Listening to Adanil, Kendath couldn't help but contrast their decisions. He'd lost everything and turned to darkness. Adanil had lost everything and remained strong, finding some inner beacon within him that'd kept him in the light. Pondering this didn't benefit his temperament in the least.

"I'm still alive, aren't I?" he snapped back, to which Gyre flicked him a purely scathing glare. She seemed to be flicking him too many of those lately - a certain sign that he wasn't making any friends here. At length he sighed. He'd underestimated Adanil, and his own caustic tongue wouldn't succor this companionship. Not that he had the interest to maintain it, but a buried part of him empathized with the bereft young man. The abyss only knew - perhaps he'd even grow to like him.

"You'd make a celebrated Renegade," he offered with a tinge of irony. He shrugged. "You're intelligent, unlike the other half who dub themselves dragonriders. With a bit of training..." He glanced at the scimitar strapped to Adanil's belt. "Pretty butter knife. Know how to use it?" Raising an eyebrow in subtle challenge, he rose to his feet and let his fingers dance across his falchion's jeweled hilt.

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Wyvern, after his initial burst of anxious energy, seemed strangely listless to Merrin - though neither could she be described as entirely hale and hearty. His silver form curled protectively around her where she sat and she leaned against his flank wearily. It was heaving slightly as though from exertion, but he had done barely anything.

Wyvern...what's wrong? She inquired silently, noticing that Gyre too seemed affected by some inner injury.

There was a pause before he replied. It's this...place. It's not healthy, Merrin, something's not right.

Merrin scanned the sky, dark as it was. Nothing seemed green or growing - it all seemed near death, in fact, as though the breath of life had left even the cold stone beneath her. The thought made her shudder, as did the icy wind that reached them even in the sheltered dell. Wyvern curled closer. You're lucky to be alive.

I know. Merrin couldn't help her gaze shifting to Kendath, and the conundrum he presented. What had happened in that unholy ritual? And how long - ?

He'd carried her, limp and senseless, for what seemed quite some time. And Merrin could still remember like it had been seconds ago the feel of his arms about her, hear him...I'm here. Her cheeks flushed crimson. What was she thinking? Was she even suggesting to herself - ?

No. Of course not. He was distant, cool...he'd always been. Unbidden, memory of a moonlit patch of forest rose to the surface of her thoughts, and how that night she'd gotten past the walls he seemed to erect around himself. What had that meant?

Stop it. Merrin put a hand to her aching head. Pondering the contradictions that sprang up even upon chancing to look at him would only increase her inner confusion.

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Yay! Melda made a big(ger) post! w00t!

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Adanil sighed. He shouldn't have expected a different answer from Kendath--the Dragonrider wasn't really the type to relpy nicely to a question that hinted that he might not be able to last until they got out.

And then Kendath went right on and confused him by saying that he could become a celebrated Renegade. The abrupt shift from caustic tone to nearly-companionable caught him off guard, and it took a minute for his brain to catch up. Ah--Gyre's glare might have caused him to repent, if that was the proper term. Maybe it hadn't, but Adanil didn't see much point in figuring out Kendath's reasoning. The man was simply confusing.

He blinked when the Dragonrider challenged him--indirectly--to a sparring match. "Are you serious?" he asked, his mouth hanging open. "You've got a bloody broken ankle, and you want to spar right now?" The man was definitely confusing. Still, perhaps he was tougher than he looked. Pushing himself to his feet, Adanil rested his hand on the pommel of his swan-hilted scimitar.

"I have been trained in all the forms, and my teacher judged me to be only two levels beneath Swordmaster," he said, a touch of pride in his voice. Not many people were even that skilled, from what he had heard. And considering how short of a time it took to advance two levels, he probably would be a Swordmaster with just a little more training.

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Did you forget about Kendath's ankle, LDM?

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"The advantage is yours," Kendath offered, gesturing at his ankle as he rose to his feet. The elven mage had healed it somewhat, but it still throbbed painfully. Nothing a rush of adrenaline couldn't fix.

The spot they'd chosen to rest as the elves conjured their portal was a relatively flat area, perhaps twenty feet in width. On one side, the mountain spur dropped steeply the way they'd come. On the other rose a landslide of boulders and debris that may or may not be impregnable.

"Gyre," he snapped at his dragon, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. "Are you wagering?"

The jade female only snorted in amusement and moved out of the way. "I don't understand you."

Kendath shrugged and began circling his sparring opponent, dancing lightly on the balls of his feet in preparation to dart aside should Adanil attack. Never present a still target. And always let your opponent make the first move. Adanil moved easily with the grace of a trained swordsman. He wouldn't be lacking in reflexes or raw skill. Kendath's one asset was experience. His assassin profession had taught him unexpected tactics that he didn't think Adanil had much experience with, living in that isolated village for most of his life.

He smirked and beckoned his opponent with his falchion.

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"Well tecnically i don't exist here so there's no problem." answered Semri. "Garthag though...?"

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Made by Lembas

Adanil sighed, drawing his scimitar and flowing to the attack. The hilt felt familiar, fitting to his hand. The sword was almost an extension of his arm. He had been told that when he was a Swordmaster, it actually would feel as though it was.

Moving through the forms, he went easily at first, uncertain of how well Kendath could fight with his ankle like that. It had to be hurting him.

The Dragonrider seemed none too weak, though, parrying each of Adanil's strikes, though from the occasional flicker on his stony face, he was in pain.

Adanil's scimitar seemed much more maneuverable than Kendath's large falchion, yet the heavier weapon was always blocking, sometimes flickering in for a blow. Never close enough that Adanil could actually be hit, but he slapped them to the side with the flat of his blade before they reached him. That was the way of small weapons--they would not stand up to the strength of the larger ones, so Adanil was not going to try a direct block.

So he continued in his constantly-moving attack, his blade flickering towards Kendath at speeds that had taken him years to achieve, in forms that had taken him longer to master. Kendath did not use any forms that Adanil recognized, though. That was very odd--how could a swordsman be that skilled, and not use known forms?

Occasionally the Dragonrider would give Adanil a scare by using some wily move that resulted in his falchion streaking towards Adanil's neck or legs behind his scimitar, but the sparring did not seem too one-sided. Adanil's strikes were blocked, but then, so were Kendath's. From the looks of things, though, the fight would not last much longer--he was already weary, from the walking and the stamina-draining environment, and Kendath had to be feeling much the same way.

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[hope you don't mind if I godmode]

Kendath darted in and out, always leaping clear and very rarely completing the attack. He was waiting for the opportune breach in Adanil's defenses so that he may inflict the critical blow - preferrably right between his shoulder blades - but the man simply wouldn't relax his defense. His scimitar flowed in perfect rhythm, and his feet always pivoted to face the rapidly moving assassin.

Frustrated that his precision hits were utterly failing, he whipped out a dagger and flung it to the side in a move not meant to impale but to obscure Adanil's peripheral vision. The dagger whistled left, but instead of flowing leftwards himself as would have been expected, he dropped down, reversed his grip on his falchion, and jabbed upwards with the pommel into his adversary's stomach. He didn't wait to watch the effects, instead rolling back to his feet and losing precious seconds as his ankle erupted in pain. He glanced up, anticipating to see -

Adanil was nowhere in sight.

Cunning move, was all his racing mind registered before he glimpsed a flash of silver whizzing past his right ear. Having leaped onto the landslide, Adanil came back down scimitar leading. Instinctively ducking under the high-sweeping attack instead of parrying it, he brought up another dagger. But Adanil's scimitar was waiting for him, clashing on the dagger with a ring of metal. Jolted out of his hand, the small blade went spinning to the ground.

"Fast learner," Kendath managed to get in before he was forced to arc his falchion back up for another ringing parry. Utilizing his weapon's superior size, he forced his adversary's blade back. No fruition there - Adanil had already brought his scimitar under the falchion in a skilled underhand and danced to the side.

Flashing another dagger, Kendath finally managed to get behind his opponent. He'd entered at a crouch so no use poking Adanil's back, as he couldn't reach it. Instead he slapped the flat of his blade against both knees. But Adanil didn't resist the blow, only dropped low to cushion the burst of pain in his knees. His scimitar swept high, moving to intercept Kendath, who'd been predictably trying to regain his feet. Thus it was that Kendath's face went on a collision course with the flat of the scimitar. Stars danced in his vision, and he tasted warmth from his bloody nose.

Stumbling away - his ankle was complaining again - from Adanil's ensuing persistent offense, he scooted backwards and brought his falchion up in time to block yet another slash. At the same time his foot shot out, efficaciously tripping his opponent.

Panting, he regained his feet and began circling once more. "Where'd you learn to fight like that, farmer?" he shot across the impromptu arena, where Adanil had already brought his scimitar to bear.

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Merrin glanced up upon hearing their blades clash against each other, but in a moment had looked down again with little interest. Perhaps at one time she might have watched the sparring match and been engaged, but now...

What's wrong? Wyvern nuzzled her with his blunt snout.

Merrin didn't know how to reply. Everything seemed wrong, doubtful, uncertain - from the instant she'd stepped two thousand years back in time their mission had spiraled out of control. Her head ached more even trying to comprehend what had happened, and the barrage of unnamed emotions that assaulted her upon contemplating the walking conundrum that was Kendath didn't help. I just...I don't know what I'm doing or how to make this work. It's as if...as if I thought I was entering a rain shower and got a thunderstorm instead.

Wyvern rumbled compassionately and Merrin leaned against him, closing her eyes. Her limbs felt leaden, heavy from fatigue and anxiety. How simple it had been to feel nothing, only to dream...

And she jolted to wakefulness again. However she tried to banish it the thought crept back - he carried you all that way. With a broken ankle...

Did it mean something? Anything? Nothing? What if it did? Did he - ? Merrin couldn't count the questions that wound themselves into webs about her tired mind. She leaned on Wyvern's foreleg and closed her eyes, not really intending to sleep -

But intention or no, minutes later found an exhausted young dragonrider sound asleep against her dragon. Her expression even in slumber spoke of the weight that still rested upon her shoulders, but it was not entirely care and worry of which she dreamt.

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(not at all, this kind or RP slightly needs godmodding now and then)

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Made by Lembas

((I think she meant Aerandir, Anduril ))

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(((aye...but i am founder...and i wanted to ost something anyway)))

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Made by Lembas

Godmodding is fine by me, LDM, as long as it's done by someone who I know could play my characters relatively well, such as yourself.

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Adanil's lip curled in a smile as they circled. Apparently, Kendath hadn't really been paying attention earlier when Adanil had told him how well he had been trained.

"I was trained by a Swordmaster who was acting as the guard for a merchant and stayed behind," he said, his voice rasping out from a too-dry through. Adanil grimaced and tried to work some moisture back into it--that always happened when he fought.

"Where did you learn to fight, though?" he asked. He would have thought that, having had his ankle healed, Kendath could fight better than that. He was a Dragonrider, after all, and they were supposed to be incredible with swords.

As he finished the last word, his sword lanced out towards Kendath, a swift curve almost too fast to see. It was blocked. Adanil's smile turned slightly disappointed. It would have been nice to have caught the Dragonrider off guard for once.

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"My grandmother," Kendath replied with an insouciant shrug. Curse it, what was wrong with him? He was the best assassin the Meiltha had, but he couldn't best a farmer at sparring? His raw swordsmanship was apparently deteriorating around the edges - he'd have to work on it when they returned.

If they returned. Ever the optimist, wasn't he?

Suddenly Adanil struck out again, but this time Kendath was prepared. His falchion came up in a ringing parry, and he sprang like a coiled viper. He slipped in right behind his adversary, whipping out a dagger and poising it at the bare neck -

- only to find the quivering tip of a falchion pointed at his chest. Impossibly, too quick for the eye to see, Adanil had pivoted in the same move. The two opponents now stood glaring at each other, their respective swords infinitesimal hairbreadths away from mortal strikes.

From the sidelines Gyre began rumbling in amusement. Had she been possessed of more strength she would have applauded. "You lost," she observed at Kendath.

"As did Adanil," her rider was quick to retort.

"Then I believe this is what certain professionals call a draw," Gyre replied dryly.

Kendath shot Adanil one last glare for no particular reason, before withdrawing and stepping back. He raised his hand in a mocking salute, humbly reminded yet again that he'd underestimated their new companion.

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"Seems like the obvious choice..."

Garthag shrugged and began walking down the slope, but stopped as the question about his present self was asked by the lich. Garthag gazed back at the lich and then at the caravan farther away.

"Undoutably we shall find the present me with my brothers thus I must keep myself disguised and unrecognizable by my brethren to avoid being regonized..."

He said with a slight smirk and threw his hood over his head, he also took out some spell ingredients and cast a spell that quickly changed the color of his robes from white to dark green. It would at least fool everyone long enough, if they would be spotted yet now the question was, where was Kalma? Garthag began walking down slope and gazing at the surrounding mountains for movement.

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Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

Adanil nodded his head in acceptance of Kendath's none-too-serious salute. He could choose to retaliate, but his breath was already coming short in this environment.

Sheathing his scimitar, he glanced around to see what had been happening while he had been closed down to tunnel vision. Several of the Elven rangers were watching them closely, and a little suspisciously, too, as though they feared that the human's weapons were not sheathed permanently.

The Mages, on the other hand, were completely ignoring the Dragonriders and Adanil. Instead, they were gathered around another portal, this one a softly-glowing amber color, which was slowly growing bigger. Before long, it was large enough for a man--or elf--to slip through, and Commander Sunblade gave the command.

One by one, the Elves headed through, until only the Mages, Commander Sunblade, and the humans remained. The steadily-growing portal was almost large enough to admit the Dragons, but not quite. Adanil could have gone through the portal, but then it would have been just him and the Elves, and he was not comfortable with that thought. They seemed just, too aloof. Almost as badly as Kendath.

Putting on a smile, though, he turned to Commander Sunblade and gestured. "After you," he said, glancing at the portal.

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"Oh yes, a cunning disguise" sniggered Semri sarcastically. She was, she refeceted, becomeing quite a sarcastic and back stabbing person as time went on...still, no harm in that. She drew her midnight blue cloak over her face.

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Made by Lembas