Though he did not outwardly react to the question, a small frown did briefly touch Quintin's face when he turned to look at Nabi as his eyes swiftly scanned her up and down.
“Going alone would be a bad idea,” he told her bluntly. “I mean no offense to you, Miss, nor do I doubt your skills, but I doubt you'd be able to learn anything I haven't already from watching them for nearly five hours.” He licked his lips. “As for observations on patrols, there were on average five patrols an hour, consisting of two or three hostiles. There were some vague patterns to their movements, though nothing that suggested planned and assigned routes. I'll draw a map and share as much of what I learned as I can once we've gathered everyone that needs to know.”

In response to Jordan's comment about the baroness being likely to return soon, Quintin nodded his head. “I expect the same, Squire Forthey, but I already left the Lady once expecting her to be safe only to return and find that her home had become a battlefield. You will have to forgive me for not taking it on faith that she'll be safe if I left her a second time so soon.”

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 'bell-ringer' is called Cole and the 'scout' is Quintin, but yes, that's who I meant,” Vela Bor replied to Yanin's comment regarding the people she wanted to bring to save the healer. “Don't get me wrong, I really don't like bringin' folk who're already hurt, but we're severely outnumbered. I'd be happy to let Cole stay and recover safely here, but everyone else's gonna be in more danger for each sword-arm we leave behind.”
“We don't need them,” Freagon declared from his place by the bed, and though his implied arrogance was likely expected by some of them, his justification might not be: “I vote to leave the wounded. Let's get through this without any more dead townsfolk.”
“We'll discuss that when everyone's together,” Vela sighed. “We've options, and none of 'em's good.”

When Yanin addressed Caleb about the possibility of him wearing clothes on top of his robe, the angel chuckled. “Do you want me to wear something else?”
Barely had the words left his lipless mouth before the robe shrouding his body seemed to spontaneously liquefy, becoming an amorphous semi-corporeal blob rapidly shifting in shape and color. A second later the blob solidified again, only for Caleb to now be wearing a resized replica of Yanin's own clothes and armor.
“But I am not sure any clothes will disguise me adequately,” he then mused, the hint of humor from before having already left his voice. “But if you give me two, or maybe three hours at most, I could have enough energy to teleport wherever you want me to. I can even bring the rest of you, if you want... though I would have to warn you that you would be exposed to some quite powerful divine magic. Taint may be an issue.”
“If he's with me, the townsfolk will understand,” Vela interjected firmly. “No point in fussin' over that.”

The seamstess and surgeon halted ever so briefly on the doorstep as she took in any changes in the interior of the station since she departed when the bell called and her eyes adjusted to the comparatively dim conditions inside - a process that was significantly quicker for palanters than humans, and noticeably quicker for half-palanters.
Palanters had no vision in complete darkness, and they couldn't see nearly as clearly as nightwalkers on moonless, overcast nights - but their winged forms especially seemed built for nocturnality (or perhaps crepuscularity), so a nice, full moon with a clear sky might as well have been comparable to a sunny day for a human but for the deepest of shadows, and actual sunny days tended to register as rather annoyingly bright, though not enough so to send them reeling unless they were unfortunate enough do look directly into sun or its clear reflection. It might have also explained, though, why no palanter in existence had found exquisite beauty in the sparkling of fields of snow on a crisp winter day or the glimmer of the sea during high noon. Just a hunch, that.
The dead had been moved - into the basement the human knight had briefly visited, she presumed - and there were a couple townsfolk in the room who had not been there before, presumably to aid in whichever small ways they could. She and Irah had already done what they were able for the ones with the head injury and slashed shoulder - they'd be fine with only very minimal loss of function, at least physically, given time and no further trauma - which left the three others who were bedbound, the Fadewatcher with injured arm who was still standing, and the one of Vela's men with an injured leg, who was yet to come along.

"Fortunately, I can assure you no further harm came to baroness Vela Bor or those serving at her residence, and her manor is once more safe for its inhabitants" she addressed the room before anyone could inquire, her tone surprisingly soft and reassuring even in spite of being projected enough to carry towards the back of the station. "Quintin has also returned from scouting, and my unlikely companions appear to be discussing going to liberate Bren as I speak - they should be arriving here shortly to further formulate their plan. I might need to depart along them, but until then, I'll do what I can."
There was a brief pause, during which she slightly bowed her head once more, and strode into the station, only briefly halting if she were to pass one of the comparatively well off Fadewatchers, and touching her fingertips to his shoulder to catch his attention. "Several of baroness Bor's guests seem to have been less fortunate; two remain, unharmed," she noted under her breath. It was these men's business to protect the place, fair if they had a more detailed overview. "The manor was overrun with wraiths and ghouls, though they were dispatched swiftly."
She didn't linger long enough to allow for a reply.

She returned to the side of the man with broken jaw and missing fingers - it was him she had left her things with when the alarms called, and his injuries were subjectively the most debilitating. Intrinsically, she considered hand-injures quite unfortunate indeed. It was what she used most in her trade - either one of her trades, really - and the same could be said for many other professions. And for humans, it would be borderline permanent. The And a jaw injury? To be barely able to speak, or eat...
"Let me," she asked - nay, informed - him, carefully picking up his hand and observing the injury. "I could try to restore your hand - though only if I had the actual fingers, she murmured - you can hold up or wave your other hand," It had been long enough that it was stretching it, but the weather was not too warm, and she had both her own medicine and the vial Deo'Irah had let her borrow.

---

The deigan mage listened to Caleb’s story and the subsequent discussion—as well as taking in Ms. Lady Bor’s arrival. As events played out Lhirin’s gaze intermittently shifted between individuals as he took things in. By and large he was using the ongoing conversations to distract himself from the mysteries that surely lay within the book he held in one of his delicate deigan hands.

When Irah actually addressed him he glanced her way for a moment, then to Sir Yanin as he spoke first. For his part, once the knight had finished, he simply shook his head perfunctorily before bowing his head respectfully to the penin.

“I am ready,” he stated simply, his words slightly rushed with the faintest hint of breathlessness to them. His too-wide eyes narrowed slightly as he focused. “I need no time for recovery. It—I believe—would be prudent that we speak to this…’Quintin,’ debrief…as it were, and then depart post haste if all are prepared.”

Lhirin paused for a moment, his head tilting before he glanced at his companion—Irah. “Perhaps…if the trail to Bren is not a short one, you could rest during transit,” he suggested, trying to think of a solution that allowed them to arrive most expeditiously without not having all of them at their best.

Lady Bor confirmed the identities of the people she intended to bring along, and attempted to justify bringing the injured to battle. "[...], but everyone else's gonna be in more danger for each sword-arm we leave behind.”
"Not necessarily," asserted the human knight. "Mistakes risk others as much as yourself. There would also be no one left in town if we brought even the half-capable."
There was a particular reason why Yanin chose being a guard and investigator over being a soldier - further than just having to pick something when he was de facto getting evicted from his home before things would get even more foul. He was a fighter, not an executioner, and certainly not one to stand by and just let others get themselves killed. If you brought exhausted, injured, or vastly outclassed people... In the end, much of your attention and skill went to defending those weaker than you, and not being the most effective in dealing with your true objective.
Freagon seemed to agree. As stated, for the same approximate reasons as him.

The angel laughed when he asked if it could wear something else. So the robe did appear to be a part of it... perhaps. Made it easier for them to somewhat impersonate others. Good to know.
"And it takes no effort to maintain even in motion?" he inquired - quite impassionately for someone faced with a slightly oversized replica of oneself, though just as quickly specified, "Preferably something nondistinct. I stand out. Some might say one of me is more than enough for the world, and replicating particular individuals is generally seen as bad taste." The height would seemingly be harder to change. "It's mostly for people who see you at a glance. Not sure we have two or three hours. If anything, it might be beneficial to have you waiting long before we make a move."
Lady Bor deemed the exchange unnecessary, opting to rely on her influence to override people's usual inclinations.
"It's not your loyal townsfolk I am worried about," Yanin said, simply.
No one could know several hundred individuals adequately, and furthermore she had invited unknown elements to the now-compromised location. Who knew if any of those could perhaps indirectly result Lady Bor inexplicably not waking up one morning, several months later.
Far too few people in the world one could trust.

The male deigan shook his head when he inquired if he needed rest. So he had interpreted correctly, it would seem. He seemed to stumble over words. Was that typical of him? Fuck if he knew. Seemed coherent enough to try to come up with solutions, though practicality remained to be seen... Resting while they were moving? He didn't think there were roads in the direction the bandits were off to, though he had approached from a different direction, so he was going off of barely more than presumptions here. Did he intend someone to carry her the entire way? Take one of the animals hand have someone ride with her? You could technically sleep like that. Poorly.
"There's not much left to do here." Literally. The room didn't give off the same eerie sense of back off the makeshift morgue had - maybe because the only apparent sign of someone's demise was the blood on the ground, maybe it was the others, maybe it was the sunlight streaming in from the window ... but, in the end, he had gleaned all what was to learn from here. Business awaited elsewhere.
"Deo'Irah? What would you say? Are you and your companion forthcoming?" She could - should - want to clarify what the business with her companion before they go somewhere in the public. If it would last into battle might be especially relevant; he wouldn't exactly know how much or how long piaan would affect a deigan of Lhirinthyl's constitution.



Quintin appeared to be measuring Nabi up before quite matter-of-factly shutting her proposition down, though admittedly, he also answered her questions. Oh, good, Sir Yanin and you might get along quite nicely. Or at least they seemed to speak much in the same way, based on the brief interaction. Well, admittedly, the knight wouldn't probably have taken the time to specify that he didn't doubt her skill, nor seemed taken aback by attention other than giving off an air of nondescript annoyance Jordan had long figured was just his normal state of being without any particular meaning to it.
It didn't appear the foreigner had anything to say in return - perhaps being taken aback by the apparent abruptness of Lady Bor's ranger. "We should have some paper at least, so I can get that prepared," the squire said - though he was mostly looking at Nabi to gauge her exact reaction.

Quintin reasserted why he wanted to linger, though... Why was he here, then, not going through the manor along with Lady Bor? Or sweeping the building personally? Had she ordered him to wait or did he expect trouble from the outside, from the bandits perhaps, much like had been their first thought when the bell rang? There was a brief pause during which Jordan tried to determine if Quintin was the kind of person to patiently wait outside just because he was told to, merely by looking at him.
"Two people have confirmed that there should be no soul left in the building other than those upstairs with my master and Lady Bor, at least - now that Tedwyn is out." No, that doesn't mean I'm summoning you. "But understandable. I'll go prepare what I can."

"I guess you should come, too ... will be easier to plan if the whole lot is around one table," he muttered to Nabi before half-walking, half-sprinting towards the station, detouring to their animals.
"Sorry to keep you waiting here," he muttered, patting his horse before placing the truncheon (should have probably have returned it before now, though it might have been from the station to begin with ... looked like one of those made to order for the Fadewatchers, anyway) and silver sword to ground, and going to rummage for the absent pieces of his armor.
Greaves, gauntlets, cuisses and a sallet helmet... He opted to start from the leg armor, though not before repeatedly running his hands over his face and through his hair.
"It really should be more common for knights to have two squires, would make it much more easier," he muttered as he twisted himself in an attempt to latch a strap, "Er, and there is a well across the street if you would like to make use of one." The same one Deo'Irah had earlier used to call forth the water she had brought to the manor.
Jordan had only fought living water and animated diningware, but the ghoul had managed to get some of its recently-human blood on Nabi, which ... well, coagulating blood didn't feel the most pleasant on one's skin, and it'd feel even less pleasant once it dried. He would know that from experience. It would probably be more than an hour before they'd need to fight something again.
He would leave the gauntlets and helmet for later - actually, he might have to put the latter on for a bit just because he would be running out of hands shortly (and the gods forbid he just walked back and forth multiple times). The bow, the arrows, the crossbow, the bolts - all of them and their quivers -, halberd, spear... Quill, ink, couple papers (those, like the halberd and bow, technically came from Sir Yanin's things, but Jordan was reasonably sure he wouldn't mind; managing things was his business as squire). Or actually, it would be easier to just bring Sir Yanin's entire backpack inside with the ammo and gauntlets stored within. Yes.

A few minutes later saw Jordan and Nabi entering the Fadewatcher station, Jordan carrying a pack and two full sets of weapons he carefully placed on and against one of the tables in the back before producing a paper, an ink bottle and a quill, taking off his helmet and locating his gauntlets (again).
There were a couple civilians here who hadn't been present before - should he ask them to leave, or? Should he sit down and wait? Tell the local Fadewatchers what had happened in the manor?
"I already informed the people here with the gist of what has been ensuing", the half-palanter noted from her position closer to the entrance, preoccupied with one of the injured Fadewatchers' hand and having apparently once more employed one of them to be the light source. Her long fingers served to hold several strands of some kind of barely visible thread, a vial and at the same time, two of what looked like curved needles and a small hook of some kind. She didn't even look up.
"Right. Is there anything else we should help with before the others arrive?" Simply standing around would be kind of useless, too.



Human hands didn't really have much muscle in them - indeed, there pretty much was only the one at the base of the thumb; the other fingers were moved solely by a delicate arrangement of tendons connecting to muscles in the lower arm. It made hands less bulky, more able to grip and fold ... and it also meant that if you got your fingers cut off, then she would need to slice open your palm to try and retrieve the corresponding tendons. They didn't just hang out like cut rope, they retracted back in their housings like startled eels.
Luckily, the locals had had enough sense and presence of mind to recover the poor man's absent fingers, so reconnecting them, one whitish bundle of sinew at a time in each, was what she was busying herself with. Though, since she was not a savage, not before numbing the man's entire hand (and half of his arm, and also paralyzing the appendage for an hour or two - albeit that was mostly incidental) and purging both the hand and the severed digits of whatever debris and decay might have tried to take hold to the best of her ability. And informing both her patient and the bystander she had roped into being the mobile lightsource that just perhaps, they shouldn't look too closely at what she was doing if they didn't have prior experience, lest they started feeling queasy.
She had gotten around to having largely attached the second, middle finger, briefly bending it between her own fingers to see if the tendons moved as they should, when Jordan and Nabi made an entrance. Other than her brief remark about filling the folks in about the gist of what had happened, barely seemed to notice the arrivals. Content with the progress of her work, she proceeded to close the skin in tiny, neat sutures.

Deo’Irah inhaled sharply through her nose as she began a pattern of controlled and practised breathing while she listened to the others, and considered events yet to come. The Baroness Bor suggested bringing those yet able-bodied alongside them, and Sir Yanin and Sir Freagon both indicated their disdain for the idea. Irah agreed with them; their usefulness would be slight, and the risk would be immense. Leaving Borstown without adequate protection–if one could assume it had adequate protection to begin with, given all that happened–was unconscionable, less so for the well-guarded Baroness in her big house with her staff but for all of the people of the village who relied on the grace extended by the Fadewatchers and the Baroness. Too many children had already lost parents and families lost breadwinners–to say nothing of friendships, of loves, of all the things that might was supposed to protect. Irah would not allow more to be taken from these people who had already suffered so much if she could at all help it.

“I doubt it will be that simple, Lhirin. There is likely not a road for us to take the stagecoach, and it would be too conspicuous either way… Sleeping on Arvos will probably not get me the restfulness I would need to replenish my reserves. I agree with Sirs Yanin and Freagon about not bringing the wounded, Baroness–they have suffered enough. They will be liabilities, and I would not have them throw their lives away for their childrens’ sake if nothing else. I am inclined to come along, Sir Yanin, if only so we have at least one extra healer–if Bren is injured, he will need attention. It would be foolish for Lhirin to waste the piaan he consumed, too. Let us rendezvous with the others and have this discussion with everyone caught up to speed, hmm? Lady Bor is right that we have limited options, but… There is a path through this. We will find it together.” Irah stated, though more hurriedly than she had before–and her voice was less impassioned than it had been previously, replaced with something less intense but still fierce in its own gentle way: hope.

Sir Freagon’s justification did not surprise Irah too much–from what little she remembered of the Knights of the Will, they were supposed to be great heroes. Freagon was an arse, yes, but he took his vows very seriously. To have a page like Jaelnec who still wasn’t promoted to squire… Irah suspected the weight of duty was heavy on his heart and mind, and that his age only exacerbated that fact. Cynicism, in her experience, was how the aged and weary protected themselves–for the nature of the world was just as cruel as it was kind, and it had no regard for the values of its inhabitants on any individual basis. The older one got, the more mired in regrets and woes… Vela Bor was a clear example of that. There was a weariness about her that was only found in those who had suffered and lost a tremendous amount–it was the same kind of sullen resignation that Deo’il sometimes got when Irah would ask him about Gazzeralesh as a child.

With that spoken, and a couple of seconds of quiet contemplation, Irah began to move forward, as if to lead them out of the room and rendezvous with the others. She was happy to take the lead if none of them would, and would continue heading downstairs until something or someone stopped her.

Indeed, there was not much more to do in this guest bedroom, and just moments later it would seem that there was little more to do in the manor as a whole, as Jaelnec arrived to convey that the surviving guest had been secured and that everyone were convening at the Fadewatcher station. They stayed in the manor only long enough for Caleb to alter his garb to be less eye-catching while also concealing his nature – to fit the company he found himself in, he opted to don a bulky suit of dusty brigandine armor, a full helmet, heavy boots and gauntlets, and even conjured a bearded axe to hang from his belt – before setting off. Caleb also explained, though the facts would be evident once he started moving, that altering his outfit like this was technically not “magic” for him, almost effortless and would require nothing of him to maintain. To avoid misunderstandings, the thalk also revealed to them that though it now looked as though he was wearing heavy armor and a weapon, everything he had formed this way was just for show and actually no more durable or protective than the flimsy cloth of his robe.

Outside, the group found the baroness' manor staff waiting for them, including the recently returned scout, Quintin. Though he had seemed stiff and reserved when Jordan, Nabi and Jaelnec had spoken to him, Quintin seemed to immediately relax and even smile a little as soon as Vela Bor stepped out of the door. There were introductions as appropriate, with the new arrival once more introducing himself simply as “Quintin,” and then quickly made their way to the Fadewatcher station. Whether because Jordan mentioned him or for some other reason, Tedwyn tagged along, too, albeit somewhat hesitantly.

Once there, Quintin – after receiving the paper and writing utensils with an expression of wonder, handling them with excessive care and remarking that he had planned to just draw in the dirt with a stick – quickly cleared a table at the back of the station and went to work drawing a map of what he had seen. As soon as everyone had assembled around him – with the baroness standing on a stool beside him to see what was going on – he started reporting what he had seen.
“As I already told some of you, the bandits are staying in an abandoned farm past the forest north of here. It took me about an hour to get back here on foot, and will likely take as long to get there from here. We will have to go on foot, too; the direct path there is too densely wooded for horses, so they would only slow us down.”
Vela nodded her head, tapping one bone-clad finger on the tabletop thoughtfully. “Could we go around the forest to the west or along the road to the east?”
“We could, but it would be a major detour. It would likely take longer to go around the forest on horseback than to go through it on foot.”
Quintin leaned over the table again and tapped on the rough annotated map he had drawn. “I counted at least twenty-six bandits moving around the area, but obviously I couldn't get a good look inside the buildings. Most activity I saw was centered around here –” He pointed to the shape annotated as “barn”. “– and here.” He pointed to the smaller shape annotated “farmstead”. “I saw some of them bringing out horses from the barn to graze in the dilapidated fields to the north, but aside from bringing the horses out and back in through the main doors, people mostly used this side entrance.” He pointed. “I think the majority of the bandits are staying in the barn, with maybe a handful or so in the farmstead. I haven't seen the ones wounded in the attack around, so I'm guessing they are either being cared for by Bren – our healer – or dead and discarded somewhere.”
He sighed. “I got there too late to know for sure which building Bren is in, and they didn't move him anywhere that I could see. Patrols came through about five times an hour, two or three men in each, not following any identifiable routes, but generally moving along these paths.” He quickly traced several lines across the map to give a rough idea of their patrol patterns.
Leaning back from the table again, Quintin crossed his arms and frowned. “They are rather well-equipped for bandits, too. Almost all of them are wearing gambesons, chainmail or both, and their equipment looked appropriately maintained. I saw spears, halberds, axes, swords... and at least three crossbows and a handful of war bows. They seemed pretty cautious and alert at first, but by the time I saw my chance to get out of there they had calmed down some, so they might not be fully on guard anymore.”

Upon entering the Fadewatcher station once more, Irah’s crimson-red eyes glinted in the firelight as she surveyed the state of the wounded once more. She was drawn first to Madara, who was currently helping one of the men become reunited with his lost digits–and Irah couldn’t help but observe the process with keen interest. She’d seen things like it before, though Deigan hands were surpassingly delicate even by the standards of hands and the swiftness and neatness of the work Madara was doing impressed her. She knew better than to interrupt an artist in the middle of her work, especially something as fiddly as this, and so she placed herself somewhere unobtrusive but with good visual access. She could observe this with keen interest and simultaneously listen to the scout Quintin’s report on what precisely was happening with the bandits–and though she did not vocalise her willingness to assist in favour of listening, she would move to assist Madara if at all requested in whatever ways she deemed helpful.

Irah nodded along as they described the densely wooded nature of the route and that sleeping atop a horse or other beast of burden was not going to be a viable option–she’d expected as much. She observed the drawings Quintin laid out with keen interest, and even keener interest that Sir Yanin (or Jordan, she supposed) would carry such things with him. She’d expected a journal of some kind, something to take notes, but it seemed that the knight was really quite exceedingly prepared. She felt a twinge of admiration cross her face as a wry smile formed on her lips, and then Irah tuned back into the conversation at hand: some 30-odd–better to estimate up to 40–bandits with decently maintained equipment and enough sense to have some order to their operation.

This was certainly not a run of the mill operation–a loose collective of bandits wouldn’t number much past ten without intelligent leadership and a steady stream of profit or other resources. They were bold enough to have attacked a guarded settlement, too, intent on taking the healer specifically. Given the ease with which they’d thrown away the lives of their compatriots, Irah suspected that it was the leader or someone close to them who required the attention of the healer–otherwise such a risk would be the height of foolishness, and their organisation was such that she did not feel comfortable assuming that.

Whatever motivations she could glean from this limited information were… imprecise, at best–and such hazy guesses were a poor foundation for a solid plan. She’d let the others bring up their observations first, though she did direct a question to Quintin:

“Forgive me if this seems… out of place, but could you observe anything about the moods of the patrolling bandits? Alert, of course, but… eager? Dismayed? Did you catch any snippets of conversation? If we discern something about their temperament, it may point us towards the ‘why’ of this situation–and if we know why they’ve done what they’ve done, that will surely point us in a good direction.” Irah asked, her gaze still fixed on Madara and her work but her words sounding no less present for it.

“Their moods?” Quintin repeated, then paused. “They were nervous at first, of course, but as they calmed down after the raid... I supposed some of them seemed unhappy, but most of them seemed pretty jovial, all things considered.” He winced. “Every now and then the patrols would stop in the central yard to look at their decorations there. I even heard several of them laughing. I didn't risk getting close enough to hear much of what they said, but I think I overheard one of them talking about 'going home'.”

“It certainly sounds like the services of a healer are required to enable them to return home, then... But I wonder: what could be so pressing that they couldn't simply ask? If this was an abduction and they mean to keep Bren with them long term, why wasn't his equipment taken too? The cupboards were looted, his stock taken, but... I suppose the equipment is delicate and bulky, unsuited to a hurried extraction. Perhaps there's something I'm missing, but their motivations don't currently make much sense to me.” Irah spoke, brow furrowed in thought. She looked over at the others (Lhirin and Yanin in particular) with an unspoken invitation to opine.

“It's strange that they think they have a 'home' to return to in the first place,” Quintin pointed out. “Outlaws usually survive by always being on the move, keeping things light and staying ahead of the law.”

“They seem more like a mercenary company than just a group of bandits--too well equipped, too many of them working together cohesively for too long.”

Quintin nodded his head in agreement. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Mmn…mercenaries or perhaps defectors of some military force,” Lhirin commented idly, rolling the information around in his mind. His words came off as…distant, distracted almost, but he was clearly paying close enough attention to have heard everything and made a potential inference. “Quintin. Their gear. Was it standardized? All similar? Well cared for, from what you could see.”
Lhirin’s silver eyes rose from where he’d been gazing down and to the side at the spellbook he was still holding. As always, his eyes were slightly too wide as they met Quintin’s, faintly manic in his way—though the scout would not be familiar enough with him to know that this was Lhirin’s norm. Aside that, there was something faintly twitchy about the deigan mage, the fingers of his free hand drummed along the crystal hilt of his sheathed blade, his foot occasionally tapping at the floor. Nervous energy…or perhaps it was the drug he’d imbibed earlier, it was hard to tell exactly with Lhirin. All in all, it just made him come off a bit…off-kilter, eccentric, noticeably strange.

“Uh...” Quintin muttered, visibly a little unsettled by Lhirin's demeanor, but disciplined enough to not let it faze him too much before responding: “Not standardized, but definitely well-cared for. I didn't see any signs of a uniform among them.”

Noticing Quintin's discomfort from the corner of her eye, Irah offered him a gentle smile. “Lhirinthyl took some piaan earlier in the heat of combat--please forgive his demeanour. He is quite lucid, though, I assure you.”

“Hmm…a mercenary company does seem the most likely then,” Lhirin said, before pausing for a long moment. For some reason it seemed to take him much longer to process the fact that Quintin might be having some kind of reaction to him. The deigan’s eyes shifted from Irah to Quintin, then back…then back again, then he looked away. He stopped looking in Quintin’s direction after that. “Small actions, fidgeting…offsets the distracting qualities of the drug,” Lhirin explained, his voice somewhat more subdued than before. He’d taken extra time, but between Irah stepping in—something that typically happened when he’d made a social misstep of some kind—and Quintin’s reaction, he’d managed to deduce that he’d made the man uncomfortable. “Apologies,” he half-muttered.

"It could be worse," Caleb commented grimly from the back of the crowd. He did not elaborate on what he meant.

“It also bears mentioning that there is another weapon I have at my disposal: I can summon an Angel of Fear. I know that Lhirin and I are both immune to its aura--is anyone else? This could offer us some tactical advantage, depending on which of us can operate freely within its aura.” Irah looked instinctively over to Freagon, figuring that if any of the assembled would be immune it would be him. She shot a glance to Vela Bor as well, given that she had famously been part of an adventuring group it was likely she'd faced one before too.

Freagon made a single, resolute nod of affirmation. “I'm immune.”
“I'm not,” Vela admitted, shooting a nervous glance at Irah. “Never had the pleasure of runnin' into one o' those.”

“Who they are...” Jordan muttered, briefly closing his eyes. “That would mostly only matter if we expect them to be the kind of people who maybe could be talked down, or if we want to track them all down, afterwards... People who have homes to go back to might be more willing to surrender. Maybe." There was a short pause. "I did wonder earlier if it wasn't something as simple as needing a healer - but wouldn't they just walk in like normal people, then?”
“Not if they expect to be shot or arrested on sight,” Sir Yanin replied, almost instantly.
“I guess.”
“Does Bren have a reputation of any kind - as a particularly proficient healer or otherwise? It might be as simple as this place being comparatively little defended and easy to scout out without raising suspicion at this time in particular - I'd expect more than those mere coincidences if whoever ordered the service wasn't at least somewhat regional, however.” A metal-clad finger absently tapped the table. Unlike Quintin, the human knight didn't appear to even notice Lhirinthyl's perhaps-unusual demeanor. “The dead didn't have much pattern to them, either - all physical fighters, though. Quintin, did you spot anyone you have a reason to believe was magically inclined?”

Turning to Yanin, Vela responded to the question he had asked: “Not especially, no. The only reputation he has is to give freebies now and then, when people need healin' but can't afford payin' for it. He's just a nice guy, that's all.”
To Yanin asking about signs of mages among the bandits, Quintin replied: “Nothing obvious, no. Everyone I saw just looked like armed thugs.”

Answering Deo'Irah's last question was easy, though all things considered, a bit unfortunate. “I haven't fought one, no.”

Nabi had remained silent, thinking and observing the group until this moment, but an idea flashed across her mind. She figured she would speak up now, before the conversation moved onto another topic and leave her idea in the dust.
“I have heard talk of something called the... Crusader Guild? Might these brigands belong to them, perhaps? They were told to me to be little more than jumped-up armed criminals extorting and ransacking local villages and expecting them to be grateful for their assistance.”

“They are usually not shy of identifying themselves, via tabards or speech,” Yanin noted. There didn't appear to be many non-humans in Borstown, Lady Bor's would-be adventurer visitors left aside. “And I'd expect their main target to be the Baroness. If it's their orchestration and not not one of those at the farm had an appearance of a Guildsman, it'd likely be a trap. Perhaps too specific one if they didn't know Quintin was there and opt to let him leave.”
What would be the odds of the Guild hiring outside help and not one of their representatives - of which one would presumably be present to oversee the mission - making an appearance in half a dozen hours?

Vela's expression darkened when Nabi brought up the Crusader's Guild... and though he was standing behind Freagon, half-hidden behind the knight, so did Jaelnec's. When Yanin commented on the possibility, Vela told them: “I've clashed with the Guild before, they'd have reason to mess with me. But the rest of the town? I don't know... and as Sir Yanin said, they usually wear red tabards with a big ol' drake on 'em. But I agree with the squire-boy: who they are doesn't matter right now, we'll have time to figure that out later. Right now I just want Bren home safely.”
Freagon turned to glance at Irah. “Unless you want to try to talk with these guys, too?"

Irah's brow furrowed. “I would prefer no more lives be lost... but they have ruined lives today with their careless indifference. They have foresworn mercy, and thus invited any malice that comes their way. If we can work out their motivations, there is something to be said for trying to speak with them and get Bren back safely. My worry is that an incursion of any kind will cause them to execute Bren--and I no longer have Kinder with me to have access to divine healing. I would certainly not be able to summon both angels, Greater in the hierarchy as they are.”

“About that,” Caleb interjected, “I never apologized for sending your friend away. I am sorry, Deo'irah. But I would offer that, if you show me their names and give me fifteen minutes or so each, I can summon these angels of yours for you.”

“Thank you, Caleb--I bear you no ill will for it, given the circumstances. Kinder is the name of the Iriao, and Weriz the name of the Swaigh--I have the spells I use to summon them in a notebook, would that be sufficient for you to bring them here? Having access to both would greatly improve our options. Still--coming back from death is not a pleasant experience, I'm given to understand. If we can avoid harm coming to Bren I think we would all agree that that's ideal, but perfect cannot become the enemy of good.”

“The spells would contain their names, so they should suffice, yes,” Caleb nodded appreciatively.

Nabi took out a pipe and packed it with some tobacco, before lighting it with a flame from the tip of her finger and taking several long breaths, puffing smoke off to the side. She snickered at Freagon's remark. “Considering the last time diplomacy was used instead of the clashing of swords everything seemed to go well enough, perhaps not quite the snide quip you intend it to be. Though point made.”
She took another long puff. “If we are to liberate our man, speed and overwhelming violence is the key. Something needs to be done to catch them off guard, disorient them - perhaps blind them or stun them all so that we may move through their numbers easily enough. Sadly I fear my own magic will be of... limited... utility in this regard. I can surround them in darkness, but whether any of you folk can see in said darkness is not something I know.”

Freagon shrugged. “We can talk, but I'd recommend a show of force first. It's better to bargain from a position of power than one of desperation.”

“Indeed,” Lhirin commented idly in reply to both Irah and Freagon, one hand running patterns over the exposed crystal of his runeblade. Silently, he considered Quinton’s accounting of the various arms and armor of the supposed mercenaries. Much of them did not bother him overmuch…the only weapons that struck him as rather problematic were the bows and crossbows. Those would need to be targeted first, he figured. His eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on the potentialities. Then Lhirin’s gaze shifted over to the table again, looking over the drawn map. He noticed something about the patrol pattern in that moment.
“Their patrols seem less focused on the western wall of the barn…” he commented, sounding thoughtful.

“... considering what they went through to get Bren, I would argue that they are the desperate ones. They lost some of their own members, too, after all.”

Lhirin winced slightly at Irah’s words. “Desperate is bad. Cornered animals are often at their most dangerous.”

Even presumably knowing nearly as much about the Crusaders' Guild as he did, Lady Bor seemed to still give them some kind of benefit of doubt? Sir Yanin genuinely doubted inflicting damage upon the town would matter that much to the organization at all, if it benefited their overall goals.
“I dare not contemplate how far the Crusader's Guild is willing to stretch the concept of acceptable collateral – especially since they frequently deem sympathizers nearly as bad as nonhumans themselves.”
“I did wonder if we could deal with Bren and the Bandits separately, somehow,” Jordan offered. “I mean, if we knew precisely where he was and there were just a few guarding him –” he glanced at Caleb – “mask what is going on under an illusion for long enough that we could take out a handful of guards and carry him out or something? That probably would be a couple of minutes or something. But I guess this might be significantly more difficult since I doubt Caleb can tell which human he is even without them being likely to sense him in turn. Or, can you, somehow, without the bandits realizing?”

“If I had met him, maybe,” Caleb said with a shake of his head. “But trying to remotely target, or avoid targeting, someone when my only familiarity with him is his name is beyond me.”

Oddly hesitant and seemingly reluctant, Quintin heaved a sigh, closed his eyes and winced once again. “I should probably tell you about their decorations. In the yard here,” he pointed to the area of the map just north of the farmstead and east of the barn, “is a big tree with five bodies hung by the neck. Fresh bodies, no more than a day or two old at most. I got as close as I dared to get a better look. Two are penin, a man and a woman, and the other three look human.” He paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “One of them is a child.”

Nabi clenched her fists involuntarily, and let loose a stream of colourful language in Erashyir as Quintin finished his last comment. Child murderers...

Lhirin seemed to freeze in place, his train of thought similarly interrupted. His silver eyes slowly swiveled towards Irah and he took a step closer to her, lightly placing a hand on her shoulder. He squeezed lightly and swallowed.

Irah's eyes narrowed, and her upper lip curled in a barely restrained snarl. “... well, then.” Irah brought her hand up to Lhirin's placed on her shoulder and squeezed it in return.
“... Anyone complicit in the harming of a child is beyond words. You said that... some of them laughed?” Irah continued, her voice just as cold as it had been in the more terse moments with Caleb earlier.

Quintin nodded his head affirmatively. “At the tree.”

“... A display of force seems appropriate, then. In fact, I think meeting a Swaigh is something they all very much deserve--it should be easy enough to administer justice with them trapped in the depths of their minds.”

Caleb loomed over everyone gathered around the table. “Given enough time, I could summon even more angels and bind them as wraiths, like I did at the manor. If I am to control them rather than let them run loose, however, I think I can only manage four or five at a time. And if I move, I lose control.”

“Though... perhaps the subtle blade is the most appropriate. I could brew an exquisite poison, and we could slip that into their victuals--did you see anything about their food situation, Quintin? I... am trying very hard not to let anger cloud my judgement, but to harm a child...” Irah began, closing her eyes for a moment and inhaling shakily through her nose.

“They did more than harm. They hanged the poor thing.” Nabi spat with unconcealed venom in every word. Unlike Irah, she seemed entirely happy to allow anger to “cloud” her judgement. There were some things that one just did not do, no matter the situation.

Quintin shook his head grimly. “I didn't see any food or water. I'm guessing they're keeping it inside. And even if we found it, wouldn't we risk poisoning Bren, too?”

Looking at Lhirin, Quintin remarked: “There weren't less patrols on the west side, they were just more consistent in their pathing there.”
Freagon, who had taken the news of the tree and its gruesome ornamentation with his usual stone-faced calm, nodded his head once. Someone particularly observant might spot the faintest tremor in his jaw and the fact that he was subtly rubbing his right thumb on the index finger as the only indication of what his internal reaction to the atrocity might be. “It's still useful,” he noted, referring to the patrol path. “Consistent means predictable. We can ambush a patrol there more easily.”
“Maybe,” Quintin said, “but their patrols are short; if one went missing, they'd notice in a few minutes.”

Jaelnec, whose eyes had widened at the news of the tree and who had gone even paler than usual, actually had step away for a second and go face the wall behind him. At first his breath quickened for a couple of seconds, and it might have seemed as though he was about to hyperventilate, but then it immediately slowed back down and turned to slow, deep breaths as his fists clenched at his sides.

“Fewer.” Nabi murmured beneath her breath. She watched as the young black-eyed one - Jaelnec, she reminded herself - seemed to take the news of the corpse tree with significant difficulty, and quietly walked over next to him, offering him her pipe. “If you need to calm yourself. I understand your disgust.”
Her voice remained quiet, so not to disturb the other members of the group still discussing the strategy of how to deal with these thugs. If only they hadn't taken a damned hostage... But then that was perhaps exactly why they took one, though perhaps they just needed a healer for now and planned to add him to the corpse tree after they'd finished with his talents... Nabi's heart sank at the very thought of it. They'd already murdered a child and japed about it, these were vile black-hearted scum who would be more than happy to use someone for their needs and then kill them afterwards so they couldn't talk. In truth, Nabi could also see the cold logic behind such actions too - anyone the bandits had taken hostage might be privy to secrets or plans they had accidentally spoken about in earshot of the hostage, and the risk would be too great to allow them to live.

“I believe Caleb should be able to telepathically reach out to Bren and warn him not to consume the poison, if that is what we wish to do. With Kinder's aid and a healing potion, as well as Madara's considerable surgical skills, we can ensure he emerges hale and whole. Of course, brewing a poison will take time that we may not have--there is also every chance that we could pick something up that would do the job as we travel. The forest should be full of quite viciously poisonous mushrooms at this time of year; I could easily identify and gather some to be placed into their foodstuffs. Sir Yanin, Lady Bor, do you have any strategies we should consider? We should not overthink things, but nor should we underthink them either.” Irah offered, eyes glinting crimson in the dim firelight as she imagined all of the various ways they could dispose of an entire camp of mercenaries.
“It would be preferable to not harm Bren, of course, but even should he perish he can still be brought back so long as he holds on. I... think it worth the risk to incapacitate everyone else without risking further harm to our own. If attacking them is a more viable option I am perfectly open to that, but... I think that our ambush should take out a considerable number of enemies. I am not fussy how that happens, nor who dies--my vows prevent me from taking a life directly, but that is all. I can stand by and allow you to kill them with a clear conscience.”

“While I could use telepathy,” Caleb mused, “it is subject to the same limitations as other magic. I would need to have met him, or at least have a stronger connection to him than just knowing his name.”
“We could, but we don't know how to use you guys,” Vela shrugged. “I know what me and my guys're good at, but you all bring more to the table.” She put a hand on her chest. “I'm not as strong or nimble as in my prime, but I'd wager I've still got some vim left in me. I'm probably best used climbin' a tree and snipin' people with my crossbow.”
“I can do whatever is needed of me,” Quintin offered. “I used to be a bounty hunter, so while I'm not exactly an adventurer, I know how to adapt. These wouldn't be the first bandits I've dealt with, but they are the first with a hostage.” He paused, glancing at the baroness, who returned his look knowingly. “At least not one I cared about.”

Jordan, who was usually quite talkative, had grown entirely quiet, and seemed to have shrunk a little as he seemed to just numbly stare at his hands with crossed fingers in front of himself.

“Hanging isn't an efficient way to kill.” Those looking closely at him might notice he had closed his eyes, though Sir Yanin's tone remained unchanged. “Whether it was them or someone prior, it was for show. Not anyone you recognized as local, I take it?”

“It was not,” Quintin confirmed. “By their garb I'd say they're migrating villagers that happened by on the road. Either that or Borstown isn't the first place these bandits have kidnapped people from.”

“They are all humans, correct? I don't have any poisons in the true sense of the world, and most substances that would be incidentally harmful if used woefully incorrectly would be too slow or too imprecise - unless you wished to render them dizzy and not much more -, but I do have these.” She held up the two vials, tapping one with a fingernail. “This one, I would ordinarily use to numb pain and paralyze – useful, if you want to avoid undue suffering and also make sure there is no accidental twitch or movement that could disrupt your work. Would also be quite terrible indeed if you somehow managed to breathe it in, such as if it were vaporized - though, I would heavily implore you to keep in mind that there is also no true antidote, so the only way to survive that particular happenstance would be to figure out how to live without being able to breathe yourself for an hour or two.”
She tapped the other vial. The first one had been a clear liquid, almost like slightly languid water, but this one was dark yellow and discernibly oily.
“And then there is this. You mix a couple drops of it into a salve and you apply it to your skin if your joints are giving you trouble. Takes away the pain and swelling, and warms them up. You don't want to get it on your face or anywhere with particularly sensitive skin, nor your mouth, or your eyes. It doesn't technically harm you - but it would hurt for some half a dozen minutes. A lot. The pure stuff will feel approximately like being set on fire, for far longer than that, and even through thick skin after a minute. Very distracting.”
She paused for a second.
“Was anything left behind in Bren's lodgings? Myself or Deo'Irah could surely figure out if anything remaining was useful to our cause.”

“You're welcome to check,” Vela replied to Madara's inquiry about Bren's home. “We haven't touched what was left 'sides stuff we knew what was and how to use it. He didn't exactly label his stuff, though.”

Jaelnec turned to look at Nabi, then at the pipe she was offering, then her again, all with an expression of surprise that rapidly turned to embarrassment. “Thanks, but I'm all right, I think... sorry, I didn't mean to distract anyone.” He sighed. “It just brought up some... bad memories, I think.”

“Lhirin and I checked out Bren's house when we arrived. Much of the equipment remains, but all of his stock was taken and the cupboards rifled through. I am not certain there's anything there we could actually use... rifling through it in more detail might give us a little more information, but... I doubt there is a lot of use to be found there.” Irah replied to Madara, turning her head to look up at Lhirin with an expression he'd know as “fill in anything I missed”. She turned then to Jaelnec and offered him a wan smile. “You should not apologise for being shaken by such awful news. It is proof of your good heart.” she spoke softly, eyes a little dewy but mostly still seething with unspoken rage.

Jaelnec looked from Irah to Nabi with a sheepish smile. “Thanks... I think?”
Without turning around to look at his page, Freagon said: “We need to talk after we're done here and before we leave, boy. Outside.” There was something in his master's voice that Jaelnec struggled to identify, perhaps because he had likely never heard it before. Was it his imagination, or did Freagon sound... apprehensive?

Lhirin shook his head ever-so-slightly, indicating that Irah hadn’t really missed much. After all there’d been no traces of magic use at Bren’s house and they’d already gone over that they didn’t think the mercenaries had any such practitioners. Besides…the assailants had already been gone for a time when he and Irah had arrived, so even if there had been traces, they were likely long gone. Frowning slightly, Lhirin began quietly clicking his teeth together as he worked his jaw, almost as if chewing, lips still closed as his intense gaze bored into the floor. There was an air of intense focus on his features…as if he were running calculations of some kind in his head.
After another beat, Lhirin began to speak—quickly, enough so that it would be difficult to immediately process the first few words that left his lips, such that anyone listening would be playing catch up as he spoke. “Patrols to the west the most consistent, but also the furthest from where Bren and any injured are likely to be located. Outnumbered by a fair deal, but no sign of any mages among their number so far. No mercy necessary.” Lhirin’s eyes rose, regarding the map in a way that indicated not his referencing it, but something else. His delicate hand practically whipped up as he stepped closer to the table and pressed a single digit to the thick black line representing the tree line to the south, just beneath where the Farmstead was.
“Here is the fastest point of ingress to imply confidence in our ability to dominate their forces. It also puts us on a straight path to the farmstead, where Bren, perhaps their leader, perhaps any wounded are likely to be situated.” Where someone else may have paused there, Lhirin gestured towards Freagon, Yanin, and Nabi. “Leading a charge towards the farmstead, or towards any patrols or enemies already equipped with crossbows or arrows is likely best left to our most accomplished physical fighters, such as you three. Irah is running low on energy, I suggest she stay back in the tree line and provide support as necessary or able. Miss Lady Bor can take up a position near her in the treeline, if she wishes to utilize her crossbow from the tree cover.”
Lhirin’s gaze shifted to Caleb, his eyes almost burning with an intense silver flame, “If there are reinforcements in the barn, I think you’d be best suited to handle them. Merely emitting your energy is a deterrent, your body is potent enough, I figure, and any magics or additional summons you can bring to bear could utterly stun, disable or harry anyone who exits.” At that point, Lhirin fell silent, his eyes darting over to Quintin, before looking away just as fast. The man seemed competent…based on his being employed by the baroness, what of his skills and past Lhirin knew—as little as that was—but he wouldn’t presume where he’d be best utilized since he didn’t have enough information. He also figured that Sir Yanin and Freagon would be best suited to decide how their subordinates were positioned. Notably though…he’d said absolutely nothing about what he’d be doing. It was hard to tell if that was deliberate or not.

Freagon stared at Lhirin as he spoke, his expression as unreadable as ever. Only when the deigan finished did he raise his left hand, initially closed in a fist, only to extend his index-finger. “That is the fastest point of ingress, but also one with direct line of sight to the central yard, where any guards are likely to be. We'd be spotted taking out the patrol.” He extended his middle-finger. “While we're fighting the guys outside, the guys inside are free to kill the healer.” He extended his thumb. “You're assuming the healer and the wounded are in the farmstead. It all falls apart if they're in the barn.” His ring-finger. “Even if you're right, we'd be fighting at a choke point in the doorway once we're ready to enter. And while we're doing that, they'll definitely kill the healer.” And finally, he extended his pinky. “There are two exits to the barn. I doubt the thalk could handle both.”
“I will also remind you,” Caleb interjected, “that the instant I move I have no magic, and will have to siphon new divine energy all over again. I will lose control of anything I have summoned, any magic I was sustaining will be dismissed, and it will be a while before I could permeate the area with divine energy or use magic again. And while I am probably stronger than your average human, I am no fighter. I doubt I would even delay them much.”

“Simply assaulting them has many avenues for failure. Madara's medicines have some potential, but many of them appear to be topical--and that renders their use lesser... Besides, I'd prefer not to use up our surgeon's stock. I am perfectly capable of brewing a poison with fairly common ingredients, and failing that it should be easy to find something in the forest on our way there, if we wish to take that route. With Freagon being immune to the Swaigh's aura, he and I could walk in and incapacitate everyone before they have much of a chance to react. Our primary advantage is, I think, the element of surprise: we should keep that as intact as possible. Does anyone have a better idea than incapacitating enemies with Weriz and letting Freagon work, or administering poison to everyone? Even if Bren dies, so long as he holds on, I should be able to revive him with Kinder's aid--but we should avoid giving them the chance. Martial confrontation with a band of mercenaries who have much more cohesion than we do seems... Inefficient, as Lhirin would say.” Irah opined, looking mostly at Sir Freagon. All in all, she had to concede that he seemed to have the best grasp on most aspects of the situation, and his immunity was quite the boon.

Freagon crossed his arms and stared at the map. “There's no scale on this. How far is the far sides of the farmstead and barn from each other?”
Quintin chewed his tongue for a moment. “50-60 meters.”
Nodding his head, Freagon concluded: “So even if we got the swaigh perfectly centered on there, it still wouldn't get everyone in range. And that's assuming none of the bandits are immune. It can still take out a big chunk of them, but Angels of Fear aren't exactly subtle either. Anyone left standing will know something is up.”

"You'd think you'd get used to things like that after several years, but yet you wonder how many more, and condemn yourself for being late," Jordan dully informed his hands. "Ah, and, Baroness Bor? I don't usually explicitly report if nothing bad happened to our guys, since it'd be the first or second thing to report if something did. So sorry about concerning you."
Normally, it was something he'd have said with an apologetic smile; now he simply sounded vaguely sad.

"I would be one of the two most able 'physical fighters' here, yes, and a decent enough archer;" Sir Yanin referred to the bow, crossbow and polearms Jordan had brought in earlier, "Jordan can fight and shoot, though it'd be preferable if he weren't put in a place where he'd risk being surrounded." Why, thanks... He wasn't nearly as skilled, and his armour wasn't quite as good. Jordan knew that well enough.
"We have three people who could provide magical cover of a kind, and at least an option for immediate chemical assault to incapacitate a roomful of people," the knight continued. "Weriz, moving with Sir Freagon and Deo'Irah; Nabi, who could provide darkness - can you yourself see through it? -, and Caleb, who I presume could conjure any image or sound. Uniquely, Caleb would benefit greatly from not moving, especially over time. It would be ideal if they could be in position ahead of us, and via the same magic as before relay precisely how many, and where we were dealing with - with luck, mere comparative positioning might hint at where Bren could be. Is there a position that's close enough to majority of the entrances, but mostly concealed? I reckon Caleb could briefly render oneself invisible to patrols passing by without much expenditure? Were there any windows, including shutters?"

Vela's eyes widened in surprise when Jordan took the mention of the tree and its gruesome adornments as a cue to apologize for having briefly left her uncertain as to the fate of half their group.
“It's quite all right, no need to apologize,” she told him with the most grandmotherly smile she could muster, though given what they had just talked about the smile was understandably strained. “I'm just glad you're all okay. On a day like today, we've gotta appreciate small mercies like that.”

Later, when Yanin offered his own strategic insights on how they could handle the situation, Quintin scratched his cheek and stared at the map for a second, then pointed to the shape on it annotated “tool shed”. “There's a small shed here,” he informed them. “Fairly central and removed from the other buildings, and with sight-lines to two of the three entrances. There's a door, so he could even just close that and be concealed.”
He then moved his finger to point at the northern wall of the farmstead, to the right of where he had marked and annotated the door. “There was... less of a window and more of a shuttered peek-hole right about here. Looked to be barely big enough to get your hand through.”
Caleb looked from Yanin to the map, then back to Yanin. “As you witnessed yourselves in the bedroom, I am quite able to maintain invisibility as long as I do not move, yes.”

---

Lhirin’s gaze not so much shifted, but snapped over to Freagon as he spoke. While someone else might have taken his manner is mildly—or outright—condescending, Lhirin just listened with his usual intensity. As he did so, he realized that he actually found the so-called Knight of the Will rather refreshing. Most people always seemed so…overcomplicated with their veiled meanings, speaking between the lines or through their teeth. Freagon was to the point and if not entirely upfront exactly, he kept his emotions to himself and spoke only on the facts as he saw them. Lhirin gave the Knight a nod of respect as he called out the flaws in his plan, rather than reacting with annoyance, he almost appeared grateful.

As he finished and others spoke up, Lhirinthyl’s gaze darted between speakers, taking in their suggestions. “Do you suggest we split into two groups?” Lhirin asked, his gaze fixing upon Freagon for a moment, before he pondered aloud, “…If we’re splitting up, one group that is immune to the swaigh…and one that isn’t is likely the ideal strategy. The group with the swaigh ought to have it positioned to incapacitate the maximum amount of the opposition,” Lhirin said before falling silent again.

Nabi shrugged as Jaelnec refused her offer, before glancing over to Yanin after his question and nodding in response, leaning on her bowstave slightly and taking another puff from her pipe.
"Yes. But I do not know whether the rest of you are capable of it, which is why I was concerned."

She looked to the map that had been drawn and thought for a moment. "Ideally, anyone 'left standing' should be of sufficiently few number to allow us to strike swiftly at them to protect the healer..." Nabi stopped for a moment. "If he's even still breathing."



"Maybe three, in the technical sense - if we take Caleb to be his own group. Assuming he can circumnavigate the buildings and approach them from the fields' side," Yanin traced out a path leading to the toolshed on the map, "wait in the toolshed, gather energy, and inform us how many and where we are dealing with - just one of us being informed telepathically should suffice. I suspect that fields recently fertile enough for crops should provide enough cover. Jordan? Quintin?"
"I mean, I would be surprised if there weren't thistles, nettles, melilot, ragweed, willow-weed and other stuff taller than I am all over the place," Jordan shrugged.

"Half an hour, hour later, the rest of us will make a move, divided, roughly, into two groups: those immune to Weriz - Sir Freagon, Deo'Irah, Lhirinthyl - I suspect Caleb won't be affected, either? - and everyone else, which, incidentally, also comprises at least five people with ranged weapons - myself, Lady Bor, Quintin, Jordan and Nabi.
We can take out any one patrol group without much danger to ourselves, though we might need a mark right prior to notify Caleb to start covering for us. I assume any of Deo'Irah's acquainted angels could reach out to him? After that, we would have about two minutes to - continuously masked from everyone inside the buildings or just stepping out by Caleb's illusion magic - move to take out everyone outside, the second group lagging behind far enough to stay out of the aura of fear and providing ranged cover to Weris' group. Lady bor, I assume, would remain overlooking from outside. If Caleb can both maintain illusion and help with incapacitating those outside, I am not going to object - though it might best reserve a surprise for anyone trying to exit the barn's main doors after we make an entrance. Assuming both main structures are equally populated and we have no further clues about Bren's location, Weris' group takes the farmhouse, the rest take the barn entering from the side. If we know where Bren is, that's where Deo'Irah, and by extension, Kinder, should head.
If Caleb is discovered at any point during the first stage ... I reckon the best we can do is follow up close to original plan, and improvise." He looked at the dark one. "I don't believe anyone else can see through magical darkness, no - but it would depend on how much control you have over it. At the minimum, I'd hope to cast our opponents in darkness so that even if we can't see them, they can't at least shoot at us from range. If you can manipulate it to move as a front ahead of us, or flood a single room and dismiss it at will, even better.
In the end, there is only so much we can plan ahead with the information at our disposal - and we might yet be running out of time."

“The area is quite overgrown with weeds and wild wheat and barley, yeah,” Quintin confirmed. “So long as you stay low and stick to cover, someone probably could sneak through there.”

Later, after Yanin had finished laying out his plan, Freagon offered a single, firm nod of his head. “This can work. I have no objections.”
Behind him, over by the wall of the station he had retreated to, Jaelnec felt his heart sink twice; once when he realized that Yanin had not mentioned him at all during explaining the plan, and a second time when Freagon agreed to the plan without volunteering Jaelnec for it. Again, just like at the manor – just like every situation in all the time he had traveled with Freagon – he was being left out. He was going to miss his chance to prove that he was useful again. With situations where so many people were involved he had hoped... but by now it was clear that his hope had been in vain. He was just a page, after all, and pages did not fight.

Irah nodded her assent to the plan alongside Freagon, before looking up at Lhirin to confirm his too.
“This all seems good to me. Normally I host my angels within myself--is that something you can do, Caleb? I am perfectly comfortable hosting either - the question is whether we want Weriz to be in a body that can be attacked, or within me... and the same with Kinder. Having an angel within myself offers substantial defensive benefits, and my resistance to the taint is such that I can call upon their power to ward myself somewhat against arrows and bolts. I also have a... divine healing potion. I will entrust this to someone in the group going to the Barn, so we both have methods of healing using divine magic... Would Jaelnec be suited, Freagon, or should it be someone like Jordan?”

Caleb nodded his head affirmatively. “I can summon divines as wraiths, ghouls, into a host... or I can do a full summoning, if we had something to sacrifice to do it. If you wish to act as host, I could do that.”
Caleb, Vela and Freagon all shot Irah a serious, questioning glance when she mentioned her “divine healing potion”, but none of them said anything.
In the end, Freagon just shrugged. “I'm sure the boy can handle a bottle.”

Nabi's lip curled as Freagon once again called Jaelnec “boy” rather than use his actual name, but she elected to keep quiet about it.
“I have no objections. I just hope Mister Bren really is still breathing by the time we get there...”

“... I suppose I have shared most of my other secrets: it is the blood of a fully summoned divine, given to me for emergencies. I also have a small quantity of fire dust that we can use if that helps. Consider this, Nabi: why go to the trouble of taking him alive only to kill him? I fancy our chances.” Irah offered, raising her palms in a show of innocence at the looks she got from the more experienced members of their little party.

---

Lhirin took in the various additions and modifications to his secondary proposal for a plan. He nodded quietly to himself, eyes wide as ever as he glanced around for a bit before falling still in thought–almost unnaturally still in fact. After a moment he shifted and nodded again. “Though few plans survive contact with unknown elements, this is a good place for us to start,” he commented, almost seeming to say it more to himself than the others–though he had certainly intended to say it aloud. After that, the deigan man gently–almost tenderly–moved the melenian journal he’d retrieved earlier up so that he could slowly leaf through its pages. As he’d expected–and seen earlier–he couldn’t read it visually. He ran a delicate finger over one page, again noting the scratch marks he had previously. Nodding slightly, Lhirin turned from the table after noting the positioning that had been denoted, and walked back to stand beside Irah.

As he stood there, he gently bumped her shoulder with her own, gave her a pointed look and then opened to the first page of the journal and began to slowly trace his fingers over the page. Even when they moved out, Lhirin would continue to do the same as he ‘read’ the journal while expecting Irah to somewhat guide and correct him or draw his attention if needed.

"Divine blood..." Yanin repeated, tone functionally unchanged from his previous speech, making it unclear whether it was a proper inquiry. The words were slightly slowed from usual, though, as if he was thinking, or trying to recollect something. Didn't the components fully summoned divines ordinarily rapidly fall apart upon their connection to this realm being severed?
His eyes briefly moved to Lhirinthyl taking out Feveesha's tome again, but for now, the action didn't elicit a verbal comment. Even with only a few hopefully-loyal people around, some of their actions and words were still more public than he'd have liked.

"Seems sufficiently settled here. It's an estimated hour to arrive at destination - plenty for further discussion before final approach." Technically speaking, unless the weather turned and it started pouring, there was even an option for stopping and and sitting down once more. "Bren's life largely depends on whether they needed him there or an employer yet expects him to be delivered." In either case, time was limited - the only differences were whether Bren lost his usefulness to the bandits or their hypothetical employer sooner or later, and how liable the supposed mercenaries were to depart before they arrived. If this group was indeed hired, whoever did so might try again, here or anywhere else. It could still be a trap of some kind. If any of the bandits were to live long enough to tell the tale, they had questions to be asked. "If possible, we should find out who, if anyone, employed them, and for what precise purpose. For now, let's get ready to move out."
With that, the human knight stood. He had no real preparations to make; just a bow and halberd to pick up from where Jordan had set them.

“I'd like to say one thing 'fore we leave,” Vela announced, raising a diminutive hand – which only brought it up to the stomach of most of them – to halt them from leaving just yet. “Thing've been movin' real fast, and I want you all to know that I really appreciate how willin' y'all are to rush into danger to save someone you've never even met. Y'all haven't even gotten your reward for helpin' with your first job, yet you're offerin' your resources and riskin' your lives for a second one. Believe me, I haven't forgotten 'bout it.”
In the back of the crowd, furthest removed from the table and mostly forgotten during the proceedings, Tedwyn perked up and started paying close attention at the word “reward”.
She sighed. “'Course, I don't have...” Her eyes quickly scanned across the room, counting the people present. “...four hundred rodlin on me, but you'll get it when we return. Even if somethin' happens to me, ask Kylie or Wade – my housekeepers – and they'll handle it.”
“I helped, too!” Tedwyn suddenly interjected, moving to join them as if he had been part of their group all along. “I fought the vile creatures at the manor!”
Shooting the man an extremely critical look, the baroness turned back to the group with an overbearing expression. “Well? Did he?”