In the High Palace of Tener'ixal, War Room (Adjacent to Throne Room)
"It shall take more than myths to destroy this advancing army, even though I can discern you speak the truth," replied the Lord of the Hunt. "We must prepare our defenses--not only those of iron and steel, but those of our Mother! There are precautions we have to take immediately to prepare the Forest of Trepidation for this coming onslaught. As for you, Spy, and those with whom you travel..." Un'adrubin paused for a moment, calculating his options. "I will give you directions to the nearest tributary of the Auris River so all of you can be on your way. Almost all of you." Folding his hands in front of him on the dark wooden table of the War Room, Tener'ixal's Captain of the Guard was fully in his element. From a silver goblet, he took a sip of wine mixed with absinthe--the essence of wormwood:
"The Dwarves are isolationists; consequently, they are idiots! They seal themselves off from the rest of Sazhen', slaves to their own insane logic. Even we are more tolerant of others, although not by much. You are all fortunate that I did not order my archers to slaughter the lot of you! Nevertheless, we find ourselves in a nearly-untenable position. As it is, we have barely heard of this 'Purge', and so..." Un'adrubin's eyes gleamed with the cold fire of the stars in winter. "In exchange for instructions on the correct course to the Auris, we shall require at least one of you to stay here and acquit yourself by aiding our defenses. I know in my soul that if Tener'ixal does not survive, neither will the Dark Elven race as a whole. What is your answer, Spy? I daresay you've given quite a bit of information thus far. Support it! Bring us your blades and your strategies. We'll need them."
This was as close to humility as the Lord of the Hunt was ever going to get.