Adanil took the rear again as they navigated through the filthy streets in mud up to their ankles. It was worse than any mountain path he had ever been on. Of course, the mountain paths he had been on weren't nearly so close to a large body of water, and the air was practically dripping water, as this seemed to do. There didn't seem to be anything he could do except plod on, though.

He was puzzled when Kendath led them past several perfectly respectable inns in a more respectable section of the city than that which they had just left. His confusion grew when they passed more. Then he remembered the coins that Kendath had given the bartender. He hadn't seen them, but coins that light had to be coppers, and he hadn't heard any jingling when the last coppers were stuck back in, either. Apparently, they were low on funds.

Catching up to the Dragonrider, which was a little easier now that the mud was slowly giving way to firmer streets, he pulled out his own purse of money. In it was what was left of the gold he had found with the gems he had had put in his scimitar. "We can afford a better place than a dark alley," he said, handing the purse to Kendath. He himself had no judge of what was a fair price and what was outrageous, so the funds were best left to the more experienced male.

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Kendath had indeed been considering a trek to the abandoned warehouses at the edge of Port Dragonhelm. He didn't think much of it. It was only for a night, and they'd slept in worse places. But he couldn't deny his surprise when Adanil held out the purse to him. He considered the offer but turned it down with a shake of his head. It could be put to better cause for the bereft former farmer's benefit. In truth he could think of a million other ways to use the money, including as a last resort if they never found this sigil of the hawk.

He wasn't familiar with this particular port, but all ports in general had the same layout. He led the way towards the docks, where a line of decrepit storehouses ran parallel to the piers. They'd offer some concealment at least, along with a close lookout for The Phoenix's arrival at daybreak.

Kendath signaled for Adanil and Merrin to stay back. He waited for the patrol to pass before stalking out and halting at the warehouse with the best vantage of the harbor. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching before peering through the dusty windows. Darkness punctuated only by vague outlines of overturned crates. He gave the door an experimental push. Locked. Not deterred in the least, he fished around in his pockets and found the handy lockpick no cutthroat ever went without. He was forced to duck back into the shadows when he heard the sound of booted footsteps again. But presently the sentries walked away in ignorance, and within moments the warehouse door was open.

He signaled his companions before stepping across the threshold. Faint scent of rotten fish. Antique incense. Old ale barrels, more overturned crates... "Feels like home," Kendath muttered, quietly shutting the door after the others had entered.

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Adanil hesitated a minute before taking the purse back, but once it was in his hand, he hastily stuffed it away. It wasn't something he wanted every cutpurse in this section of the city going after. They attracted enough attention as it was: Kendath in his dark, commonplace clothing--common if you were used to sellswords--Merrin in her less-than-commonplace clothes, and himself, in his itchy wool. With a jeweled scimitar. They certainly attracted their fair share of attention.

The warehouse Kendath led them to was dark inside, and Adanil's first reaction was to wrinkle his nose. He was familiar with the smell of fish, but not in such....quantities. It was somewhat overwhelming, at first. Thankfully, he adjusted to it quickly.

"What side of the port will the ship likely sail in at?" Adanil asked, glancing at Kendath. They hadn't had much use for large ships in his village, and the result was that he probably knew less about them than he did about Dragonriders, which was certainly more than he used to.

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"I don't think there's much way of knowing," said Merrin where she still stood by the door, eyes roving over the dim interior of the warehouse. She ventured further in, carefully avoiding sacks of some unnamed fishy substance, and unconsciously still found herself gripping the hilt of her rapier. Obviously the doubtful patrons of The Queen's Bedchamber had made her rather more nervous than she cared to admit.

Having let go her death grip, Merrin rubbed her sweaty palm on her trousers and cast a glance through one of the grimy windows. Faint torchlight, but otherwise they seemed entirely alone. She sat down upon an upturned crate, the darkness making Kendath and Adanil dim outlines only murkily visible.

Something underneath her cracked and Merrin hastily stood as the decrepit crate collapsed upon itself. "Home indeed," she muttered.

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The darkness suited Kendath just fine. He doubtfully studied the door for a moment, then began dragging over crates to dump in front of it. Unless an intruder was particularly observant, he'd either trip over said crates or make enough noise to give himself away.

"I'll take first watch," Kendath volunteered. It was unnecessary, he knew. They weren't in considerable danger, and sleeping the miserable night away in an abandoned warehouse would hardly get them arrested. But he needed to ask Merrin something, and it'd make him feel better if Adanil wasn't listening. All innocence, he settled against the wall and pulled out a whetstone. He was on his fourth dagger when he determined Adanil to appear properly asleep. Tucking his blades into his bandolier and the whetstone into his pocket, he stood and glanced over at the curled form in the corner. A tell-tale stirring told him she wasn't asleep yet, to his relief.

Approaching the corner, he sat down beside her and gently touched her shoulder. "It was a mistake bringing you to the tavern," he commented by way of greeting.

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Merrin sat up, and wrapped her arms around her knees, which were drawn up to her chest. Even in the dim light she did not look as though she'd been anywhere near asleep. Glancing up at him, she attempted a half-smile and responded quietly, with a glance at sleeping Adanil. "No...it's fine. My inexperience shouldn't dictate where we can and cannot go."

Aye, she wished she'd never gone within a mile of The Queen's Bedchamber. But he must think her hopelessly naive, and Merrin cringed to think how obvious she must have been in her discomfort. "Nothing happened, anyway," she hastened to add, wishing for her cloak in the chill breezes that crept in from the ocean, even into their current doubtful shelter. Merrin examined her boots with something resembling great interest.

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Merrin's slight shiver didn't pass Kendath's notice. The night was chilly, and her tunic and breeches hardly sufficed. He unclasped his dark cloak and spread it over her shoulders. Stifling a sigh he glanced from her to the wall to the floor and back, wondering how to make himself sound relatively nonchalant.

"Adanil has the skill and resolve of a dragonrider," he opined at last, with a small shrug. He glanced obliquely Adanil's way and hoped he hadn't heard. He didn't need the farmer strutting about with an inflated head.

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Merrin couldn't help but tense almost imperceptibly at the sudden weight of his cloak around her shoulders - at his touch in general. Against her will she thought the gesture very sweet. She hadn't meant to show that she was cold. But the abrupt change of subject caught her off guard, and again she looked sharply at their companion, who was to all appearances asleep. "Aye, he does," she concurred, examining this new thought. Adanil a dragonrider - it didn't seem far-fetched at all, almost natural.

"He's loyal, too," she commented in a murmur, and in a moment wished she hadn't said it. The statement contrasted starkly with Kendath's almost neutral affiliation, Renegade in name alone.

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The last remark did elicit a wry look from Kendath. Loyal by honor or resolve for vengeance? he caught himself inexorably wondering. In any case, Adanil was far more Renegade than Kendath could ever hope or not hope to be - their last conversation by the sea had proved that. He was a bit too old for a dragonrider page, but perhaps a bit of persuasion could elevate him to squire.

He cleared his throat and shrugged again. "Perhaps a side trip to Vryngard after this is over..."

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This time Merrin did look up at him, and kept her gaze there, searching his face. "But Adanil can't come back with us to Vryngard," she said. "Who knows how his disappearance would alter history?"

With a sharp jolt she realized she was reluctant to leave him behind. Adanil had become as much a part of their group as any of them. "Can he?" she added uncertainly. "Sage said we were only to observe, and bringing Adanil back...well, it's not observing."

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"I didn't mean bring him back," Kendath intervened, the old impatience creeping back in. "I meant... wherever Renegades get knighted dragonriders." He was hardly conscious of his own word choice, how he made it sound as though he was still Meiltha.

But Merrin's words about observation did strike a warning note. How many events had they already affected because of this sojourn in time? Or was it meant to be, like his interruption of the Meiltha sacrifice ritual after the first battle, how he'd been inadvertently chronicled as an anonymous dragonrider...? He shook his misgivings away. There was no method of knowing for certain, and concerning himself over it would avail little.

Which brought them to the question of Adanil's ignorance. The young man had remained impressively mindless of others' affairs, but it likely wouldn't hold.

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"Oh," said Merrin, and a brief lapse of conversation ensued. Indecision made her glance again at her boots. "I - I really think we shouldn't delay," she opined unwillingly after a moment. "We can't know what's happened at Vryngard in our absence. Once that dwarf reopens the portal it might not be stable enough to delay going through long enough to take him to - wherever the Renegade stronghold is here. Or rather, now."

It felt casually dismissive, uncaring, to not spare time for a small favor in return for all they'd cost Adanil. Merrin succumbed to pangs of guilt. "Maybe, though," she amended, still examining her footwear.

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Kendath scowled for three seconds before realizing his facial expression and quickly mitigating it. The abyss, he didn't even know why he was scowling. Neither did he know why Adanil's noble ascension to dragonrider was suddenly more important to him than their perilous quest. What was wrong with him?

"Shouldn't be difficult finding out the current stronghold," he concluded, deciding from a council of one that Adanil would become Renegade whether Merrin liked it or not. And whether Adanil himself liked it or not, for that matter. Without awaiting an answer he rose and retreated back to his own corner, where he sat back down and pulled out his whetstone once more. The whetstone sharpened away at a blade with surprising intensity.

What in the abyss was wrong with him?

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Merrin stared after him with an expression of obvious bewilderment before dropping her gaze. Why had he come over to talk if he'd ended up making the decision all on his own anyway? And why...?

She lay down again before the question could complete itself, and wondered if he wanted his cloak back. It was very warm. But silence reigned, and Merrin didn't summon the necessary strength of will to ask before she was asleep, head pillowed on her arms. She wondered drowsily just before she dozed off at the stark contradiction illustrated in the fact that his cloak was the thing keeping her warm - but his words were the things making her utterly bewildered.

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The night settled in hard after Merrin and Kendath stopped talking, silence descending to make this warehouse seem a tomb. In the gloom, a small part of Adanil's mind wondered if Merrin and Kendath could hear his brain going over the information he was starting to put together, like a giant blacksmith's puzzle. His brain was practically buzzing with it. Hel barely kept himself from bursting to his feet and asking the frustrating dragonriders what they were doing here. It was evident enough that they weren't coinciding with the main Renegades, though. What was their purpose? What were they trying to do? He certainly had no thoughts any more that they found his presence something they were obligated to put up with, but they still hadn't revealed their reason for being here.

He felt a smattering of pride when he remembered that Kendath had said he had the courage and resolve of a Dragonrider, but it was quickly crushed under his continued wonder. Why were the two Dragonriders here? It didn't make any sense.

Still wondering, he fell asleep.

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"What would I?"

Garthag asked with a smirk on his face and gazed at one of the merchants who had his eyes concentrated on the road. If they would have been in his way he would have killed them all without a second thought, but that was easy compared to somethings.

"Do for power?"

He continued and finished his first sentence, then gazing at the lich, but his eyes reflected certain despise and resent towards the lich.

"At least not become like you"

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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!