Shienvien

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Sir Yanin Glade

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.

Jordan Forthey

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.

Madara

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.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Madara

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 Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Sir Yanin Glade

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Jordan Forthey

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Jordan Forthey

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

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

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

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

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Jordan Forthey and Nabisisstra Rhe'anyl Qelarn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From Downfall ReRisen

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

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

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

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

74:53:30 LNT

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Sir Yanin Glade

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

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

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

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Sir Yanin Glade

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

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

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

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

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Sir Yanin Glade

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

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

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

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

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

Jordan Forthey and Nabisisstra Rhe'anyl Qelarn

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

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

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

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

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

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