Merrin tactfully sat, arranging her limbs into some semblance of a comfortable position. She was rather taller than the dwarf opposite, but still found it significantly easier to adapt to the chair's proportions than Kendath perhaps would have. That really had looked painful, she reflected upon chancing to glance at his scowl as she sat. His irritation was understandable.

So it was likely better for her to do the talking.

Studiously ignoring the wizard's varied bruises and scrapes - the most distracting of which was still the imprint of Kendath's boot left in his beard - she began diplomatically. "As you perhaps gathered, we've come to request your assistance in a matter of some temperamental magic." Now for the touchy bit...how to put this without quite revealing themselves completely? Merrin paused before cautiously venturing further. "In the recent past we - Kendath, there, and I, as well as our respective dragons - have used a certain portal, which before entering we were promised would remain for us to exit through when we felt so inclined. It - ah - hasn't." She found this rather self-explanatory as to what they needed his help for, but added nonetheless, "we've come hoping that we might perhaps request your assistance in reassembling this portal."

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Elkor leaned forward with a mockingly thoughtful expression. "So ye need me t'fix a portal." He snorted and thumped back against his seat, nearly breaking the back of his chair in the process. "Well, me lassie. That's a mightily pretty litany that's offered me useful information excluding the why, how, when, an' where. Ye didn't come very prepared, huh?"

"Well, me laddie," Kendath replied readily, folding his arms over his chest. "Ye don't need to be knowin' because yer the one being paid, huh?"

The dwarf's scowl intensified tenfold. He similarly folded his arms across his chest. "Ye have no clinky things," he observed flatly.

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Merrin unfortunately had to admit the truth in this. What little money she had would buy perhaps a meal but definitely not the magical prowess they needed. "We had hoped we could offer you our help in exchange for yours," she interjected. "Perhaps services rendered could entice you to assist us? For one of your skill, surely reassembling a portal is no daunting task."

Somehow he gave off the impression that it might be, but their less than amiable meeting of before did mean that a modicum of respect for his abilities might not be out of place. Or flattery. Whichever it was, Merrin might not be especially experienced but she was quite adept at looking innocently pleading, whether she was aware of it or not.

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Both flattery and beseechment were not lost on Elkor the Blundering, who tapped his bearded chin as though contemplating his options. Finally he shook his head. "Nope. Won't do it. Not very tempting offer, ye see."

Kendath felt like leaping forward and punching him.

"On second thought," he amended with a perfectly innocent smirk. "Perhaps I do have a task for you." He knocked his chair over and blundered into the map shelf, where he proceeded to diligently sift through the piles of rolled vellum. Finding the one, he spread it out on the desk. It was a map of their continent with a star on the dot labeled "Baste."

"We be here," Elkor explained unnecessarily, stabbing a finger at the star. "I want ye t'travel here." His stubby finger traced the shoreline to another port city a few days south. "Port Dragonhelm, perhaps the largest Renegade city on this bloody continent. A bonny little privateer ship docks here in three days. I want ye two" - and here he stabbed a finger into Merrin's chest, being too short to reach the standing Kendath - "to board the ship and steal somethin'... somethin' marked with the sigil of the hawk. [s]Savvy?[/s]"

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Garthag himself followed the lick with a smirk on his face as the caravan began once more to move along the white landscape. Garthag gazed at the lich, whom was not to be trusted as there was no telling what mad thoughts strolled trough the empty being.

"Do you find our company bothering you?"

By `us` Garthag meant the living.

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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!

The first reaction this evoked in Merrin was less than ecstatic, but she had sense enough not to show it. After all, stealing was decidedly not her cup of tea but it would be from privateers, who were thieves in their own right. It could have been much worse. She nodded, scrutinizing the map, and then surveyed the dwarven mage with something that could have been a faint air of suspicion. Best to clarify.

"So, we bring this back to you," she said, "and you'll put our portal back together, as it were?" She didn't feel especially drawn to the idea of fulfilling their part of the bargain first, as there was really no way of knowing that he wouldn't take this item he coveted off their hands and then refuse point-blank to help them. But it was their best chance, and Merrin for one was willing to grasp at any offered opportunity.

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The Lich shot Garthag a strange look, surprised that the human had the guts to even ask. Indeed he'd contemplated the idea more than once in the dead of the night, though he'd condemn his undead essence to oblivion before he ever admitted it.

"My choice was my own, and I do not regret it," he replied coldly. "As for company, on the contrary I find it rather entertaining." His thin lips drew into a chilling smile. "It is the living, not the dead, that can be so easily manipulated."

The caravan had moved ahead, and he quickened his pace and fanned out to the side to at least appear the part of the vigilant sentry. He glanced askance at Garthag. "And you, human?" he asked coldly. "You are powerful, so you act. What will you sacrifice for ambition?"

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Elkor the Blundering looked perfectly insulted. He stuck his thumb in his chest and growled, "Are ye implyin' that I'm not a dwarf of me word?"

"Decidedly not," replied Kendath.

"Good," Elkor grunted, the sarcasm flying right over his head. "Well, what are ye waitin' for? The ship's called The Phoenix. Three days. Get on with it!" He made extravagant gestures with both arms, tactfully dismissing them from his auspicious audience.

Personally Kendath had no qualms about leaving as quickly as physically possible. Striding back out into the torchlit corridor, he opened a telepathic link to Gyre to relay the unfortunate news.

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Merrin rose and followed, manners making her rather slower than Kendath, but Elkor the Blundering seemed to have entirely forgotten her presence and it was with a sense of relief that she shut the door behind her. Trotting after him down the dim corridor, she mentally calculated the distance and time required to get to this Port Dragonhelm. It took a very few seconds to come to a conclusion that really, things could have been a lot worse.

"That didn't go so badly," she observed, upon chancing to glance up at him amending hastily, "besides - er - the initial introduction."

It really did look like the diminutive wizard had given him a run for his money. Merrin placed a hand on Kendath's sleeve to slow him and reached to touch the vivid black eye that was displaying brilliant shades of purple and blue even now. "Ouch," she said in sympathy, a reluctant grin surfacing. "He was quite the character."

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Kendath winced as her finger brushed the bruise. With a scowl that could curdle milk, he muttered, "Quest, eh? Probably get us killed and laugh at our funerals." He continued muttering incoherent imprecations for good measure all the way down the corridor and flight of steps.

Passing through the entrance hall, he caught sight of the scribe. The balding man attempted a smile and a wave as he muttered an encantation that opened the Guild's twin doors. They stepped out once more into the bright sunlight, but it wasn't until they entered the market that the heat struck them full. Sweating profusely after the first ten seconds, they hurriedly pressed through the crowds.

East gate, Gyre sent. We're waiting by the bluff.

It was nearly sunset by the time they squeezed through the throngs and met their dragons at the designated bluff. Starting abruptly from an afternoon snooze, Gyre snorted and cocked her head at her rider. What on heaven and earth happened to you?

I'd rather not talk about it, Kendath returned irritably, climbing into the flight saddle.

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Wyvern turned to shoot Merrin a a questioning glance. She hid a grin. Our wizard proved to have an explosive personality, if you will. It rather clashed with Kendath's.

Leaving the half-decapitated carcass of a mountain goat with an air of reluctance, Wyvern stretched like a cat and Merrin climbed into the flight saddle. She squinted upon looking into the dazzling horizon, where the sun glittered blindingly on Baste's harbour and turned a hundred white-sailed ships crimson.

Lifting skyward brought a blessed breeze, infinitely refreshing after the sticky humidity of the city. Merrin shook her hair, tinted auburn by the sun, out of her face and judged the distance they could cover before sunset.

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Gyre had reported that they should be in Port Dragonhelm the morning after next, so Kendath wasn't overtly concerned as they lifted into the sky. They covered a small distance well into the night before they made camp once again on a grassy knoll. The daybreak saw them in the skies once again, headed south and keeping the sea on their left. Weather turned favorable, and both dragons' moods escalated as they dove and wheeled above the glittering ocean.

It was the second night that proved most interesting.

The flickering lights of a small seaside village drew their attention. As Gyre and Wyvern floated above the thatched cottages, high enough to remain out of sight, the sound of music and festivities drifted to their ears. I think you two need to lighten up, Gyre said by way of explanation as she circled down to alight behind a sand dune.

Kendath's only response was an expression of utter incredulity. Do I look like a farmer to you? he demanded.

No, Gyre replied flippantly. But it's gala night. They'd welcome anybody on gala night, especially adventurers with stories to share.

Having spent five years in a village not unlike this one, Kendath knew perfectly well the summer gala and its implications. He made no move to budge from the saddle. You're jesting, he protested scathingly.

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Wyvern was still hovering over the cluster of thatched roofs, an enchanted Merrin peering in delight at the scene below. He drifted downwards slowly at her request, rather like a falling silver leaf, and landed beside Gyre to spray sand at everyone in the general vicinity. Merrin slipped from the saddle. "...just like home, Wyvern!" she was saying, eyes alight like they hadn't been in what seemed ages.

"Oh, can't we stop, just for tonight?" Merrin turned to look beseechingly at Kendath and Gyre next to them. "We needn't stay long, just an hour or two - and it's Midsummer's Eve, we'll be welcome."

The sight of the brightly lit little village brought back memories buried for years. Merrin recalled twilit evenings back home, a rare celebration in the midst of all-encompassing farmwork. Someone had always been storytelling, which she had liked best, and it was with some surprise that Merrin came to the realization that she now had her own story to tell. But she caught a glimpse of Kendath's face, and wondered suddenly what memories he had, and if they were very different.

"Unless you'd rather not," she added belatedly, face turned up to look wistfully at him.

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Merrin's eyes were shining, and a tint of pink had risen to flush her cheeks. Kendath felt his resolve weakening. For the benefit of all, Gyre nudged it on its way with the equally scathing threat, I'll dump you into the ocean if you don't.

Kendath preferred to remain dry, so he grudgingly nodded and dismounted. Gyre nuzzled him. Oh, lighten up. It'll be fun.

You're just hungry.

So what if I want to go hunting? came the playful retort.

Shaking his head in defeat, Kendath nodded for Merrin to lead the way down to the village. The enticing aroma of spiced fish drifted to his nostrils as they neared the first of the thatched cottages. A bonfire was roaring in the village square, to which were silhouetted dancing and capering children bearing baskets of leaves and flowers. The townsfolk had dragged a long table to the square, upon which sat steaming dishes and more seafood than Kendath had ever seen in his life.

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Merrin scrambled down the last of the dunes, entirely uncaring that she was windblown and had sand in her boots and several other edifices of her clothing. Behind her Wyvern had arrowed off in the opposite direction, likely eagerly anticipating the thought of a seal for dinner.

Snatches of a tune reached her ears. Likely a fiddle, and on drawing nearer Merrin heard panpipes too.

A gaggle of shrieking children flew past, flower garlands streaming, and one basket caught on Merrin's cloak and toppled. Brightly colored blossoms sprayed across the sand and the last little girl lingered to gather them, surveying the obviously out of place pair of dragonriders with bright eyes. "Haven't met you," she said by way of introduction, as Merrin knelt to help her scoop the flowers up. "You're silly, it's not Midsummer's Eve without flowers! Have some!"

She left Merrin holding a cluster of them and danced off after her companions. Half laughing Merrin turned to say to Kendath with an inviting raise of her eyebrows - "See? Stars, I haven't been to one of these in ages!"

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Merrin's laughter was infectious, and Kendath found himself chuckling as she led him deeper into the village. He ducked as a hemp ball went flying over his head, ensued by a group of teenage boys scrambling after it. One of them bumped into him. The first time the boy hardly spared him a glance, but the second glance produced a markedly contrasting reaction. The young man gaped. "Say, you're not from around here. Is that a sword?"

Kendath was fervently glad the enchanted salve had healed his bruises, or he'd look quite the adventurer, parading around with a sword and a black eye. But he hadn't the time to respond, for the boy had impulsively drew his falchion from its sheath.

"It is a sword. A real sword! Look, Josiah! My papa always said he'd get me one of these."

The teenagers had all come running back now, and the one called Josiah was busily gawking at Merrin. He pointed an excited finger at the insignia on her cloak. "You're a dragonrider, ain't you? A real dragonrider!"

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"As real as they come," laughed Merrin, grinning at him. She caught the ball when it came hurling back, and flicked it past the wide-eyed boy to be caught up by a younger lad. Was he a boy, she wondered with a start - he could easily have been her own nineteen. Maybe younger. Though, she reflected, many seemed to think her a child still.

"Is your da a smith, then?" she queried, watching him handle the falchion with something bordering on awe. "Mine's a tanner." It felt singularly odd to be held in such high repute by people very like those she'd grown up with. Merrin could even name the games they played, see with a jolt of deja vu the maids coyly batting their lashes at the lads. Some things never changed.

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