Merrin couldn't keep the tears from spilling over, blurring her vision. They made streaks, illuminated by moonlight, down her cheeks. "You're not a fool," she whispered fiercely, not wanting - ever - for his gaze to leave hers. Or her hand to leave his. She wrapped her fingers around it, willing him to know without words that she would always care, and his shaking only made her grip the tighter. He had done the same for her.

The night was so very quiet - and the fire low - and Merrin could not tear her eyes away from his. Even if she had wanted to. "I'm not tired," she said -

- and Wyvern snorted momentarily in his sleep as he shifted, and the spell was broken. Reluctantly Merrin let his hand go, let her eyes drop. "Though perhaps I need sleep nonetheless."

Her senses tingled as almost numbly she turned to go back. What had just happened? What had she just almost done? Again shame flushed her cheeks pink, but in a instant another feeling altogether had taken over. Now standing by Wyvern she turned one last time to look at the figure silhouetted by moonlight.

Did he...was it even possible that he could feel something for her? Merrin's fingers tingled where his lips had touched them and before she could do something rash she knelt down to try and sleep.

And the smile that touched her lips spoke of dreams that far outshone the waking world.

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.....looks like y'all had fun posting while I was offline again....

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Adanil stayed very still, lying under the blanket he had bought in Baste that morning. Obviously, the two Dragonriders were much more attached than it had seemed earlier. And Kendath was Meiltha, yet Merrin loved him? Where were they going then? Had they been spying in Baste? He wasn't entirely comfortable with that thought. Were they on some mission for the Meiltha, then?

He muttered an oath, then blinked, remembering the mumble it. Now was not a time that he wanted the two Dragonriders to find out that he had been awake. To be sure, if they wanted to have a private conversation, they shouldn't have talked practically next to his head, but they still might not appreciate it if they thought he was eavesdropping.

Considering that he was from a Renegade village, they especially wouldn't like it if he had been listening in and they were Meiltha. And yet, Merrin did not seem like one. She seemed devoted to the gods, in a way that few people were. Could she really be a Meiltha, then? It did not make sense--everything was just getting more confused. With another grumble, he rolled over and tried to get back to sleep. He would probably be woken up by Kendath for his turn on watch before too long.

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The sun shone brightly that daybreak, filtering through the forest canopy to bathe the ground in gold. The skies were clear, and a light wind carrying the crisp freshness of the mountains gently swayed the treetops. In fact, as Kendath found himself thinking in no pleasant disposition, the day would have been perfect.

Except for the half dozen slender swords pointed in their faces, in addition to a few more arrows no doubt hidden among the trees.

They'd managed to sneak up on even the dragons, which was a titanic credit to their skill. They crouched behind their riders now, rumbling deep in their throats. Surprisingly enough, the elves seemed to harbor enough reverence for the magnificent wyrms that they deigned to humbly avert their gazes.

Which meant all the more glaring concentrated upon their unfortunate dragonriders.

The lead elf, a blonde male with an ivory double recurve slung over his back, advanced with fluid, measured grace. His forest green eyes settled upon the three humans with silent regard. "You are Renegade," he addressed Merrin, his voice low and mellifluous. He turned to Kendath. "Yet you are garbed in Meiltha, and you..." His brow furrowed, and at last he stated simply, "You are neither."

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Merrin cast an uneasy glance Kendath's direction. "We're all Renegade," she corrected, low-voiced, with one hand in its customary position around the foremost of Wyvern's ivory horns. It was a testament to how awed she was by their presence that her knuckles were nearly white. "And we meant no trespass, I can tell you with all honesty."

She felt very awkward and stammering under the gaze of those cool green eyes. Wyvern hummed warningly, vibrating under her hand, and Merrin glanced down before unwillingly returning her gaze to the lead elf. "You have my - our - sincerest apologies if we've disturbed you."

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"Apologies have no place here," snapped the lead elf. He stopped five feet away. "Two armies storm through these woods." He looked imperiously expectant, as though awaiting an explanation.

Mercifully for Kendath, it was Gyre who chimed in. "Renegade and Meiltha," she elucidated with a courteous bow of her sinuous neck. "They march for the Valley of Ancients."

The elf's face registered surprise. He exchanged a quick glance with his subcommander, then turned his attention back to coldly respond, "We march for the Valley of Ancients. Though I cannot say we boast an army. Come." He worked his tapering fingers in an elaborate hand signal before whipping around and stalking out of the clearing. His warriors fell into box formation around the dragonriders, and Kendath could have sworn he spotted the treetops rustle as the cunningly concealed elven rangers shifted positions.

And of course, they had no choice but to follow.

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Swallowing hard, Merrin fell into step beside Wyvern. Her stomach knotted into a hard lump upon the realization that this was the battle, the Lost Battle, and they were caught right in the middle. Casting a glance across at Kendath and Adanil by Gyre, she angled her steps to draw closer to them. The sensation of Elven eyes on her every move did nothing to ease her anxiety.

"Do we mean to fight?" she asked in an undertone, more to Kendath than Adanil. He knew the destruction wreaked by this clash of powers - Adanil did not. "We cannot -" we cannot hope for victory, she began to say, but these armies of the distant past knew nothing of that and she stifled the words, saying instead, "it is not as though we make for valuable allies."

Still she seemed to underestimate herself, to think the power of the gods in her was limited. How little she knew that if the gods had wanted it she could be more potently destructive than the vastest dragonian behemoth.

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(Lol sorry my lack of posting, but I am confused where to continue now?)

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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!

I think you're still supposed to be having a conversation with the Lich king two days ago.

Sorry guys, but I don't know if I'm even going to post today. I'm really tired right now and I have no creative juices flowing. However, tommorrow I will be around a lot unless something unexpected happens, so....I'll be posting then. I promise.

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Garthag raised his eyebrow slightly as the lich questioned him of Kalma, this was odd, why would he wish to know of a dragon that was not even born yet in this time. What could the lich possibly gain from this information? Whatever it was Garthag was going to find out.

"He is a white one, skilled in magic and not too happless in the original fighting ways of the dragons. Why do you wish to know about him?"

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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!

Rano shifted, he was white, skilled in magic (well more than most...but you couldn't call him a dragon-mage) and he could fight.....well done Garthag, shows how much you know about my kind.

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Made by Lembas

"You spoke of him as a potential threat," the Lich pressed, his patience outwardly extended but growing shorter all the while. "He must be... formidable if you enact time journeying simply to stop him."

[get to the point about how he's trying to build an empire in the north so we can move along with the plot ]

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Kendath was loath to voice the rather inane phrase, I don't know, so he settled on conserving both syllables and energy with the words, "No idea." The effect was more brusque than he'd initially intended, but then again, being captured by elves at this critical juncture didn't exactly benefit his mood.

The elven camp was not nearly as grand as he had been anticipating of these legendary entities. He estimated two score of warriors in total, with a score in sight and no doubt another hidden among the trees. All were pragmatically clad in leather, though he knew enough of elves to know that magecraft was one of the fey folk's hallmarks.

"Commander Eur'ielan Sunblade reporting in," the lead elf greeted the sentry with a salute - a sentry that, until Commander Sunblade pointed him out, Kendath had utterly failed to notice. Dismissing his warrior escort, Sunblade led them to the edge of camp where they were soon joined by another raven-haired mage, recognizable only by the spell pouches on his belt.

"I will make this very clear," Commander Sunblade began in a voice that could freeze a hot spring. "My band is neither Renegade nor Meiltha, so we owe no courtesy to you. We do not worship your gods. We journey to the Valley of Ancients for our own purposes. We can extend courtesy by voluntary interrogation, or Master Aremiscil can pry the information out of you anyway." He jerked his head at the black-haired elf beside him. "Do you comply?"

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Merrin wanted to defy him, wanted to lash out at the contempt in those eyes. We owe you nothing, she almost said, try and take what you will, my gods will protect me - but instead found herself replying meekly, albeit with a quiver in her voice, "Aye. I comply. I will not speak for my companions."

Her stomach lurched again as she recalled the terrifying experience of being forcibly interrogated by a Meiltha mage. Very little could compel her to go through that again. But they must keep the secret. Merrin set her teeth. She would not tell them of time travel, or of the dragons' impending demise. That information they would have to pry out of her.

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"For one who designed to build his own empire in the northern reaches of the world, yes"

Garthag answered briefly, but raised an eyebrow to ask whether the lich was satisfied with the information he received.

"He would wipe out all competetion, enslave all other lesser beings and ultimate make the north a dragon haven I believe or at least for himself because he didn`t have any offspring as we went different ways"

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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 had not enjoyed waking up from a restless night to find spears pointed at his face. The fact that it was Elves holding said weapons made it easier to bear, though. He had always thought they were legends--even after last night he hadn't really believed that they were real. Now, it was rather obvious. They were real, and he was wrong. There didn't seem much that he could do about it, though, so when the Elves started leading them, he had no real choice but to follow. He doubted he could do much against them with his scimitar, either--according to legend, which at this point he shouldn't doubt, Elves were deadly warriors, and he was not.

He seemed to confuse the Elves, though. Not much was shown on their face, but whenever they looked at him, a little confusion seemed to be evident in their eyes. Obviously, they weren't used to people like him travelling with Dragonriders. That brought to mind his thoughts from the night before--was he travelling with Renegades, or with Meiltha? Merrin said they were Renegades, but it was a simple matter to lie.

When the Elven leader pointed out the sentry, Adanil gave the Dragonriders a puzzled glance. They had seemed startled. Couldn't they see the sentry? He was a little hard to pick out, but if they looked a the foliage around him, they would realize that nothing would take that shape naturally. Maybe he did have something on the Dragonriders--their eyes weren't so keen. Of course, with the wind in their face every time they were on their Dragons, that was to be expected.

In the camp, he stared around him at the myriad of Elves. What was such a small group doing going to battle? It wasn't even the size of his village. He wasn't so ignorant about battles that he thought his village would make a difference in one. But then, his village couldn't fight, and Elves were reputed to be beyond compare in a scrap. He felt a little embarassed about the sword on his hip--he hardly felt like he was skilled enough to be worthy of his own weapon.

When the Elves started talking about interrogation, he began to get nervous. He didn't know why they were going this way--he only knew that with the Dragonriders lay his best chance at vengeance! What if the Elves weren't satisfied with his answers? Would they disbelieve him? He started sweating.

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"He could also disrupt my plans for an empire in the south...he would see me as his chattle or nothing i belive." Joined Semri, her tone hard.

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Made by Lembas

The Lich stared at Garthag long and hard, his infernal eyes of oblivion, hidden under his cowl, cunningly judging and calculating. He did not fear for his life - far from that. No, what he feared was failure. And if this dragon was puissant enough to build an empire, very soon... For was not the Celestial Eye, fulcrum of his own designs, in the northern reaches? All would crumble should it be found...

"A moment please," he rasped. Gesturing at two of his best necromancers, he flicked a skeletal hand and vanished from sight. He and his necromancers reappeared inside a swirling pocket of the netherworld, floating in sepulchral limbo. He turned the full gravity of his gaze upon his two underlings.

"He speaks the truth," the first necromancer said instantly. "He himself is not one to be underestimated, but he respects or fears this dragon enough to traverse time for its demise."

"He believes power lies in undoing what was already done," added the second. "His brethren...?"

The first shook his head with a shrug.

The Lich turned patiently from one to the other before speaking aloud his own thoughts, "He must be watched. He cannot be allowed to run amok. I will accompany him on this... quest. If what he claims is true, the precaution must be taken. If not..." He let the threat hang, and the two necromancers nodded in perfectly cold blood.

If not, then Garthag must be destroyed. And the Lich harbored enough arrogance in his own abilities to know that accomplishing just that would not prove overly difficult.

He flicked his fingers and returned to the material plane. "Consider it an alliance," he proclaimed with a smirk and a japing bow.

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Commander Sunblade thought himself shrewd in his scrutiny of these strangers, but in truth he'd been sequestered from humans too long. The brown-haired one looked honest and contemplative, and years of interrogation had taught him that these were the most obstinate kind. The other male in their group looked about as talkative as the aspen two feet away - no fruition there. He deemed the young woman the most compliant one - perhaps the way she'd spoken earlier or simply the vulnerability about her. Thus he turned to her. "What are you? Scouts for the advancing army?"

Gyre scrupled only a moment before answering in Merrin's stead, "Yes. We were sent to - "

"You lie," the elf Aremiscil interrupted immediately. For Commander Eur'ielan Sunblade's benefit he elaborated, "They are Renegades, but they do not serve the army. They are here for their own purposes." His icy blue eyes, detached and ultimately omniscient, turned to encompass Adanil and the dragonriders. "I sense the remnants of death upon you. You have dealt with the Shadowers."

The Shadowers... Kendath had never heard the name before, but it rang of something... death... He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Master Aremiscil warily. He didn't believe in coincidences.

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