Ramar locked eyes with Jhendayre and shook his head. “We will never be evenly matched- but this will help.”

He reached out and called upon the bond, the first application of magic that every sword-mage learns. The sword hanging above the fireplace vanished and reappeared in his gnarled hand. Struggling to his feet, Ramar fell into a defensive stance, open hand behind him for balance, blade bridging the distance between the two Eladrin.

“Are we fighting here then?” Jhendayre asked, surprised.

“What did you expect? Some kind of beautiful, one on one duel, in the middle of a grove, perhaps? It appears that I’ve disappointed you again.”

“Seems a shame to let this cottage pay for your pride.”

“You care more about this prison than you do about my health!” Ramar eyed the blood pooling in the Jhendayre’s leggings and mentally added “or your own”. “I think the quicker we get this over with the better.”

“As you wish. Do you want to speak the words?”

Ramar shrugged. “I’m not going to legitimize your actions.”