"Fine," was all Merrin said, Wyvern's own terror and pain reverberating through their mental link making her unsteadier then she was already. "No," she rasped a moment later, pressing her hands to his torn flank. Gods, please... she begged silently, eyes shut tight.

White light spread under her fingers, knitting flesh and scale in an almost liquid wash of ethereal power. Merrin dimly felt Wyvern's panic diminish and when she opened her eyes again the worst of his wounds were healed - at least outwardly.

She leant against his newly healed flank, dizzy. Silver blurred before her vision. Appalled at her sudden weakness Merrin let herself collapse into a sitting position on the ground and felt the dizziness recede slightly. "You, Gyre, the peasant - are you all right?" She gasped the inquiry, determined none of them should sustain injuries if she could prevent it.

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"To dispose of certain reckless vermins that might oppose a threat to my own personal ambitions, but tell me lich... you must hate that body of yours, all the power it grants and holds yet truth be told you are empty. You are a vessel that has a miserable soul trapped in it in order to advance your existance upon this plane. Yet despite all that how pitiful are you as you need something from me?"

Garthag retorted with mock towards the lich as he was willing to see how far he could go with this, to determine what this lich needed specificly and how far he would be willing to go for it.

_________________

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!

Gyre took a step back in reverence as the holy light washed out from Merrin's hands. She rumbled deep in her throat and ducked her sinuous neck in a humble bow. "Truly blessed of the gods," she murmured. "I am fine, though I wish you could heal the wounds of the spirit as well..." She cast a sorrowful look the peasant man's way. Stranger no more, she resolved firmly. "What is your name, young one?"

For Kendath's part, he was staring at Merrin as though trying to piece together a broken puzzle. He could not suppress a touch of admiration... She would prove useful, of course, under similarly dire predicaments. "We should leave," he suggested tersely. "Someone hunts us."

Gyre flashed him a scorching glare. Wyvern has yet to recover, and Merrin is hurt herself! Can you not be patient for another mere twenty minutes?

In this case, no, he returned coldly, moving to mount her.

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(hey, she's not Meiltha...one time Renagade, one time Meiltha, traitor to them both and loyal to herself...)

Semri sat astride Rano and looked at Lich with dilike. There were very few people Semri acctually disliked, most were seen as annoyances. But Lich had power and could stop Semri achiveing her own. She said nothing only letting Rano take a step towards Garthag and slightly back. Showing the Meiltha that they would not win without a fight, but that garthag was the one in charge.

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Made by Lembas

[apologies]

"I need nothing," the Lich spat. His disposition waxed suave an instant later, as if the storm had never passed. He needed something to pique Garthag's attention, and so he carefully let one card show. "Only information to assure me of a certain... venture. You come from the present. The Age of the Dragon will soon dissipate, will it not?"

_________________

Garthag hmhed quietly and he had to admit that these days he was in had marked end of the dragon`s great power, unfortunately those ignorant renegades were about to trying to stop that or try to heal them in the future. Garthag nodded with a slight smirk.

"The one`s I am seeking to exterminate are trying to stop the ending of that age and it seems painfully obvious that this would not be to your best benefit?"

_________________

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!

The Lich felt like a lead weight had been dropped on him. He had no idea. He'd summoned Garthag for the mere purpose of hearing the assurance of his impending success. Stop the ending of the Age... when he'd not even performed the rite? The day of the Lost Battle had not even come, thus it was impossible, to think that they would know about... but that was exactly why they'd been sent back in time, was it not? The Renegades had better wisdom than to interfere with time, which meant that upon receiving their needed knowledge they would immediately be after the Divine Shard. And he was certain that the descendents of the Shadowers were intelligent enough to remain in hiding, the Shard safely tucked away...

But with time, who knew...

None of these thought processes displayed on the Lich's face, which was still hidden under his cowl. He musingly tapped his chin with one skeletal finger. "Two questions: Are the dragons dying or are they not? And if they are, who besides the ones you've already told me stands in the way of their extermination?"

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"Oh they are dying in my time lich thus history has not yet been rewriten and I intend to keep it that way, but besides the renegades that I mentioned who might stand in the way of the dragons perishing? The rest of the renegades of course and the druids I believe... then of course one certain dragon... but he has not shown his scaly face around thus I believe I am saved from that pain...

I was originally on my way to save my own bretheren from the fangs of that same dragom, but my travel was intercepted by the renegade actions and I was thrown here. Thus I am going to make the best of this situation..."

Garthag explained with a slight smile upon his face, but there was something disturbing him beneath the surface. This lich seemed far more important than he had at first, he apparently had a great deal to do with the perishing of the dragons in he future. Why else would he inquire so much of them?

_________________

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!

[since Kalma's so intent on building his dragon empire in the north, I was thinking the lich would be inclined to help with his demise?]

_________________

Adanil couldn't think clearly. His family was gone. His village was gone. Two Dragonriders couldn't save it, and yet he had chosen to be near them instead of defending his own family. Now he was the only thing left of his family. A moment of satisfaction and relief had come when the sunlight dissipated the Dead, but it had quickly vanished, leaving him shivering behind Kendath on the Dragon, where the cold wind rushing past his ears made too much noise to hear anything the Dragonrider said.

When they descended to the ground, he barely noticed. What had gone wrong? It had been a perfect day--he was going to set out on his adventure. He had the remainder of the gold he had found still in his wallet (not the modern-day term, mind you ), and he had his scimitar, and his dagger with him. And yet once night fell, and he was preparing to set out, everything had gone south. Fast. How? What had he done that would cause such a disaster to happen? Surely he had offended the gods in some way, though he did not know how.

Alone in his thoughts, he blinked as he realized the green dragon was talking to him. He smiled weakly, sending his thoughts to the back of his head.

"I'm sorry--I wasn't listening. Could you say that again?" he asked. This time, when the dragon asked the question, he actually heard it.

"My name is Adanil," he said, a little surprised that the dragon was talking to him, a farmer's son. Why wasn't it talking to one of the two Dragonriders present? Surely it didn't think he, a lowly peasant, might prove of interest. Not wishing to continue calling the dragon "the dragon," he asked the natural follow-up question.

"What is your name?"

_________________

Gyre evinced a wan reptalian smile without baring her fangs - which, when she did, often resulted in those nearest scrambling for their lives. She felt a twang of pity for the poor human. She herself and once keenly felt the anguish of losing her former rider and all but one of her brood to the so-called curse that'd befallen dragonkind. "Gyre. And that is Wyvern," she replied, nodding her head at the silver. She added softly, "Sometimes it is our losses that make us strong." And here she shot a withering glare at Kendath, as though this were somehow his fault.

Unperturbed, Kendath ignored it and contented himself with studying Adanil. It still boggled him why he'd let the peasant come in the first place - sentiments or not, he highly doubted Adanil's value to their cause. Under normal circumstances, he would have killed him without second thought.

Shaking his head, he mounted his dragon. "A pretty proverb," he commented tactfully at Gyre, before turning to raise an eyebrow at Merrin and Adanil. "Coming?"

_________________

Leave, thought Merrin, and the thought made her feel again the weight of the world on her shoulders. Never had she wanted more to be rid of its crushing responsibility. Never had she wanted more...and with a glance up at Kendath Merrin knew beyond doubt what it was she wanted, and knew simultaneously that it could never come to pass. The gods chose you, Merrin. If you fail them now there is no one to stand in your stead.

"Aye," she murmured. "Aye - just a moment." Some vague sense alerted her to the fact that blood was pooling inside her boot and Merrin clumsily tore it off, her hands shaking so badly it took a few attempts to accomplish even this.

Wyvern wound his sinuous neck around to support her where she sat dizzy and pale. Shh, now, he said comfortingly in turn.

_________________

Kendath started in some alarm at the bloody laceration that was Merrin's wound. Even then the blood seemed to be congealing as it trickled down her ankle, the skin under the mass of blood turning pale as though being leeched of all life - a hue that perfectly matched her face.

Scrupling for his harsh words, he slid off Gyre and went over to Merrin. He manuevered around the protective Wyvern and knelt beside her, seizing her trembling hand in his own. Dropping it gently into her lap, he eyed the sanguinary gash before extracing a white cloth and bending to help her dab off some of the blood.

_________________

(Sure, fine by me... he can offer help yet Garthag regards this as personal business)

_________________

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!

[interestingly enough I was thinking of Jarlaxle/Entreri when I posted that. I'm under the philosophy that rping alone is no fun.]

The Lich listened with growing complacence. The Renegades and the Druids - but then again, they were always getting underfoot of their carefully laid plans. Nonetheless, that proclamation of his success had just made his day. He mulled over his options for a moment, then extended a hand with a smirk. "I am afraid that I cannot allow you to roam free, possibly disrupting my plans, without a fuller story of your intentions. I'm sure you understand."

_________________

"In that we are alike"

Garthag said with a smile as he knew that the lich wanted to know more, but Garthag would not spill everything out without gaining something in exhange. Garthag nodded quietly at Semri quietly.

"I and my friend here, have plans for taking our pieces of the world in our time and making sure that none will ever oppose us yet funny enough I wonder why you had never created an empire for the history would have surely records of such..."

_________________

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!