Tuujaimaa

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Deo’Irah had taken a moment to attempt to compose herself, her hands reflexively coming together and fingers steepling together as she took a deep breath in. The ocean of her soul was furious, roiling with a genuine moral affront–but with each breath she stilled its turbulence and regained control of her wits. The outburst was done, now–the social consequences were inevitable. She would pay them no mind for the moment and assess the situation depending on the outcome of current events. Sir Yanin, of course, took the position of the leader. He reminded her of Jahniv--though less effective, thanks to the gift of telepathy… reticent with his words, though each word was assessed to be as impactful as possible. Jordan and Nabissistra had wisely taken refuge in the other room–though she was more worried about Jordan than the clearly magically-trained Nabi. Divine energy parasitised Magical energy, after all–and those with more of it could withstand more accumulation of the taint.

It was Madara that most got her attention as she listened to her companions while reining her anger in–Irah missed entirely her initial reaction to the divine energy, her focus so single-minded in the moment, but the questions the half-Palanter asked might as well have been plucked from Deo’Irah’s mind, for they pressed upon the weakness she had noted earlier: why?.

Then she felt the absence of what felt only a fairly mild concentration of divine energy to her–but her resistance to divine energy was considerable, and the others must have been feeling far worse than she. The Thalk, as she was utterly convinced that was what it was, had abated its power somewhat as it pondered Madara’s words–and that was the perfect opportunity to discern more precisely what motivated this divine. That was the trick with divines, typically: they were mortals once, skewed towards the most influential aspect of their personality. Thalks were, indeed, deceitful by nature–but a Thalk of Reina would act very differently to a Thalk of Rilon.

“Your summoner, Feevesha…” Deo’Irah began, switching back to Rodorian now that her focus had returned. She took a moment to audibly exhale through her nose, her expression shifting more towards one of sympathy than of her previous rage. It crossed her mind that this could, indeed, be a part of the deception–but the vacillating quality of the illusions, the genuine moment of confusion, and the diminishing of its aura… Well. They were as close to an olive branch as one could get with a Thalk, she reckoned–and Sir Freagon seemed quite capable of slaying the thing where it stood should the tables turn.

”... she brought up the fact that she was a summoner in order to aid the townsfolk here. Bandits have taken the town’s healer, and she wanted to help recover him as there are wounded nearby. It was then that the witch-hunters turned on her, cretins that they are…” Irah finished, her rage flaring in a seething exhortation of cold fury as she all-but spat the term “witch-hunters”.

“May I ask… which deity do you serve? How would you like to be addressed?” she offered, laying bare her palms from their previous position in a gesture of what she hoped would be received as peace. With the divine energy having abated some of the palpable tension seemed to have melted away too, though the gentle listing of the sword towards Freagon was something that did not escape Irah’s attention either–they would still have to tread carefully. There was, Irah saw, a narrow path that served everyone’s interests: if, indeed, it could be convinced that its purpose was aligned with theirs, they would gain a truly formidable ally in their upcoming task. It would also be a fitting send-off for Feevesha, whose noble impulse to help had been misinterpreted by the witch-hunters… if she could not live to see it through herself, Deo’Irah would see it done herself. She made to herself a brief and silent vow of that, her focus renewed and will steeled.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

The reveal of information was relatively rapid from then on out–Sir Yanin’s diligent caution did not escape Deo’Irah’s attention, focused even on the most minute of details even now. He had certainly proven his keen intellect in her mind, though she suspected the scope of his piercing gaze might be its downfall–the price of his powerful grasp of the minutiae was a far more nebulous grasp of the wider abstract concepts at play. She made a mental note of it, and her mind turned to Jordan for the briefest of moments–that was likely his role in their partnership. He seemed… astute and unpretentious, able to avoid the common pitfall of more cerebral thinkers like his master (and indeed herself and Lhirin) thinking themselves into traps most people simply would never conceive of. Even in their movements, the flow of information and commands from the knight to his squire, there was something that naturally drew Irah’s attention. She shelved that observation for later too, focusing intently on the door that was about to be opened and the situation revealed.

She could already feel the divine energy too, offering a very quiet explanation of what precisely exposure to divine energy felt like–she was very curious as to why he was not able to feel it in the same way that they did: “You will only feel it; a prickling itch, then painful exhaustion until death. Do you not?”

Irah watched the scene around them unfold, her eyes narrowing in intensity as she attempted to emulate some of the granular attention to detail that Lhirin normally displayed, somewhat inspired by Sir Yanin, and focused on the details that mattered. In her periphery she could see Freagon’s movements, reaching into his coinpurse for… ah. Rodlin were pure silver. It was easy for her to forget, with her native currency of Kyrin being more crystalline and thus not interacting with energies in the same way that Rodlin did. Another display of aptitude from the mysterious Freagon. She continued her examinations while she awaited the inevitable result, listening out for the sound while her eyes were trained elsewhere.

The Archangel’s likeness seemed mostly to conflate with her understanding–snippets gleaned from stories, from books, from speaking with divines such as Kinder. She focused intently for a moment on the sword itself–she’d heard it described that the telekinetic ability of the Archangels functioned like an invisible hand, observable only through keen attention to the displacement of air currents about it. She attempted to discern any details regarding this that she could, and also observed the peculiar circle of fire and coursing bolts of lightning that it had chosen to display. The abilities, together, did not answer her earlier pondering over which deity this divine owed allegiance to. She then simply spoke to Kinder, keenly aware from earlier that while the senses she offered had detected the divines present it had also alerted them to hers. Indeed, Kinder had told her earlier that the divine they stood before now was attempting to hide--this flamboyant display smacked too much of a ruse, she thought, and then the ping of the Rodlin against the wall behind them chimed in too. She proceeded to commune with Kinder directly:

“Illusory, I am certain–what is your read? I am entirely uncertain to which deity it belongs, also..?” Irah began, wanting another form of confirmation before she gave Yanin the go-ahead to simply slay it where it stood. She could just imagine Lhirin reading a passage from the Deo’iel’s text reiterating that it is always safest to simply slay a divine where they stand for the sake of all living things around them. They would not perish, only return to the divine realms–it was now likely too late to save any who remained here, but even that could only truly be assessed once the threat was dealt with.

“I do not -” Kinder began, only for the archangel’s eyes to instantly shift their focus from Freagon to Irah. Though the being inside the room had appeared composed before, albeit defensive and indignant, that composure seemed to vanish as soon as it laid eyes on her, and its face twisted into a grimace of rage and hatred to match what Kinder had reported earlier.
“No!” Kinder exclaimed in a panicked tone. “Deo’irah, it is not -”
A strange sensation came over Irah at that moment; a wave of cold, like stepping through a curtain of water. It lasted only an instant before it abated… but when the chill vanished, the familiar stinging heat of Kinder had disappeared along with it.
“Hypocrites!” the archangel boomed furiously, clenching its fists and sending fingers of lightning out to caress the floor, walls and ceiling. “You hound summoners and divines mercilessly, come here to destroy me, and you bring your own angel slaves? Disgusting creatures!”

The sensation of Kinder being ripped from within her gripped her like a freezing curtain of ice, and shudders of distant recollections of a similar cold flooded her and steeled her focus. Something about the kindly nature with which she had generally held herself and presented dropped, and a spark of genuine and indignant fury sparked within her that she failed to contain.

“You dare accuse me of hypocrisy after ripping my friend and ally from me?! I have never enslaved another being!” she seethed, voice frigid with icy fury. “We act in concert to bring Reina’s mercy to this world, something her soul fundamentally longs for, and you have the gall to strip her of the means to achieve her desires after having had lives sacrificed to grant you yours?!” she continued to rant, having slipped immediately into her native Fermian without the composure to restructure her thoughts into Rodorian. She took a shaky breath in to steel herself, body feeling not… better, for Kinder’s absence, but no longer accumulating something making it worse from within as well.

The archangel scoffed at her, but gestured at Freagon. “You expect me to believe anything you say? This one comes here bearing a silver sword and declared that he would kill me, and even you said you would see me banished or slain. You mundanes are all the same. A conversation? What would that solve? You said it yourself: I do not belong here, and someone had to…” It paused for just a second, wincing. “To die for me to be here. Because of you!”

Deo’Irah took a moment to observe the divine’s reply, her world shrunk down to this interaction in an ironic twist of her earlier observations about the knight, noticing the wince and seeing it as the chink in its proverbial armour she needed to capitalise upon immediately. She allowed herself a moment of frenzied focus, allowing enough time to pass for her to consider the options available but not so much she might lose her opportunity–contingent upon the others, who’d surely made actions of their own during her outburst.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Irah considered Yanin’s words, weighing them carefully in her mind over the few seconds it would take her to respond. The simple truth was that too much remained a mystery for them to make any proper judgements or plans–they would have to observe what was happening and make a decision then. It made her uneasy, in truth–she was comfortable with following orders that she could see the sense of, that resonated with her own values. The voice of Freagon adding an offer to simply slay the thing was thoroughly discordant with her own opinions, and her eyes narrowed softly as her smile soured very slightly at the corners of her mouth.

“If being the crux of things. We simply do not know what we will face, and we will have to make a judgement swiftly. Perhaps the magical disruption we felt earlier was the traces of a previous aura fading… The vials of piaan were found here, it would be reasonable to assume that she summoned the divines here… There are far too many variables: the Melenian’s resistance, the spell she used, the realm and deity they belong to (where applicable). She might have summoned a divine into herself to better steel herself against the silvered swords of these misguided zealots. If the opportunity presents itself for this to be ended by a conversation, we should take it–if not, they must be slain and banished from our world. I will defer to your best judgement.” Irah replied to Yanin, mien thoughtful and words chosen quickly but carefully. Her coy smile returned somewhat, gaze steeled towards the first door as she took her position beside Lhirin. Ordinarily she might protest more, but her thoughts drifted back to the bandits and the abducted healer. Time was against them, and she would endeavour to save as many lives as possible. The Melenian might not be able to be saved at all–if she had died, the divine energy would likely have forced her to accept the Wanderer’s invitation to realms beyond. The cries certainly didn’t sound feline, though–she suspected that the Melenian had, indeed, perished here and what remained was an invitation. Less to heal, she supposed, though the tragedy of it pulled at her heartstrings–so much life and potential wasted, all for the fervour and lack of open mindedness of a few poor actors… but she could not get distracted. The posturing was ultimately pointless, as they would know only as soon as they opened the door and no sooner.

“Thalks revel in deception, and a stronger will appears to have been guiding these Frentits to ambush us–and it is common for Thalks to lay multiple traps, knowing that opponents will be more disarmed after the first. I am uncomfortable with death as a first resort, but… If it will save more lives, so be it. We are wasting time and there are still the bandits to deal with.” Irah added on, speaking again after Freagon had approached more closely. She noticed the way he rotated his sword very clearly, the little glints of light dancing along its surface visible in her periphery. His stance read as displeased to her, the twisting of his sword both for the purposes of minimising the gentle drops of blood that she could hear hitting the floor every now and again, and for an outlet for his restless energy. He’d not reacted the way the others had at her exposition, though his unmoving face made it difficult to tell–it was only through his movement that she could glean a sense of what he was thinking, and she could still feel that nagging sensation of being tested… but it had been pushed below the many more pressing and immediate thoughts in her mind, and she did not consider it beyond the recognition that it existed as she awaited the conclusion of this event, eager to have the tension and suspense dispelled.

The Prophecy - Dreams of Destiny

Deo’Irah

Irah nodded at Lhirin’s words, opting to add in some salient details of her own: “The room is saturated with divine energy–I cannot extend my senses into it without accumulating a dangerous amount of taint. Likewise, as soon as we enter, we will be bombarded with divine energy. Those of you without any native resistance to the taint…” she began, before looking over the assembled group and attempting to get a read on their expressions as she mentioned the taint. Any of them who were caught off guard by it, any who weren’t–all of the information on their faces would be valuable… well, if she could read it. She would simply have to assume Sir Freagon was able, and she’d already healed Jaelnec–enough to have a vague understanding of his resistance to the taint.

“... will need to be swift. Merely being in the aura that lays beyond will erode your very being–to say nothing of the magic that might be brought to bear against you. The Angel within is not like the others, and if it has been fully summoned as I expect then we face not only a significantly more formidable opponent, but one who may well listen to reason… or perhaps someone yet left to save. Whatever choice we make, it must be decisive. We cannot dally once events begin to unfold and we learn the truth. If it is a Thalk, we can remove it from the area to render its current aura inert, and it will have to build up another–this will give you more time.” she spoke, directing most of her tactical advice to Sir Yanin–it seemed he was the most suited to using it, and had already taken command enough of the situation with his air of authority to be the unspoken leader.

She turned her gaze directly towards Freagon again, pulled inexorably by that stirring of a sensation within her, still fresh in her mind. It had unlocked memories from many years ago, swimming in her mind’s eye almost as clearly as when the events had actually transpired. It had taken a considerable toll on her focus to resist its pull, but time was against them–it could wait. She would not let him leave without questioning him, that much was certain in her mind. Snapping back to reality she looked over at Lhirin, motioning towards him. The combination of the nausea from the accumulated taint and the magical exhaustion was a particularly egregious weight, the interactions between the energies clear to her more refined senses–her spirit was formidable, but this assault on it could not be progressed further without terrible consequence. She had never let the taste of piaan pass her lips before, and she did not intend to now… something that seemed more relevant than ever with the situation unfolding in front of them. Lhirin would if necessary, and she could at least observe the fluctuations of his soul and commit them to memory, to further her research of the elusive substance. She shot Lhirin a knowing look and shook her head slightly almost as an afterthought, indicating that he should hold off for now--it would be wise to use such tools only when they were necessary, and they had too little information to decide that at the moment. He, too, would simply have to be swift.

Irah waited by Sir Yanin, though she shot a telling look to Lhirin asking for his presence by her side. Just as he could sense the fatigue within her, she could feel his too–his steps were subtly laboured, leadened by the diminishing of his magical energy. His soul flickered and fluttered as if a sputtering flame, but she would feel safer with him nearby nevertheless–his skill with his sword was certainly not to be understated, and he was prepared for an emergency. He always was–it was why she felt so safe around him. She also turned to look over her shoulder at Jaelnec, though it was brief--just enough to indicate that he may wish to move and join her... but her gaze lingered on Freagon again for the briefest of seconds until she snapped her head forward and committed her focus to the task ahead.

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.