[h3]Freagon, Irah, Lhirin, and Yanin – Bor Manor, Borstown[/h3]
Caleb kept staring warily at Freagon until Irah started getting closer, at which point his eyes started shifting between the two, though his stance seemed to relax a little as the deigan spoke, seemingly somewhat mollified by her words and demeanor. Freagon's stance relaxed the rest of the way, too, as he sheathed his dagger – he had not intended to use it, after all, he merely wanted to show them that the blade was silver so they knew he could have thrown it rather than a coin, had he really wanted to – and stepped further into the room, heading for the west corner or the room and thus away from the angel and toward the bed.
[I]Divines,[/I] he thought bitterly, looking down at the still-bloodied sword in his hand. Their sharp senses were really bothersome under the best of circumstances, and had turned out quite problematic today in particular. It was one thing that Caleb had mentioned that there was something different about him – in truth he expected to feel the faint familiar tingle of one of the mages magically reading his soul any moment now – but chances were that the others were not going to respond well to being told that there was a spirit in his sword. It did not bode well for their prospect as future allies.

Arriving at the side of the bed, Freagon proceeded to reach out and wipe his blade on a relatively unsullied part of the otherwise ruined quilt, finally cleaning his sword so that he might put it away; he did not think he was going to need it anymore. But even as he did so, he clenched his teeth and had to stop himself from sighing audibly at the internal admonition he levied at himself: yes, news of the sword was likely going to be a point of conflict, but he had not exactly been at his most pleasant either. The whole debacle over him throwing the coin, and likely him just kicking down the door earlier as well... he [I]knew[/I] that these people probably disliked him at this point, which – annoying though it was that people could not just be rational about such things – probably made them less inclined to keep working with him. He [I]could[/I] have handled things differently: he could have apologized as Irah had demanded; he could have abstained from justifying him injuring the angel by pointing out that he could have killed it; he could have spent a few more seconds communicating with the others rather than acting on his own initiative without consulting them. He could, but... stuff like this was why he almost always worked alone. Why people did not like him.
Even now, as Irah poured her heart out trying to make peace with their divine quarry, all Freagon could think about was how the thalk was probably re-accumulating power with each word she spoke. His every instinct told him to cut things short; that the only way to negate the threat of this creature was by slaying it before it regained its strength. His fingers itched to put a dagger in its face, to sever its neck with his sword, to impale it and destroy its heart; anything to send its spirit back where it came from, where it was not a threat to anyone. Part of him insisted that he knew better, that these amateurs were going to get themselves killed unless he acted on his own to protect them. But he knew that they would not understand, let alone agree with him.
No one understood, which was why no one liked him, and most people hated him. He was not right; he was defective and broken. He had come to accept this decades ago, and had resolved to walk a lonely path through this life... until he met Jaelnec. The boy had changed things. For the sake of a future that might be, he had to find a way to make this work. It was not going to be easy, but Freagon had never shied away from a challenge before.

“Do not offer up your energy so willingly for my sake, and certainly not your life,” Caleb replied to Irah over in the corner, just as Freagon returned the now-clean Roct to its scabbard. “I may be Fallen, but I am still mostly a thalk; as long as I do not move, I can siphon nigh-limitless divine energy from the Neverrealm. And truth be told, I do not even want to be here.” Caleb cocked his head. “But if what you say is true... may I leave?”
Freagon kept listening in silence, and went to search for the couple of rodlin he had thrown from the floor.