The golden-haired warrior sat at the edge of the treeline surrounding the shrine, taking measures to catch his breath. He looked up with narrowed eyes, head leaned back against the trunk. Despite his evident show for wear, Evelyn seemed unphased, not even out of breath. He had to wonder if she hadn’t been holding back. There was such strange skill in her movement, he struggled to keep up. Just the speed, nevermind technique…

He grumbled, rolling to relax on his side as Evelyn was introduced to Polaris. The exchange was entertaining, if anything.

The elf carefully eyed the challengers’ faces. “You misread me. I insinuated no such contempt. ‘Tis not my concern of the politics of other lands, just as long as we can all work effectively together.”

Her gray eyes glimmered as Wrensthav removed his trench coat, revealing a great collection of swords she could barely identify. Many of their makes were nothing like what she’d seen before. What was more noticeable was how well-maintained each piece of the set was. Only a truly devoted swordmaster would put such care into keeping everything in mint condition. 

*"Please excuse me for my rudeness,"* Wrensthav began, unsheathing a heavy blade. *"Normally I would let Polaris go first, but I have been itching to see how different this places swordplay is."* The tip of his ribbed sword tapped the stone as Wrensthav took up a strange stance. 

He seemed to almost smirk. *"Hope you caught a second wind, I'll be taking it away soon."*

Evelyn stifled a small amount of annoyance. He doubted her. Well, this was the perfect excuse to see his skill and magic up close. There was no way his manna was truly infinite. Maybe… maybe if she pushed hard enough, he’d reveal another facet of his power. The swirling gold tendrils surrounding his aura, she’d never seen such a pure form of… it seemed like magic, at least. She couldn’t name it.

“Fascinating…” She appraised Wrensthav with curiosity, slowly unsheathing her prized sword. It was of elven make, long and narrow and consisting of translucent, glass-like material etched with engravings down the blade. At different angles the blade’s inner fire changed hues of red-yellow to green-blue. The blade was a conduit of magic, able to channel and amplify anything its wielder so chose. 

Finally getting serious, Evelyn took down her mage hood, shaking out short, silver hair. Widening her stance, she bent her back leg to allow for easy forward and back movement. She brandished her sword, blade raised at Wresnthav’s chest.  

“Very well, Wrensthav. Let’s see if you have what it takes to beat me.” She flashed a grin, eyes sharp.