Up Above, in the High Palace of the City of Tener'ixal
The Lord of the Hunt blinked. "There is much wisdom in what you say," replied he. "Even our Mother, the Forest which surrounds us, must recover between thwarted invasions and great battles. Sometimes this takes decades, in fact, while we have been duly called to guard Her as She sleeps! If this Purge is as strong as you say, then we have ample reasons to let you acquit yourselves and aid our defense. However..." Un'adrubin frowned. "We Dark Elves have been blessed with the ability to know in a heartbeat if someone is being false to us. Daughter, I do not accuse you of fully lying, but you and the Spy are hiding something. You are indeed refugees, but your eyes...they contain a spark of hope that would be entirely absent in a situation like this. What else do the two of you know that we don't regarding the Purge?"
Down Below, on the Forest Floor
Zherybukh was a gadfly, floating like one of the denizens of the Forest in which he dwelt. Knowing that his opponent's armor was impenetrable, he focused instead on disarmament. If his foe's weapon was lost, he would win! Thus, his onslaughts continued, lightly but relentlessly, against Vakarr's blade. Round and round he danced, in the fluid steps of combat, until he pinned the mighty sword of his opponent between his own lunite blades. "Aha!"