Tuujaimaa

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Irah acquiesced silently as Sir Yanin motioned, following along with the obvious (if slightly impaired) instructions his hand signals provided and crouching down before approaching. She had to crouch much less than he did, being significantly shorter, but still enough to have to adjust her posture to remain comfortable. She’d watched his assessment of the situation keenly, following along with it mentally and observing the processes he undertook with much interest. His style of tactical leadership was similar to Lhirin’s, perfunctory and without grace–but efficient and effective. Though she was not privy to his own conclusions, she reached much the same answers as he did. She made a quick calculation in her mind, observing the number of vials with keen interest. Though she’d never taken piaan herself, worried about its influence on her spiritual wellbeing (as well as the massive host of side effects she’d observed in others and in Lhirin), she was very familiar with its dosages and how much the body could handle before spiritual damage began to occur. She’d used her sharp magical senses to observe Lhirin’s spiritual composition when he’d taken it in the past, and she knew how it could stretch and tear at the soul’s very cohesion: the amount in these vials seemed to be a standard dose, 10ml, and there were two empty vials. No trace of their contents remained, but given the information Madara had provided earlier it was clear: the Melenian had overdosed, then.

Irah turned back to Madara, her expression clearly wanting to ask a question, but then looked at Lhirin instead. She then proceeded to mouth her query to him: “Melenians, female. Average body weight?”

Based on his reply, Irah would come to the conclusion that a physical overdose had certainly occurred: her mind would be close to broken, no doubt–if not outright manic, dulled by euphoria… or unspooling entirely, if she were even a little underweight or did not have the mental fortitude required. If she were possessed by a hostile divine, it would be exceptionally easy to force her body into the motions necessary to sacrifice another to perform a full summoning. She was an experienced summoner already, after all–evidently. Her brow furrowed at the thought, but she was quickly brought back to reality by Sir Yanin’s query.

Keeping her voice low she replied: “This amount of piaan… her mind is likely gone, especially if possessed. Working theory is that she was possessed and forced to perform a full summoning with one of the deceased unaccounted for.”

She then extended her own senses outward and asked Kinder to do the same now they were a little closer to the location–she also shared her theory with the divine, wondering if that tidbit of insight might allow Kinder a greater clarity into her own observations that she could share. She would focus on the Melenian’s soul, if she could detect it, eager to determine the damage the piaan had done and to ascertain precisely how much of her remained if her theory was correct. Otherwise, she’d focus on physically locating the summoner (and any other extant people, should they be present) and working from there.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Irah looked over the remaining combatants finishing up, her left eyebrow delicately arched as she paid the goings-on rapt attention. It was clear that the elder Nightwalker with his Sartal sword put all of them to shame, but he’d spent much of his time in precisely the same mode as her: appraising. Surveying. Learning the proverbial lay of the land. She knew full well when she was being tested: the weight of his expectation spoke volumes that his silence didn’t. She closed her eyes in response to his question, raising a hand towards the rest as she focused.

“There is one hostile divine left, yes. I sense from it bloodthirst, hate, rage–not like these Frentits, who were merely ‘having fun’.” she spoke before turning to Jaelnec and offering him a gentle if slightly pitying smile–not that he’d have the vision to tell. “Let me help. Blessed Reina, may your mercy flow forth from your servant.” she spoke, raising her hand to gently caress Jaelnec’s cheek before coming up towards his eyes (though she had to stand on the tips of her toes to do so). Kinder asked: "That is quite a scar on his cheek... should I fix that, too?" as Irah asked for her assistance, and she pondered for a brief moment before answering.

“No, thank you. If he wishes for it to be healed, he will ask. I would not want to impose on his freedom of choice.” she responded warmly, her thanks sincere but her conviction overpowering her desire to help.

“I am sorry, Jaelnec. Lhirinthyl did not think before invoking his magic; I will ask him to be more… thoughtful. Are you alright now?” she asked, taking her hand back as she did so and turning away from him in an uncharacteristically bashful manner. Her tone was markedly more pointed as she mentioned Lhirin, but she knew full well that he’d not take notice of it. She turned then to Sir Yanin, moving to follow his lead (though hanging back and waiting outside the area of magical disruption) while the others assembled. She’d found herself very impressed with him: for one so young he understood clearly the importance of taking action, and taking efficient action. He was a very skilled combatant, too, but the edge of his sword would cut both ways. She made a mental note to be careful around him, though she suspected that what would frustrate him about her forbidden talents was not their nature, but their having been kept from him. She wondered if he was enlightened enough to understand that it was the way the tool was wielded, rather than the tool itself, that was important. She felt similarly about Freagon: she’d chosen her words very carefully, but in the absence of facial expressions to read about him she was, for once, almost entirely unsure about his thoughts and feelings. The others were not learned enough to understand the significance of the information that she’d provided and what it might reveal about her to the canny (except Lhirin, who already knew), but she suspected that Freagon might be. She knew from experience that those who were content to wait and observe typically did so from a position of advanced knowledge: what his was was the question on her mind.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

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

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

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

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

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

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

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

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

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

After she managed to suppress the brief moment of awe and return to her usual cool aloofness, Irah watched with amusement as Lhirin changed tacts upon realising the true nature of the threat and switched to his more… metallic powers. Good–impressing upon the others precisely how dangerous he was the least he could do, given he’d been alive for longer than generations of most of their families. Though her view was blocked given her position toward the back of the armoury, and the strapping young men frantically changing their weapons, she could make out enough and hear the distinct thuds to know that he’d dealt with the divine inhabiting the Lady’s woodwork. Well, at least there was a carpenter’s shop. She then watched him stride forwards confidently, magic charged and ready to be unleashed, until he appeared to stop for a moment and then… moved upwards. Irah was certain she caught a glimpse of water–she was intimately familiar, after all–and she began to gain an understanding of what precisely might be happening here.

She waited a pregnant second, and then another, and then another before she finally deigned to crane her head forwards and take a look at what had befallen her companion, but as she could still sense the warbling energy around him she knew he’d been able to keep a hold of the focus required for his spells and that he’d be fine. He had many more iron needles than that. Jordan, however, elected to spring into action (conveniently offering her a better view of her currently indisposed companion) and put the hunk of iron he’d recently acquired to good use. Lhirin dropped to the floor–well, it was a rather forceful drop from Irah’s perspective–only to immediately be engulfed by a carpet that was lying in wait. She brought her free hand to her mouth, ostensibly in a gasp of modesty, but in truth she was struggling very hard to stifle a laugh. ”I wonder what the more powerful divine is… Perhaps a Thalk: this smacks of their sense of fun, doesn’t it? These Frentit are being directed, then–and what better to lull people into a Thalk’s craven deceptions than something that muddles the senses and a contingent of useful actors?” she thought to Kinder, but took a moment to breathe in and steady her focus. Kinder hesitated for a moment, considering the question. "It could be," she admitted. "What I felt before could very well have been a thalk filling its vicinity with divine energy. But not just that... if a thalk is giving off an aura as strong as I felt, it is not here in spirit only. It would have to be fully summoned."

Irah paused for a moment as she considered. She had hoped to play the innocent priestess a little longer, but it had already worn tenuously thin with her admission to Sir Yanin: though she could just as easily pass that off as being Lhirin… Well, with him having been picked up by a droplet of water and thrown into a living carpet, he’d rather lost the mien of competence he’d thus far already struggled to maintain with his social blunders. Perhaps they’d not buy it.

She looked around the room for a moment, and noticed that the stranger from afar was yet to engage much, whereas everyone else (except Madara, who she could vaguely hear asking questions outside). Sir Yanin had been quite explicit about using Iron earlier, but she hadn’t exactly joined them as a cohesive unit at the time. Her attire and physique had already registered to Irah as those of a skilled combatant, so perhaps it was merely familiarity she was lacking. Perhaps the dutiful priestess could stay for now, then.

“They have only magical bodies–use your magic or iron. I will keep you safe.” Irah offered, turning towards Nabissistra with a kindly expression on her face, though sometimes unnervingly intense remained about her ruby eyes. Reflected in the crimson of Nabi’s own, should she return the gaze, the intensity of her focus would burn even more brightly. At the sound of Freagon’s movement, however, Irah’s head snapped towards him, eager to see the sword in use. His arm was very skilled indeed, and the grace with which the sartal slashed through the air was something to behold. The way the light danced across its surface, gleaming and glittering as it rendered the wraith that had chosen to embrace Lhirin utterly powerless. She looked up at Jaelnec with a look on her face she suspected he probably knew well: he was an arse, that much was certain, but one did have to give him that he was also quite certainly skilled.

“These are Frentits–weak things. They’re being guided by something greater, but they’re having fun: I think the summoner is likely just as much a victim as we are, now. We should find her as quickly as we can–perhaps we can talk some sense into whatever she’s summoned, if she’s no longer in control.”

Looking at the water above her, and reconsidering the drain she felt from the strange aura that seemed to permeate the house, Irah willed a further 40kg of it out to join the rest of it. She was certain that the Lady Bor would not appreciate almost a bathtub of water being dumped onto her lawn, but they were also saving the day for her (and had every intention of going to save the healer too, though perhaps she didn’t know that yet). As that thought crossed her mind she found Madara returning up the path, followed by an announcement that the summoner had taken something–possibly piaan.

Well. Piaan, of course. Frentits weren’t hard to summon, Irah knew that much–they were famed for being the most plentiful and basic element in a Summoner’s arsenal. They required little energy to conjure and had a will as flimsy as a falling leaf–but to summon potentially up to eleven of them, and then whatever it was that was guiding them… Had the Melenian performed a full summoning? Would she be so foolish?

”Hm. I cannot think of a single greater divine that would create an effect that muddles the senses like this, can you? If a full summoning has been performed… Reina preserve us…”

"Maybe a deova... but no, this did not feel like an Angel of Fidelity." Kinder radiated worry and regret. "Be very careful, Deo'irah. I am ready if you need me."

The only other clues Irah could think to direct herself to was the issue of these angels’ alignment: it could perhaps give them an insight into the summoner, or the situation. They’d need to see more of the rooms: Lhirin could visualise what happened, and she could usually guess why. Still, if he walked into another ambush, she sensed that Sir Yanin would fulfil that role just as well.

“... I fear that a full summoning may have taken place. I suspect perhaps a Thalk if such a summoning has occurred, though that is a guess–if it is, we must hurry: it will grow in power the longer it remains.” she added, addressing everyone in the room with a clear sense of urgency.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Deo’Irah’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of witch-hunters, her otherwise serene face tensing in some micro-display of… something. Contempt. Weaponised ignorance, fueled by a zealotry matched only by those followers of Korval Irah paid particular attention and obeisance to–and though the expression lasted only a fraction of a second, Irah’s thoughts and feelings were of course open to Kinder: there was no fear of their abilities or their persecution, only a tense knot of worrying how much energy they’d have to expend that could otherwise be used productively. She hoped only that they’d let words solve their differences, rather than force her to… well. She did not let her mind drift precisely to the consequences, hoping that forbearance would help her channel the mien of mercy she’d require to ameliorate this particular situation most effectively. She internally mused for a moment how much more exciting this little visit to Borstown was becoming than she’d intended–she even considered for a second that the Lady Bor might have concocted this adventure as a last try to find worthy heirs of her legacy, but quickly dismissed the thought: it seemed both impractical and callous, neither of which she read in the diminutive lady of the house.

”Thank you for the answers, Lady Bor. We will do what we can to save your guests.” Irah replied, her tone even and measured. She took her left palm and extended it out towards Lady Bor, held it for a half-second, and placed it upon her heart gently as she turned to walk up the path towards the manor. She studied Lhirin, glad he’d finally realised how rude he’d been without meaning to and at least attempting to make amends. Still, there was no time–before the others walked up, she leaned in to whisper to him in Gazzerashei:

”Witch-hunters–they will target me over even the summoner, as soon as they realise I am currently hosting an angel. Never mind my other forbidden talents–be sharp. We mustn’t kill them, but nor can we brook their interference. I will… explain to the human knight–he reminds me of you. Not telling you the truth ends poorly.” she spoke, her words somewhat hurried given that all were going to begin making their way into the manor soon. As the various tributaries once again converged into a great river Irah made sure once again to fall by the side of Sir Yanin Glade, to continue their conversation from earlier–and she prompted him to lean down a little and listen to her.

”... I sense that you appreciate directness, Yanin, so I will be direct.This is, indeed, not my first time…” she began, her tone candid but playful, and a surprisingly mirthful smirk upon her face, ”... the witch-hunters are going to be problematic. You can expect them not to be friendly to us–we should deal with them accordingly.” she finished, though her tone stiffened towards the end and the congeniality seemed to cool a little as she focused up and walked forwards, striding confidently up the stone steps towards the doors within–she breathed in steadily through her nose and returned to a position of familiar aloofness, suddenly quite uncertain about her snap judgement of Sir Yanin and the confidence she’d placed in him with her allusion. She only hoped it would buy them enough time–she could explain things in more detail later, the lens of gratitude their inevitable success would later provide affording her a much more agreeable environment with which to provide answers. Truthfully, she would not lose much even if he reacted poorly–nothing short of mindless aggression he had thus far not displayed would be a problem she could not simply deal with later.

Irah permitted herself a little smirk at Jordan’s comment, quite amusing given the situation she now found herself in, though she imagined that he’d heard her too and might perhaps be rethinking the statement. She did not permit herself to look at him to determine his reaction, however, as the elder Nightwalker withdrew his blade. The world around Irah seemed to pale in comparison, suddenly, as from a perfectly mundane scabbard, a perfectly mundane grip drew forth something decidedly extraordinary. Irah felt her heart quicken for a moment and a short gasp escaped her lips involuntarily. ”Jehla vrehiel…”

Sartal. She’d always wondered why the Nabathsetwehl'amet'sartal never bought any inventory from them, even though she’d offered to sell to them at very reasonable rates. It was one of the great mysteries of her people, and something she’d idly let mull about in her thoughts for a long time now–something she’d not gotten any closer to a real answer on. She struggled for a second to regain her previous decorum as she stared at it intensely, her eyes taking on something of the feral quality that was normally only observed in Lhirin. The thoughts consumed her for a second more than she’d have liked before she gained some measure of control over herself and managed to speak again of her own volition, eyes blinking as though she’d just stared into the sun itself for a moment. It was a droplet of water weeping down and landing in her still-held hand that broke her from her reverie, and just as quickly as her eye refocused they became trained on Freagon.

”I would like to hear the story of that blade, when the day is won.” she spoke to Freagon in Fermian, assuming that he could understand the language if he had a blade made of sartal. A fresh wave of nausea made her stop for a moment, and she made a gentle movement with her finger to prompt a little stream of water to make its way to her mouth so she could sup from it. She cleared her throat for a second and composed herself, feeling unusually unsteady in that very heady way as she fought to unify her errant and fraying thoughts.

She would wait a moment for everyone to catch up (though she of course kept an eye out for Jaelnec, who she expected might attend her as she had looked somewhat unwell for a second) and focused on breathing, letting herself settle into a gentle rhythm of breath. She realigned her senses with the world, feeling the flow of her magical energy and the way that it clashed against the divine energy of Kinder residing within her, and focused on her surroundings more intently. She would need to be keenly aware of her surroundings given Lady Bor and Kinder’s warnings–and as she extended her awareness outwards, she became increasingly aware of… she was not quite sure. It felt so odd–the streams of magic that she extended outwards to the water above her in order to manipulate it… She turned her head upwards to look, the water’s otherwise perfectly smooth form beginning to drip in places, the halo seeming almost to melt beneath the gaze of some unseen sun.

She willed even more of the energy out than before for a brief second, feeling the further outpouring buoy her control of the mass of water above her. She stepped back for a moment, retreating to the very entrance of the armoury, and willed around half of the water that she’d been using down, her hand clenching slightly as she ceased providing the magical energy to manipulate it and set it down by the garden. She also extended her awareness out towards the assembled multitude of individuals that appeared to be answering adventure’s call–she could feel Lhirin even now, like the charge in the air before a storm. Bristling and ready. The others… she didn’t think it was coming from them, but in order to know that, she’d have to know more than she presently knew: which was nothing.

”... there are, I think, 12 angels inside–one of them far more powerful than the others. There’s also something happening to my magic…” she began, looking towards Lhirin (no doubtedly having experienced the same thing as her) for an explanation when none came to her.

When the next set of doors were opened and the group advanced into the hall, Irah’s attention snapped immediately towards the wounded man and his cries for help–and then to the wraith that had (quite rudely) animated some of Lady Bor’s furniture. Her first thought was to what type of angel this might be, and which God it would belong to: if she was lucky, it might be the sort of spirit she may be able to talk down… If she was even luckier, it might be one that could provide her with useful information. Still, more likely than that was that it’d get beaten to a pulp before she had to expend any of her limited (and suddenly increasingly taxed) magical energy. Her eyes flashed immediately to Madara, too, and she nodded in the direction of the wounded man–though she didn’t explicitly speak in the moment, her body language and gesticulations were such that it would be obvious of her intention: they’d best move together, seeing as their skills would be needed together.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Satisfied with the answer, Irah looked Nabi up and down and made various judgements about her appearance: she noticed first that Nabi’s eyes were similar to her own, crimson-red and intense. She was adorned well, too: flashes of silver in her ears, glints of ruby elsewhere, and a heavy pack of provisions she hefted about with ease. Some sort of traveller, though clearly on foot–where she’d come from was a mystery to Irah, but she did not afford herself the time to ponder it further before the ribbon of water whipped itself back up into her halo with a gentle splash. She didn’t speak any further to Nabi, instead motioning with her eyes and a nod of her head as she continued onward toward the manor.

As Sir Yanin spoke to her she paid him rapt attention, leaning in in an almost-conspiratorial fashion:

”Lhirinthyl, lightning mostly–though he’s also good against metal. He is deadly; be careful. I am Deo’Irah–Water is my element, as you can see. I am less lethal but not less dangerous.” she spoke, clear and concise, and her eyes flashing upward as she mentioned water. She glanced over at Yanin and Jordan for a moment, then, too: they seemed to be the sort to physically engage with their targets to perhaps the exclusion of all else (though, as she glanced down to his weaponry and noted the falcon-and-viper, she wondered if indeed his tongue might be as sharp as the blade). They could be relied upon to put themselves between her and harm’s way, whatever that ended up being.

She studied Freagon next, and Jaelnec (though it was immediately clear he was the underling in that relationship), focusing intently on Freagon. The way that he looked (she thought, quietly seething about how difficult it was to tell where Nightwalkers were looking and thus what they were interested in) at Sir Yanin was… well, it made her gaze feel soft by comparison. Two dominant personalities clashing, perhaps: she’d have to be very careful about how she negotiated her way around those two, if they were both to be useful without clashing. She would not suffer dissension in the ranks, not with innocent lives at stake. Still–the Knights of the Will… they’d been extinct longer than any given Nightwalker lived, hadn’t they? How could what he was saying be true?

She made sure to meet Jaelnec’s wandering gaze briefly, attempting to catch it during its arc between Fraegon and Yanin. She offered him a demure smile, a slight exhalation of breath escaping her nose, before she turned to look towards the rapidly unfolding situation. Her eyes widened a little as she looked down at the Baroness–quite the unusual turn of events, as she’d gotten rather used to looking up at people when travelling with Lhirin–and noted her lack of desire to be… attended to. That was the sort of thing that Irah would expect from an adventurer-turned-noblewoman, and a penin nevertheless. She had almost forgotten that Lady Bor was a penin, but the chatter she’d overheard about it when initially picking up the trail of her call to adventure was quite insistent on the fact that she was (and unusually so, in Irah’s mind–why should the fact she was a penin matter at all?).

She watched Lhirin ask his questions eagerly, her assessment of the Baroness increasing to the point that she wondered if they were simply being a bit precious with their high concept of duty–-she needed protecting, of course, but Irah could see a glimmer of independence in her that perhaps merited a lighter hand. She cringed at the sound of the bronze blade cleaving through the rock, settling her nerves by taking a smooth breath in through her nose and holding it, exhaling the irritation with it. She would teach him again about his manners later, for now, there was work to do. She stepped aside from the gathering in front of the gates (stealing a quick glance in the direction of Jaelnec as she did so) and stepped down the path briskly to join him, sensing her presence might be necessary after all to calm down Lhirin’s wild intensity. Not that she would make it any less intense: but less wild was usually a start.

”How many guests? You may not know of the wraiths formally, but how did they manifest, or what effects did they produce? Can you describe the summoner, so we can pick them out?” Irah continued, specifying Lhirinthyl’s questions with the softer details he might neglect. She continued to hold the water aloft above her without a second thought, only her right hand held demurely in an almost-clenching motion with her fingertips. The sudden burst of effort had somewhat sullied her robe, alongside administering to the patients nearby–and as she noticed, she directed a little ribbon of water to wash the bits away idly, while she looked at the diminutive figure of the Lady her periphery made sure to focus inwards, absorbing details in and around the house before them. In the back of her mind, she made sure also to keep Kinder informed of the goings-on, freely sharing her perceptions of the world and her thoughts. Playing host to a divine as she was, after all, was quite an advantageous position to be in for this particular predicament. She wasn’t sure whose favour she curried, to have been sent exactly where she appeared to be needed, but she did not permit herself to consider it more than that.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

There was a tense moment of attention when Lhirinthyl–and she only used Lhirinthyl to admonish him or otherwise express her frustration--forgot for a moment all of the manners that she’d spent the trip back to Jihni'mah'jehla'nai and then from there to Rodoria trying to drill into him… and even more spectacularly than usual, forgetting not only basic social rules but also the concept of physical space. He then spoke to her in a different language from the others in the room, and not even in Fermian, which maybe someone might have been able to understand and simply assume they were speaking in their mother tongue–instead in Gazzerashei, of all things, just to tell her he was going to the Manor?! She took a brief second to steady herself as a fresh wave of nausea assaulted her senses, and a brief moment of dizziness caused her control of the little orb of water next to her to waver and ripple slightly. She took in a quick breath as the eyes of… well, most of the people in the room seemed to focus on her, and she quickly composed herself and spoke quickly:

"He is my bodyguard and travelling companion, and he’s going to the Manor to investigate. You should follow, we have the situation in ha–” she began, only for the clarion call of the bell to draw everyone’s attention. Everyone’s attention–even the wounded, who all froze in abject terror at the mere prospect. It was bad, then–and Lhirin was right just a little bit before everyone else. As usual. She took a look over at the other wounded, taking into account their injuries as best she could with the casual glance she’d be able to get. None seemed like they’d expire within the hour, the only imminently urgent case being the one that she and Kinder had just healed. The others would require some sort of longer-term convalescence, even with all of the tools at their disposal, and frankly the thing that they really needed was their own healer, returned hale and whole. She turned then to look at the surgeon, her expression focused and calm, her eyes flashing towards the door.

Something about the half-Palanter reminded her of Sel'kahr'wander–a… colleague of hers, a barber-surgeon. Unsurprising, given the shared overlap in their professions, but there was something about the sharpness of her features and her dress that really tipped it over the edge. The same primal edge, honed to something between graceful and savage–she could see it in the beautiful fit of her clothes and how the contrast of the thread glinted in the dim firelight, meticulous detail clear to Irah’s focused gaze. With how neatly organised and clearly well-cared for as her tools had been, it seemed to Irah that she seemed to be ready to go at a moment’s notice, like a predator in waiting. She burst into action herself with the same focus and drive, beginning to dart out of the room and speaking simultaneously:

"Mehknai bre... We should follow--quickly.” she said, her voice steely, and followed just behind Jordan (and Sir Yanin, if he acted more quickly than she) on their way out towards the Manor. Just to her right, clear as day across the way, was a well beside what Irah had presumed was the inn earlier and confirmed upon closer inspection. She made sure to rush out towards it, reaching out with her left hand as she did so, and she once more extended the force of her will out towards the water she knew must lurk below it. She quickly upturned her palm and clenched her fingers inward, feeling it rise up at her call and flow upwards towards her. It burst forth from the well quickly and smoothly, the bucket and rope previously hanging freely below flying up into the air with the force of the movement and falling to the side with a clatter. Irah drew around a hundred or so litres of water from beneath the ground, enough for a large bath, and with clearly-practised movements began to make it twist and turn into something of a halo, almost, floating above her. After a couple of seconds of focusing, and then a couple more to steady herself for whatever might come next, she turned to follow suit and observe the situation as it was. Lhirin, Sir Yanin, and Jordan would have no trouble getting in–Sir Yanin in particular seemed like he was exceedingly difficult to deny entry to, with the forcefulness of his gait and the imposing heaviness of his build. In the distance she could hear the galloping of hooves, much more closely than she expected, given the suddenness of what'd just happened, and her head twisted out towards the sound to catch the sight: two nightwalkers, armoured, and racing toward them. She paid them little other mind in that moment--figuring that Lhirin and the others would engage them should they be foes, to reassess the whole situation.

Then, from the winery across the street, Irah caught a glimpse of something quite unusual in the unusually bright and stark day: an individual clothed in what might as well have been Laon’s own night, with a similar hue in their skin that Irah had never encountered before. She blinked for a second before really registering the information, running towards the gate simultaneously, and with a flex of her right fingers and a pointing motion out towards the figure with her left she willed a ribbon of water to whip out from her towards the figure, frozen in an arc but poised and ready to lash out. She made no immediate assumptions about the figure, but given the timing of the bell and the skulking she was attempting to do in broad daylight, Irah elected simply to call out in Rodorian:

”Friend or foe?” and ceasing her own movements while still holding herself in that state of readiness.

With two unknown parties having joined the fray suddenly, she looked over toward Jordan and Yanin for further instruction, expression tense and alert, and then behind her to see if the surgeon had followed too and what she'd brought with her if so.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

The sting of the energy flowing through her was intensely familiar, at this point, and though it should have been an unpleasant sensation to her, knowing that enduring it would give somebody a chance to live their life that had almost been cruelly taken away instead made it feel like a worthy burden, something she truly carried with pride. Thankfully, she had been blessed with a much greater resistance to it than most, and she would still be able to call upon Kinder’s powers again if more grievous wounds were present elsewhere–especially if the background chatter she could hear about the Healer being missing was true. Lhirin’s hypothesis was right, then–but she wasn’t surprised. He was far cannier at that sort of thing than anyone she’d ever met–though a few of her… colleagues came quite close.

”Thank you, Kinder–he should direct his thanks to you, in truth, but I know that neither of us do what we do for thanks. I may only take credit for the will that may bring you here, but I also believe that that is all Reina ultimately wants of us: to want her mercy to be here, in our hearts and in our world.” Irah allowed herself to muse while the work was done, but as she felt the telltale rash begin to appear beneath her fingers she knew it was time to stop, and pulled away. The convulsions were not irregular for injuries such as this, and Irah reflexively moved to steady him with her other hand. Before she’d gotten particularly far he’d stopped, however, though she did choose to continue the motion, dropping both of the vials in her free palm onto the bed before bringing it to his and holding it gently.

“Shh, shh–please, you must rest. It is my honour to bring Reina’s mercy to you, but the gift has its price: the taint. Focus on breathing.” Irah smiled in return, her expression a practised mask of kindliness. Though the slight smile that graced her lips was genuine, there was an intensity to how her eyes examined the rest of him for injuries more closely. She couldn’t judge his weight accurately beneath the armour, but if he were fit enough for combat she didn’t think they’d have to worry about using a healing potion for the rest of his injuries–better to let the surgeon do her work knitting flesh and conserve her magical supplies for more serious injuries.

“I’m going to attend the others, but call if you need me.” Irah spoke, letting out a deeply held breath of her own as she took a few deep breaths of her own, looking into his eyes to help him focus and match her rhythm. As she focused, she reached her will out to the water in the air, condensing it into a few droplets of cool water upon the man’s brow. She continued to focus until she’d condensed a small orb of water, floating just to her side, and a tendril of it flowed down towards the man’s mouth, for him to drink if he wished–the water would remain at his lips unless he motioned to drink. After a few seconds she squeezed his hand gently before scooping the vials back up and moving to where Madara was working, placing one of them down a little distance away from the supplies that she’d set out. She left just as quickly, turning on her heel, but said as she did so: “Healing potion–use it freely.”

Irah turned her attention next to the man with the compound fracture. Injuries like this were nasty and needed to be cleaned before they could be fixed magically. Irah could do it with steam, if truly necessary, but it would be extremely painful–there were better methods, especially with the surgeon and her plethora of options. She was careful not to touch him unless necessary to adjust him and get a better look at the extent of the damage, but made sure to bring a similar stream of water to his lips and motioned for him to drink freely as she examined his wounds more closely.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Irah bustled past the giant of a man guarding the doorway the moment he permitted it, her mouth forming the shapes necessary to say “thank you”, though no words came out. She caught the attention of the half-Palanter Madara very briefly, and the anticipation and tension within her eased significantly. The first thing she noticed was the sleeves: a colleague of hers, a barber-surgeon, was always meticulous about keeping his sleeves pristine, though the rest of his clothes often got to luxuriate in the rewards of his sanguinary work. He was more… elegant and refined, of course, being a true deigan–but there was something very sharp and striking about the figure of this apparent surgeon too that made the corner of her mouth wrinkle happily at the thought. She wasted no time indulging herself in these thoughts when there were those in need, however, and as she immediately directed her attention towards the one that Madara had pointed out to her.

From the corner of her eye she saw a yet-hale Fadewatcher scrambling to put a pot of water on the fire, and with her free right hand she beckoned him to put the pot down and directed some small measure of her focus towards the water in it. She could almost feel the water within it, the placidity and stillness reminiscent of what it felt like to use her magic, and she instead pushed forth all of the urgency she could muster and released it from herself as pure energy (accompanied by a quick prayer in Fermian asking Arhoun for his blessing). It would take a few seconds, to be certain, but the water first began to bubble gently at the edges before giving way to a rolling boil. She settled the water again, leaving faint trails of steam to wisp up into the air, before nodding at Madara. “The water’s boiled--I have two healing potions with me, but could make more in… maybe an hour, all told.” she spoke, her voice quick and calm.

"We’re not too late for these men–between myself and this surgeon, we should be able to administer Reina’s mercy without exposing them to the taint… He would expire from the taint before we could restore his fingers, but that head wound looks serious." she spoke internally, beckoning forth Kinder’s divine magic as she walked towards the bed and bent down ever-so-slightly to get a better look. Head wounds were rarely the sort of thing one wanted to leave to the surgeon’s knife if it could be helped: such a precious part of the body was easy to damage, and there was inevitably trauma when one delved into the innards of any mundane creature with a sharp blade. ”Blessed Reina, mother of Mercy, may your light shine forth and banish the Wanderer’s spectre.” she spoke, the prayer leaving her lips less as a conduit for the power she beckoned, and more to give the others the impression she was little more than one who wielded Reina’s favoured power. Truthfully, it was also a legitimate prayer: these were likely innocent men who had sought only to defend themselves and Deo’Irah’s heart fluttered at the thought of their noble sacrifice to protect what they had. Though she’d brought many back from the brink of death in her many, many years as a healer she never once questioned the motives of the people who received of Reina’s beneficence–but she did always prefer to heal those who were truly worthy of mercy.

She arched her hands delicately as she went to investigate the wound more closely, certain to heal only as much as could not be done through alchemical, internally magical, or physical means.