The Warden gripped the proffered hand firmly. "Elandris."<br/>Staring levelly into the eyes of the Knight, Elandris smiled, inwardly. Behind the ice-cold discs of blue set in the other man's face, he had, or thought he had detected a single spark. A solitary flicker of flame. The life was there. It smoldered beneath the surface of Karllandren's soul like a bed of glowing embers, waiting for a moment to burst into a sudden inferno of passion. Or, shrugged the Warden, he was just delving too deeply into his own interpretation of the state of the other man's mind. He was no Oracle. He trusted what he could see, and not what he could not. It was as simple as that. What he saw was a skilled and dangerous swordsman willing to die in combat for the simple reason that he had nothing to live for.<br/><br/>Grating his chair away, Elandris stood, collecting his hat from the tabletop. "I will then bid you a pleasant night, or as pleasant a night as men such as you are capable of experiencing." With an odd smile that had actually been intended to be friendly, Elandris turned away and climbed the worn steps to his room. It was small, but warm and relatively comfortable. The first thing the Warden did was cross the threadbare rug and open the window with slight effort, feeling the air current and the night sounds it brought with it. Next, he tore the sheet from the bed, rolling it into a makeshift rope, before tying one end to the bedbost and dangling the other out the open window. This done, Elandris reclined under the bed, wrapping himself in the woolen quilt, staring up at the rusty bedsprings. It paid to play it safe.