Elfal held up the edge of his sword; which edge he held, it did not matter. The entire blade looked woven from flame itself. As if the flickering embers of the fire had hardened the burning flame and kept it immortalized in a silver-blue metal. Running a finger against one of the malicious curves of steel, all Elfal could do was nod approvingly. He could do nothing else really; the sword was elven, and that made it difficult to find fault in.
His thoughts were interrupted as the sound of soft footsteps entered the hall. He glanced up, not bothering to move away the hair that covered half his face in order to see the intruder. He already knew who it was, and what he was carrying had an eyebrow arched in amused curiousity.
"What are you doing?" Elfal stood as he spoke, swinging the sword up to rest on his shoulder. His voice was lofty and condescending towards the other, and Malithil simply glared at him, as if the answer should be obvious. But, the elf sighed, I doubt he'd catch that.
"Packing," came the terse reply. He reached for his bag, setting down a bottle of ink and a quill. The sheaf of paper in his hand was riffled through once, quickly. Malithil nodded. He had a sufficient amount to last him until-
"Packing parchment?!" Elfal scoffed. At Malithil's annoyed frown he snorted. "Well, it's folly! It's useless where we are going, unless you plan to threaten others with a paper cut."
"Where we are going," Malithli repeated with an annoyed sigh, "we know not if whether there will be swords raised against us, or men willing to parley. I am simply going prepared." He set down the sheaf and turned so that he was facing the Malan elf squarely. Why had he volunteered for this again? Malithil could only wonder at the reasons as Elfal swung his sword sideways in a broad stroke with one hand. An act that had Malithil somewhat envious. The sword was huge, and even for an elf, he noted, a stroke like that should have thrown him off balance. Damn him.
"And if it is swords? What will you do then? Write them a letter?" Elfal laughed. He continued swinging the sword, twirling it in intricate motions to right it in the proper position. This was a dance, and nothing more at the moment, he thought. And he was leading.
"No, I would throw you out first and then follow with my own weapon." Malithil retorted. "But if it is a situation in which talking can be used to solve the problem, then you'd best be quiet!" He all but hissed that last comment and Elfal paused, mid-swing. He was in a crouch, right arm extended with the sword in an awkward position, left leg held back while the right kept balance at the knee. His hair moved slightly and the Solien elf caught the scowl underneath.
"Oh?"
Malithil cocked his head to one side, letting crimson eyes beset his opponent with an unholy glare. "Indeed. I don't need to explain everything to you twice in layman's terms before you understand what's going on. I highly doubt all your weapons training included politics and debate so you would be better off just leaving that to me. Now, if you are quite finished, you should finish packing." And with that, he turned on his heel, bag in tow, and left the hall.
Elfal stood, swinging his sword down to rest at his side. He placed the other hand at his hip, and snorted. Who won that round?
