[h3]Sir Yanin Glade[/h3]

	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. [i]There would typically also be also 'evil' in that chain, would there not?[/i]
	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, [color=FF0000]"[...] Lhirin? Sir Yanin?"[/color]
	"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 [i]different[/i], 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.