It was with a heavy sigh that Skandra sat on his heels. Apparently, being told that it would cut anything was not enough. Leironuoth had to test the damned thing. Skandra's knives had piled on top of the heavy leather belt which held both of his mystical, strange weapons. There were pouches on that belt meant for vials. Some of them were still full. It was the glass that sang to him as he picked up the heavier belt first, and began snaking it around his waist. Not an easy trick when you were wearing a long coat. Neither of them seemed worried about Fenrir. Skandra was fairly certain that Leironuoth was going to face the archer. He just wasn't sure who was going to win.
If it wasn't Leironuoth, then...
"I'd pray for you," Skandra stood up, knives gathered against his side, sitting handsome and alone. "But I think I'll just say, good luck."
For some reason - probably a head injury - he thought back to the first time he'd seen Leironuoth, in the middle of the drowning box, thinking about killing a spook. Then more recently to the first time he'd seen Leironuoth in fifteen years. When everything started in Ashara. Skiandra had been on his way to a miserable death on that day. And now, because one elf had no thought for piety or tradition when it blocked his path, Skandra was alive. Ready to try and do the same thing he'd tried to do when the world had ended unofficially, all those years ago. If he couldn't save it alone... but he hadn't been alone. What was all this talk of hating gods, when the only reason Skandra even tried again was a god?
It was all tangled up in there. But he knew that his friend was standing in front of him. Not just a tall, bitter sack of bones. A spirit beyond that. Somehow separate, yet one and the same, as they all were. It actually warmed his heart to think of Leironuoth in that way. Something perpetual. Not the Champion, but the individual, or what was left of him. The one that liked pretty girls and was not so serious. The one that would punch Skandra in his teeth over cards but kill a thousand men if it meant protecting the same card-counting Immortal. Shantar always blathered on about the metaphysical. Skandra didn't want to understand. It was much more hopeful, not knowing.
A ghost of a smile on his face. Skandra raised his free hand, and clapped the elf on the shoulder. Leironuoth had eyes like broken glass, and in that moment, they did not waver. Instead of saying anything, the Immortal nodded once - sharp as you please - and turned for the door.