the heaviness in his limbs.

He was not nearly done, but he couldn’t waste much more—if any—energy on the current encounter. That considered, Lhirin recalled his needles—excepting those in the table wraith that Freagon was slaying. Almost all of them streaked through the air and placed themselves back in his pouch, all but one. With that remaining needle, Lhirin narrowed his focus, firing it from its position on the ground, over the upstairs banisters, across the room, and into the body of one of the ghouls coming down the eastern (right) stairway. The needle—if it met its mark—would slip upwards from the ground and into the gut of one of the ghouls. Carrying its momentum through the body, the needle would pierce upwards into the body, disappearing entirely into the flesh, before finally coming to a stop with its tip through the spine below the neck, but above the shoulder blades. In its position it would be impossible to get to without the ghoul ripping into their own body to get at it—which would cause far more damage than the needle itself had done.

If successful, Lhirin would release Magnetic Field completely and turn, putting his back to Jordan and Nabi to face the two ghouls on the eastern stairway. Hopefully, one of them would be disabled from the neck down, leaving only one of them for him to dispatch.

The sound of creaking ceramics intensified after the the shard wraith lost its right arm and primary weapon, its entire form seeming to vibrate in place, only for the noise to culminate in a series of loud snapping sounds of breaking pottery as it seemed to spontaneously overcome its paralysis just before Jordan's second blow would have found its mark. The wraith seemed to abruptly jerk backwards and out of range of Jordan and Nabi's weapons at immense speed; such speed, in fact, that the wraith seemed to completely lose control of itself, stumbling across the floor on legs that bent and twisted as its “feet” - also made of ceramic shards – clacked and screeched against the stone floor, unable to find a foothold. It practically skated about eight meters backwards until its back slammed into the wall, producing another loud rattling noise, before it finally seemed to regain control of itself.
Rather than trying to close the distance, however, the wraith – seemingly acknowledging the threat presented by Jordan's iron armaments – kept its back to the wall and glared at the two for a second. An attentive observer might have noticed ceramic shards migrating from the “torso” of its form into its diminished right arm, rebuilding it to restore its reach. But rather than stand idle as it did so, the wraith lashed out in a horizontal slashing motion with its left arm, cutting the air with its carving-fork even though neither of its opponents would be in range.
But rather than a pointless slash at nothing, as it might have seemed, the swing served to propel a collection of three sharp dinner plate-shards outward like small vaguely disc-shaped missiles; one aimed at Nabi's torso, and two at Jordan.

Just several meters from there, by the western staircase, Yanin had no issue simply sidestepping the leaping ghoul's attack, while simultaneously meeting the falling creature's head with a blow of his truncheon. The result was quite what one would expect, as the ghoul's head was practically torn off its body and partially splattered against the steps behind it, even as its feet found the floor a second later and its silver sword struck the stone floor with a loud clang. The ghoul stumbled for a couple of seconds, trying to find its footing, but nevertheless performed a reflexive one-handed swipe of its sword in Yanin's direction.
A faint greenish mist exuded from the wound where the ghoul's head had once been attached.
Just a couple of meters further up the staircase the second silver-sword wielding ghoul came rushing in to join the first, sword held high and a big grin on its bloodstained lips. Almost immediately behind it came the weird visage of the carpet wraith, continuing its awkward tumble down the stairs.

Just a few meters from Yanin and his now-headless ghoul, Lhirin retrieved all but one of his iron needles, only to use the last vestiges of the Magnetic Field-spell to propel a single iron needle along a complex route, only for it to burrow itself deeply into one of the ghouls. The creature seemed momentarily stunned at contact and stumbled back a step, only for it to let out a frustrated growl as it raised its left hand and clawed angrily at its own chest, gauntleted fingers scraping uselessly against the chainmail. Though neither the damage the corpse had taken nor the needle that was now partially embedded in its spine seemed to bother the divine puppeteering it at the moment, it still seemed that the presence of iron caused it enough discomfort to at least distract it for a few seconds.
Ignoring his inconvenienced comrade, the second ghoul on the eastern stairway continued its descent, gripping the handle of its flanged mace tightly as it glared at Lhirin menacingly... Only for its eyes to abruptly widen in surprise as it, at almost the same time as Lhirin himself would have noticed it, spotted a blurred form clad in purple and gold moving past in a rapid dash as Freagon rushed in to join the fray.
Moving incredibly fast, the old nightwalker reached the bottom of the stairway when the ghoul was just five steps from the bottom and, still wielding his sword with both hands, delivered a diagonal strike from high right to low left that instantly and cleanly severed the ghoul's left leg at the knee. Freagon kept moving forward as he half-turned counter-clockwise and, repositioning his sword, fluently thrust his sartal blade at a steep upward angle.
The narrow tip of Roct met the ghoul's sternum just as it was starting to fall over from losing its leg. With the combined force of Freagon's strength and the momentum of the ghoul's fall, the blade pieced both hauberk, gambeson, flesh and bone until one could easily tell from the deformation of the chainmail on the back that the creature had been run all the way through.
Without pause or missing a step, Freagon then completed his turn to fully about-face, the movement naturally aiding in retrieving his sword, only for him to continue past and off to the right of the staircase. He turned back toward the foot of the stair, almost facing Lhirin at this angle, even as the spear-wielding ghoul tumbled down the last few steps and fell face-first to the floor. The knight's sword was at the ready in front of him, its blade now clad in a fresh coat of blood, as his one-eyed black stare seemed fixed on the area in front of him.

Briefly, fleetingly, there was a pressure upon his hand and arm, fruitlessly trying to yank it back. It yielded abruptly, in a snapping, crunching tear as the ghoul's head was all but removed entirely. Mostly decapitated, it began to stumble as its feet found the stone.
It didn't have a couple of seconds to try and regain its footing. In a quarter of one after its sword hit the stone of the floor, the truncheon, having arced back even as the ghoul still amid its newly-beheaded stumble, would have its end slammed into the ghoul's center-back, hard into its spine. If the first contact had partially halted its progression deeper into the hall, then the second one made sure the ghoul fell further into the hall, spine presumably cracked and silver sword clanging against the manor floor.
Even if it still had the articulation and presence of mind to try and take a reflexive swipe at him, it would have been too far, too late. Assuming it had been thrown down, even its feet would be a couple meters from his, its arms and torso safely out of reach, and too far away compared to more immediate threats to be the first priority for going after.
The second ghoul on this side of the stairs had taken four more running strides down the stairs in the interim, rushing forward with abandon, with the fabric-based wraith just two flops behind.
The knight's weight shifted to the foot facing his other two adversaries, truncheon held low to the side, longsword held high. Briefly, the end of the truncheon referred to the unassuming figure of the blanket-wraith making its way down the stairs. Clumsy as it might have appeared, it was a living rope, or an obstruction to be cast over the unwary while the others cut them down. Potentially annoying.
"Burn it," he stated - an instruction, perhaps. Or more of a recommendation. You always maintained a plan for handling things on your own. As he said the words, the ghoul took three more strides.
Close enough.
One stride forward, turn of wrist, and a precise strike from below, aimed at the ghoul's lower sword-arm, truncheon as if incidentally raised to block the silver sword from parrying the steel one. Barring the ghoul displaying some momentum-defying stunt or swordmanship beyond what most trained humans could muster, it was going to be a hand short for the rest of its brief stay in the mundane realm.
And just as quickly, Yanin would retract his final stride, quarter-turn, and arc the sword down to low guard while the truncheon remained waist-level. Out of the way from direct rush, and prepared for what he suspected was to come.

Somewhere behind and to the side of him, Jordan took the third step forward since the wraith just about missed having its second arm demolished, into the two shards flung at him, even as his left arm swung out in an attempt to bat the third one aimed at the dark-skinned woman out of the air. The two trained on him shattered into dozens of smaller pieces and a minuscule cloud of dust upon impacting the truncheon he held in his right, the little porcelain bits pattering against his vambrace and chestplate.

---

Nabi could see the fragments of pottery moving and shifting about in the wraith's assumed form, but initially did not expect the wraith's attempt to hurl the fragments physically from its 'body' until almost too late. Instinctively, Nabi slashed with her main gauche at the fragment that had been thrown at her, and the blade connected with a resounding crack, shattering the fragment of pottery into little more than powdery residue, which fell to the floor, harmless. Meanwhile, out of the corner of her eye, Nabi noticed one of the humans - the elder - had begun tangling with two of the corpse-men that had been making their way down the stairs, followed by what was, for all intents and purposes, a living blanket. Nabi snarled with irritation... this little escapade with quasi-incorporeal creatures was already becoming slightly tiresome, and a living blanket was only adding to the frustration - she was far more capable against flesh-and-blood foes-

"Burn it."

The human's words - perhaps more of a command than he potentially meant them to be - were enough to snap Nabi out of her rising anger and temptation to use her sabre as a bludgeon against this collection of dinner plates and flowerpot sherds. Nabi nodded to the younger human, who seemed intent on continuing to fight the pottery-wraith, and uttered "Smash this one to pieces, I'll deal with the bundle of blankets." before once again switching her sabre to her slightly-encumbered-but-still-able-to-grip left hand, and began recanting and tracing the runes of the spell she had already used to deadly effect - and with any luck, she'd be able to catch one of the ghouls in the flames as well, lessening the burden on the human - though he probably already had the situation with the ghouls well under control. No sooner had she finished, than another torrent of magical flame erupted from Nabi's outstretched palm, roaring its way rapidly towards the bundle of blankets that was flopping its way down the stairs. In the back of Nabi's mind, anger bubbled away, and another snarl - of rage this time - escaped from her lips as she focused her energies towards the blankets. Any damage to Lady Bor's property be damned at this point - it was kill or be killed!

Rather than worrying about the clumsy, stumbling swipe of the headless ghoul, Yanin smashed his truncheon into the divine-possessed corpse's back and knocked it even more off-balance than it had already been. It also rewarded him with the sound of yielding flesh, snapping bone and a loud, gurgling exhalation from the severed and exposed windpipe of the creature, though it did also ensure that what would have been a couple of seconds worth of recovery turned into several as it was sent scrambling on its hands and knees.
Where its head had previously been, the greenish mist that flowed from the brutalized flesh of its open neck assumed a vaguely oval, ephemeral and shifting shape as two orange-yellow motes alighted within the smoky material, instantly aligning to stare at Yanin behind it. Ignoring the damage it had taken – even its presumably broken spine – the ghoul would quickly get back to its feet and turn back to its opponent, silver-sword still in hand. It moved with a limp only until the moment when Lhirin recalled his needles, which also removed the offending iron splinter from this ghoul and restored the full use of its leg.

While that ghoul struggled to cope with the consequences of its actions, the one that had been descending the stairs chopped down with its sword, only to find its blade blocked by Yanin's truncheon and its right arm severed by Yanin's sword. Even as Yanin retreated – placing himself now between the literally disarmed ghoul and the headless but still armed one behind him – the ghoul on the stair incredulously followed its arm and sword made through the air. The silver blade clattered noisily on the stone floor as it landed only several steps from where Lhirin was standing, prompting a groan of frustration and disappointment from the creature. Looking much less enthused than before – in fact its expression almost seemed downright sullen – the ghoul halfheartedly started moving to the bottom of the stairs.

Right behind the ghoul on the stairs the blanket wraith came to a halt as Yanin entered its range, raising up like a cobra preparing to strike, revealing another pair of orange-yellow lights on the underside of its central bit of cloth. To its right, the wraith raised a separate blanket that had been pulled into and included in the construct of its vessel. But whereas most of its vessel was made up of loose and flowing pieces of fabric, this arm-blanket was rolled up tightly, turning soft cloth into a hard, long and hefty improvised club.

But just as the blanket wraith and the one-armed ghoul finished their descent to the floor of the hall, Nabi finished her incantation. A relatively narrow cone of flame spilled from the palm of her hand, shooting forth rapidly across the short distance that remained between her and them. The ghoul seemed to spot her tracing patterns, muttering words of spellcasting and thrusting her hand toward them in the last second and, with the table she had targeted last time still crackling as flames rose off it in plain view, dodged to his left.
Even so Nabi's flame still managed to catch a little bit of the ghoul's already diminished right side. Though part of his clothes were moist with blood from his arm having just been cut off, he still came away singed and with some small flames clinging to his right shoulder, left fist raised in a rather pathetic combat-ready stance.
The blanket wraith was not as fortunate and received a direct hit from the fiery blast, causing the entire thing to recoil and sprawl onto the steps. Several towels and blankets quickly detached as the cohesion of the vessel almost instantly seemed to fail, seemingly greatly weakened by Nabi's magic, until the remains of the wraith went still. All that was left was several scattered bits of blankets, sheets and towels on and around the western staircase, as well as a blackened wooden banister that had been caught in the jet of flame.

Behind her, the ceramic wraith finished migrating shards to reform its right arm – though now cleaverless – and seemed to only hesitate for a moment, uncertain how to respond to its improvised ranged attack being so effortlessly foiled, until it spotted Nabi turning her attention away from it. Its eye-lights flared brighter as it abruptly sent into something like a feral leap through the air, ignoring Jordan and moving instead to deliver a flying thrust of its carving-fork-adorned left arm.

The damned thing did explode.
In a manner of speaking, anyway. Having narrowly missed Jordan's follow-up, the wraith slid back and clattered against the wall next to the door, before abruptly throwing parts of itself back at them even as he began to run after it. The two shards aimed at him exploded harmlessly against the truncheon he held in front of himself to block, not even scratching the steel on his arm and chest; the final shard he had tried to bat out of air managed to pass through unhindered. Perhaps because he had instinctively closed his eyes to avoid an errant bit of shattered porcelain or a smack of dust just incidentally happening to go past his defenses and hitting him in the eye regardless. Leave it to uncontrolled debris to find the parts of him that just happened to not be covered in metal, and it would probably happen... Surely.
Thankfully, his new acquaintance managed to block it herself. Jordan could only vaguely register her instructing him to finish the wraith off before the divine made its next move. In the interim, Jordan had moved another three steps closer.
Whether it decided to rush him, slip by, or try and lunge for the less metal-clad woman behind him, it made no difference. The practical result was the same: the wraith leapt at his right side, giving him just enough time to carry his weight over to his left, leading foot and perform a quarter-turn, simultaneously arcing both of his truncheons to the right, effectively replacing his right side on the pottery-wraith's path with two horizontally swung truncheons to its face and what approximated its torso.



Having sent the first ghoul to its knees and hands and disarmed the other, the human knight looked down at the blanket-wraith, raising up not unlike a snake warning one to stay away. To his side, the dark one chanted in a quiet voice, hands weaning patterns, and behind, a ghoul and a wraith were busy making themselves a new head of green mist and new arm respectively.
For a fleeting moment, the cobra and the Viper watched one another, one rearing, the other motionless and prepared to strike. Flame swallowed the former, prompting the disarmed ghoul to leap to the side. The dark one seemed capable enough to handle this one, too, if need be. Unfinished business elsewhere.
The first ghoul was finally back on its feet, beginning to move faster now that Lhirinthyl recalled his iron needle. The Viper struck to the other side, one additional stride, sword brought diagonally up to sever the ghoul's unrotected, empty arm and meet the silver sword in the other, flat to edge, blocking it as Yanin took another stride closer, too close to effectively disengage, truncheon brought down through the ghoul's new semblance of a head, ramming into its body like a pick.

---

Gritting his teeth as the ghoul with his last needle lodged within itself treated the implement as an ultimately minor irritant, Lhirin swore under his breath. He began to raise his sword arm even as the clatter of a silver blade--and the wet sound of mushy flesh--reached his ears, but as a flash of movement passed him by, he found that it didn't matter. The Knight of the Will had things well in hand it seemed.

Still, ghouls were startlingly difficult to deal with--as Yanin and Jordan were discovering in very different ways. They had no sense for self preservation and--further--could continue moving even when they ought not to.

With that in mind--and a certain annoyance building behind his eyes--the deigan mage took shot a quick glance across the hall and what remained of their adversaries.

Not much. Four ghouls, one shard-wraith, with the ghouls all being largely disarmed or otherwise significantly hampered by the extensive damage to their vessels. Taking a shaky breath to prepare himself, Lhirin then lunged up the steps with surprising fluidity and though there was a heaviness in his limbs, the Deigan thrust his runeblade into the chest of the distracted ghoul that Freagon had left behind.

As he moved, a rune lit up on the bronze of his runeblade and he announced a single, clearly annunciated word.

"Atonakuv!"

Lightning.

Supplying only a trickle of his energy at first, Lhirin's runeblade would not even attempt to pierce the ghoul's armor. Instead, as the sharp edge of his magical implement met with the ghoul's armor the lot lit up as electrical energy sparked forwards, taking the path of least resistance from the bronze straight into the ghoul's body and armor both. Yet, it wasn't a lot of power, only enough to generate an electrical current.

Nonetheless, magic disrupted the manifestation of divine beings in Reniam. Where Lhirin's iron needle had failed, this was far more likely to succeed as current traveled through conductive metal and the liquids suffusing the mushy flesh of the ghoul, disrupting the divine's control on numerous fronts and near simultaneously at that.

Lhirin's only likely regret would be that he hadn't done this sooner...perhaps he would not have wasted quite so much energy that way.

The ceramic wraith's glowing orbs seemed to shift to Jordan just an instant before the creature reached him, his truncheons ready to catch it mid-leap, and for just a fraction of a second its posture seemed to change. What would be the equivalent of its shoulders seemed to just slightly sag, its hands lowered almost imperceptibly, and the light of its eyes dimmed to mere faint embers. It did not even seem to attempt to dodge the squire's attack – though all attempts at this point would have been in vain regardless – but rather almost as though it resigned itself to its fate.
Then iron met dinner plate, pottery and possibly a mug or two in the mix, and with a loud crash of shattering ceramics the once-cohesive mass that was the wraith seemed to instantly lose the magical influence holding it together. Carried onward by the inertia of the now-absent divine's leap, the shards – at least the ones not pulverized by Jordan's bludgeons – and one errant carving-fork continued onward into the hall, clattering noisily but mostly harmlessly to the floor.

The headless ghoul – clumsy for a trained warrior, but quite adept considering the handicap of its head missing – attempted to make a wide, telegraphed slash with its silver-sword, only for a real trained warrior to completely invalidate it as an opponent. With one swing of his sword Yanin both severed the ghoul's left arm and block the other's blade, and then moved in to once more introduce the spirit within the corpse to iron directly by plunging the truncheon into the open neck, straight through the green visage imitating a head. Even before reaching the ghoul's body itself, the reaction to the truncheon would be immediately obvious as the misty faux-head seemed almost as though it detonated on contact, the ethereal oval seeming to unravel and scatter and the eyes extinguishing, fundamentally incapable of maintaining structure in the same space as the metal.
A wet noise could be head as the weapon impacted, and the body – letting the silver-sword slip from its nerveless fingers – collapsed on the spot like a puppet having its strings cut.

While the western side of the hall now seemed to be all clear with the exception of the one-armed, weaponless ghoul currently engaged with Nabi, Lhirin stepped past the now-motionless body of the ghoul that had been stabbed by Freagon and went to finish off the last opponent on the eastern side of the hall. The deigan half-breed climbed the stairs to the ghoul up there – who had been clawing at its chest halfway up the staircase – while activating the Lightning-rune on his rune sword, feeding the magic only a little magical energy. He correctly assessed that an electric attack with magic would require significantly less energy if he were to touch his opponent with the source of the lightning.
Despite this being true, Lhirin also incorrectly assessed that the ghoul – which had indeed been distracted by the needle in its spine enough to let the other move ahead alone while it stayed in the relative safety up the stairs – was sufficiently distracted or disabled to continue to ignore him even as he climbed toward it. The moment Lhirin started up the steps toward it the ghoul ceased clawing pointlessly at the front of its armor and, with a hissing exhalation through gritted teeth, instead gripped its spear with both hand and jabbed it at him, not moving forward enough to actually stab the deigan, but at the very least preventing him from advancing up the stairs. With the reach-disparity between the ghoul's spear and Lhirin's rune sword, there was no way he would be able to touch it directly and deliver his magical payload.

Below the eastern staircase Freagon moved back around to the foot of the steps, behind Lhirin, at what seemed like an almost leisurely pace that stood in stark contrast to the blinding speed at which he had moved just a couple of seconds ago. He planted one boot heavily on the back of the one-legged ghoul he had dismembered and impaled and, switching to holding his sword low in his right hand, seemed to just watch what everyone else was doing.

---

Despite having prior warning - what with having specifically instructed the wraith's end, Nabi still flinched as the cacophonous clattering that marked the end of the pottery-wraith's physical existence at the hands of the young human's iron bludgeons rang in her ears, as ceramic and iron clashed in a very one-sided encounter. Though she did not see the wraith's seeming acceptance of its fate, doubtless it would have brought a humourless smile to her face. To her left, the wraith was smashed apart, the iron clubs crushing any material they impacted into little more than powder, and the iron de-stabilising the wraith to the point of non-existence... Nabi watched as shards of now-inert pottery flew past her ineffectually, with the occasional sherd impacting with her arm and leg and falling harmlessly to the ground, bereft as they were of any major force to even so much as scratch Nabi's clothing or cloak, let alone the hardened leather cuir bouilli of Nabi's armour. The carving fork that the wraith had attempted to skewer her with also flew past her and embedded itself into the ruins of the table... which Nabi had only just realised were in fact still on fire from her earlier magical assault - as were the ruins of the blanket-wraith the older human had insisted that she make all effort to destroy before it smothered him in its warm embrace. No matter, the water-wielding feathered one would doubtlessly see to the quenching of both of those, surely, and in any case, she now had one more foe to deal with - the rather pathetic one-armed corpse-man that was still gamely raising its fist, in defiance of all reason and logic that would tell anyone else to run away when one is disarmed (in a very literal manner) and facing multiple armed opponents that probably outmatched your skills even if you had the weapon that was now lying uselessly on the floor.

Nabi locked eyes with the corpse-man for a fraction of a second, and was suddenly overcome with a wave of mirth at the ludicrousness of the corpse-man's situation. She smirked and gave a mocking shrug to the corpse-man, before readying her weapons once again - this one would fall to cold steel instead of arcane fire, after all - and moving in to finish the fight quickly. She took a couple steps forward, her main gauche in her left hand and sabre in her right, and with a single, swift motion, Nabi brought her sabre about her head and slashed at the ghoul's remaining arm, aiming to sever it at the shoulder in a single clean cut, before stepping forward and plunging her dagger into the corpse-man's eye, into the brain. With any luck, that would render the corpse-man harmless, and possibly disrupt the workings of whatever magic that fuelled its movements. Of course, failing that, she could always fall back on another blast of magical fire, but she was starting to wonder just how much energy she had to spend on dealing with these irritations - particularly given that according to one of their party, there was another, more powerful spirit still to reveal itself, somewhere in the building's western end, which would doubtlessly require even more effort to put down.

Summoners really were like neglectful child-minders.

Nabi made a mental note to berate the unfortunate soul responsible for all this mess when it was all over, as she delivered the slash to the corpse-man's shoulder...

Irah rolled her eyes at the Frentits making the apparent most of their last moments across the divide, their churlishness and spite pricking at her. Their idea of fun had cost so many their lives, and she felt both literally and figuratively sickened at their lack of regard. Her eyes darted over to Lhirin, ascending the stairs to deliver his payload, and at the ghoul waving its spear to prevent his passage. Her right index finger suddenly extended outwards and made a smooth trailing motion, and a tendril of water from her orb began to extend out rapidly towards the stairs where the temporary stalemate had taken place. The tendril whipped upwards, its tail detaching from the main orb as it did, and slivered through the air directly towards the ghoul’s metal armour. Simultaneously, the tail end would whip towards Lhirin’s runeblade, and the circuit would be completed. She idly wondered for a moment why he’d bothered to expend so much energy flashily executing the ghoul, but she quickly remembered the rug and remembered that it was entirely justified, no matter what anyone else said.

Then, extending her magical senses once more (and asking Kinder to do the same), she focused more closely on the West where she’d felt the presence of the divine moving to. The most valuable thing she could provide in this moment was information, and though Lhirin’s mastery of arcane magic far exceeded her own, her necromantic training gave her the edge in observing things like this. It was evident the others–Nabi excluded–were far less magically inclined, and Nabi’s magic was somewhat perfunctory and practical. She would be best served priming them to succeed in their endeavours to come, and having seen Freagon, Yanin, and Jordan fight (in descending order of talent) she was cautiously optimistic about their chances. Almost unbidden, she couldn’t help but recall the story of Kahr’wai’iel–the Nameless Saint who’d summoned Thalks to save Jihni'mah'jehla'nai during the War of the Feathers–she would not relish the prospect of coming face-to-face with a Thalk whose aura had sufficiently developed, and nor would her compatriots.

“... I must stress that time is not on our side. We must be efficient if we are to save whoever remains.” she said rather pointedly, indicating towards the west again. She gave Lhirin a quick appraising look before saying something to him in Fermian: “I think it is time you got serious.”

The tone was not harsh, just direct--something that he usually appreciated. He would know what she meant when she said it: be alert, be proactive, be efficient. Once she had a better idea of what they were truly facing--the assumption wasn't enough for them to make plans around--she knew that he'd have snapped into proper focus anyway. Given the live(s) at stake, Irah thought a little nudge necessary, and quickly whispered a prayer to Reina as she waited for the events to resolve:
"Reina grant us your mercy, that we are not too late."

Just as Nabi started moving to assault her one-armed opponent, the ghoul started moving as well. Unarmed as it was, the ghoul's natural mode of attack was to simply rush straight at the Erashyir, meeting her during her own approach, and move to tackle her.
But even as it rushed forward, raising its left arm to grasp for her face, Nabi's saber slashed with speed and intent, cleaving into the ghoul's shoulder, cutting flesh, tendon and bone alike, severing the offending arm. The blade even continued its arc through the arm and into the rib cage, embedding itself into the torso, though this also served to lock the saber in place until it could be properly dislodged.
Following up the chop instantly with a stab, the ghoul's own momentum added to the force of her dagger. She would feel the blade find its mark, easily sinking into and through the eyeball, resulting in a splash of something wet and still warm on her hand, before piercing hilt-deep into the creature's brain. It was a grievous wound that was doubtlessly almost instantly lethal... had the creature not been a spirit that was not actually using its vessel's brain.
Ignoring the slight inconvenience of the steel embedded in its head, the rushing ghoul – now armless – finally collided with Nabi bodily. It pressed against her, its feet skidding impotently against the floor as it merely endeavored to get as close to her as possible. It opened its own mouth and started snapping its teeth, trying to lean into and bite at her with its teeth, the only weapon it had left.

Over by the eastern staircase Irah's flying bit of water darted forward, though she would notice instantly that upon getting about five meters into the hall that the magically animated fluid would start to bleed, drip and slow down as her magic was once more impeded, necessitating her pouring additional magical energy and concentrating harder to do what she had wanted. Though Irah was outside the influence of whatever disrupting aura was in effect back in the armory, the same was evidently not true for most of the hall.
Even so the water would still make its way to Lhirin and his spear-wielding adversary. The ghoul there would swat at the water with its spear as soon as it got in range – a vain effort, since the weapon merely passed right through the liquid with minimal resistance – before the tendril connected the ghoul with Lhirin's blade, creating a pathway of minimal resistance for the still-active lightning-enchantment to traverse. The electricity would obviously disrupt Irah's magic as much as the ghoul's, instantly causing her to lose control of the conducting water and making it drop and splash onto the stair, but by then it would already have served its purpose.
The ghoul jolted backward, a spasm going through its muscles as electricity coursed through it, after which it fell back onto the stairs with a clatter of armor on stone, the spear slipping from its grasp.

Irah's attempt at directing her magical senses toward the west end of the manor would have her instantly detect a large quantity of divine energy – many times greater than any of the frentits had had – on the second floor, though notably it seemed oddly still, calm and passive. She could not feel any of the expected currents of energy that would normally indicate a functioning soul experiencing thoughts and emotions. It also felt very large in terms of the area it was distributed over; larger, even, than any kind of angel she would be familiar with.
“It is still there, Deo'irah. The last angel has not moved, and it is still alone,” Kinder told her, a note of worry in her voice. “But it is harder to sense than before, and I don't feel any emotion from it anymore. I think it may have sensed me, too, and is trying to mask its presence. Be careful; though I do not sense it now, I could tell from earlier that it is not having fun like the others. All I felt from it was hate, anger and bloodthirst.”

The visage standing in for the ghoul's head exploded upon nonexistent impact, the metal sinking into the headless body unimpeded. The now-unanimate corpse lost tone in an instant, weighing down Yanin's arm as it dropped to its knees along with the clatter of its sword. The knight didn't waste any time showing the nerveless burden back with his knee and wrenching his weapon free as he turned to, ever so briefly, assess the situation.
The pottery-wraith exploded into a million smaller pieces, Freagon had finished off another of the ghouls, the dark-skinned foreigner moved to engage the one-armed ghoul. The male deigan had uttered just one word in arcane language, a corresponding rune lighting up. There were not too many arcane symbols and words Yanin recognized without a reference, but this one was one of them. One of the most common elements, one not uncommonly found on runeswords, and one that had been both referenced and put on display earlier on the same day - lightning.
Even with the urgings of Deo'Irah rallying on, it was suboptimal. The older nightwalker didn't seem to be willing to take over, but rather just stood around, watching Lhirinthyl stand off against the spear-wielding ghoul. Bloody waste. The situation had changed as they learned more of their enemies. Freagon appeared more than capable of handling that one on his own, with comparatively little expenditure of energy or risk of injury, as opposed to requiring input from not one, but two different mages, yet again uselessly spending magical energy which they very much could use later, when facing against what was suspected to be their main adversary. Hit hard, hit all at once, before being cooked alive by divine energy or magic.
The iron truncheon, still covered in blood, motioned toward the second-to-last ghoul standing; it would have been hard to interpret who it was referring to, but for the fact that Yanin's helmet seemed to be facing Freagon. You're better suited for it, you do something. Lhirinthyl and Deo'Irah may not have been new to it ... but it definitely felt like they were used to working on their own. And maybe in for the short fight, rather than the long one.

The maybe second and a half had been enough for the dark one to liberate the ghoul he had formerly disarmed from its second arm and stick a dagger in its head, upon which it decided to simply fall onto her and attempt to bite her. Nothing to lose, no incentive to give up.
In three quick strides, surprisingly enough managing to precisely avoid any and all bits of clay and porcelain littering the floor, the human knight moved forward, past a momentarily slightly confused Jordan, who opted to not get in his way. The knight flipped his sword around in his hand, an armoured arm and hand with the hilt making its way into the foreigner's peripheral vision as the Viper thrust the pommel of his sword under the ghoul's left clavicle to shove it back, off the dark one, backwards left shoulder first onto the stairs, no matter its attempts to sidestep or break its borrowed teeth on the knight's vambrace.
In the end, it was not a match. If the ghoul had not fallen back from its not exactly secure footing, it was easy enough to take another step, hook around his right shoulder, and throw it back regardless. In the end, he just needed the ghoul to be far enough away from his newfound ally to allow for a free swing with his other hand. Which he did, the iron of the truncheon colliding with the ghoul's head as it fell down, still kicking and likely with the dark one's steel embedded in it, parts of its skull and yaw crushed in mounting to just a minor inconvenience. A loud crack from the other end of the room announced that the second-to-last ghoul was done for, if unnecessarily wastefully.
This ghoul got to persist for another second, enough for Yanin to step around its attempt to kick him the shin and ram the truncheon through its ribcage, upon which it finally ceased. Breaking his truncheon loose, the knight stood.
"They fight until disrupted or fully disassembled," he noted to the dark one and Jordan behind him, tone characteristically neutral, almost indifferent. "Taking off an arm is but a scratch."
Turning his head from the remains of the former witchhunter turned ghoul, he looked at the burning pile of cloth that had been the final wraith.
"Thank you." It might have been annoying to fight a living rope and multiple ghouls.



The wraith resigned itself to its fate - or perhaps, being airborne, it was simply unable to change its trajectory as iron crashed through its body and left the squire free to drop onto one knee with a slight crunch of what had once been a saucer as a fine assortment of tableware smashed into the stone floor and foot of the stairs. The truncheons collided the floor from sheer inertia alone. The fight was still going on.
Leaning on one of his weapons, he pushed himself back to his feet, somewhat to his annoyance noting that his breathing was heavier, elevated, almost panting although it had been what, some ten seconds? He was not quite sure if it was being in a real fight once more, or spending too much energy, or still somehow not enough, or any combination of the former, or - ah, fuck no.
The ghoul had decided to simply throw itself at his new friend, so Jordan forgot about his contemplation of his own shortcomings and rushed towards the two entangled people (if the ghoul could still be qualified as a person), though Sir Yanin - as he was often wont to be - was much faster than he could hope to be, even in heavier armor, so in the end, he abruptly halted himself next to the foreigner, swinging an arm out, just in case the other was liable to fall with the ghoul being torn off her with her weapons presumably still stuck in it (and somewhat awkwardly catching her without using his hand on the off chance she actually did, seeing how he was still holding onto his blunt weapons).
"You okay?" he glanced sideways at her even as Yanin removed a third of the ghoul's face (the lower half with less daggers in it) and borderline staked it to the stairs before commenting something about ghouls not really being hindered by regular injury. Well, it made sense - it wasn't really their bodies ... they were just wraiths made out of corpses, no? "I'm Jordan, in case you missed the introductions earlier."
Surprisingly enough, Sir Yanin actually managed to thank someone for once - he usually forgot.

The knight was not done, though, and seemed to be addressing the whole room - or, at the very least, speaking louder, "Of those accounted for, the summoner, if alive, and thalk remain. I think I west front side upstairs, second or third window*. Those who have anything to throw at a powerful caster, prepare to do so now. Best to strike all at once before he can react, so coordinate. If I'm not mistaken, it having its own body means it eliminates like a mundane would." Sir Yanin had managed to locate a piece of fabric, running it over the blade of his sword before sheathing it and picking up one of the discarded witchhunter blades. He was speaking as he moved around rather than stopping to give a speech. "Silver ignores magic. That's why they use those." He kept the iron truncheon, too.
"Master's usually terribly practical," Jordan commented to to Nabi, absently using a truncheon as a fire-poker to shove what remained of the burning blankets into a pile on the floor to clear the path upstairs, presumably as she and everyone else briefly went over what weapons they were using and recovered what they needed to. "And I kind of promised the kids back at the guardhouse we'll try to get their healer back, too. This will be a long day..."
With that, he sprinted half a dozen steps deeper into the room to fetch the second of three silver swords, just in case, before returning just as promptly and offering one of his truncheons to the dark one. "Do you prefer to fight with magic, or silver and iron ... there should be a third silver sword somewhere."
Sir Yanin seemed to be done with all the preparations he was going to do, and walked halfway up the western stairs, having briefly halted to see who was ready, if and with what, they followed.

[[*Forgot to specify, Jack feel free to correct or accept as need be.]]