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"And best of luck to you," Emma says, watching the evil diplomat with narrowed eyes. As much as Naeron must feel a closely guarded disdain for the opportunistic Dwarves, the priestess feels ten times more uneasy knowing that a man such as Bernigan walks the halls of Parton. Her hand itches to draw her flail and bring an end to whatever plans he might be concocting, but she restrains herself. 'Anhur's judgement will come at its proper time,' she reminds herself, 'And it should never be rushed.'

After Bernigan leaves, Naeron takes Gladstone aside for a moment. "Dear friend, I need a serious favor. That diplomat of Malrond is likely a traitor and is playing a dangerous game. He must not be left unattended. If nothing else, you have contacts in this city that can tail him without being seen, trace his steps and track his actions. This is critical! Please see what you can do." He pats Gladstone on the arm, knowing he can count on him.

"I'll see it done," Gladstone responds, returning Naeron's gesture and clapping the half-elf on the shoulder.

While Naeron talks quietly with Gladstone, Emma does her best to divert Captain Delk. "So, is this your first time to Parton?" she asks, chatting idly, "I've only been here once before, myself. Most of my time has been spent in the eastern parts of our nation. Did you ever come here to negotiate on your people's behalf before? Were you the one to meet with Paros?" Her banter finally trails away as Naeron and Gladstone finish their conversation and reapproach.

"No," Delk responds coldly, "I have been to Parton before, though I do prefer my own home..." He looks around the antechamber, taking in the portrait hanging on the wall. "And no, I have not negotiated this issue for my people before. If I had been the negotiator, things would not have come this far."

Gladstone returns from his chat with Naeron, looking to Captain Delk. "Captain," he says kindly, approaching the dwarf, "I will see to it you are attended to with proper protocol. If you will follow this herald," he motions to a nearby herald, a young boy perhaps thirteen or fourteen, "he will show you to the Master Chamberlain."

"Much appreciated," Delk replies. He then turns to Emma, with a look to Naeron and Canter, "thank you for the escort. And let us hope some resolution can be found before the situation in the mountains worsens."

"Let us hope so," Canter replies with a nod as he watches the dwarven warrior leave the room.

"Come," Gladstone then says, "I will take you to Sir Bryant."

When they enter the King's chamber Naeron looks on Sir Bryant, King Bryant, and bows low and formally. "My liege, greetings and salutations. The gods shine upon you this day. My congratulations on your ascension to the throne of Rinder." He smiles widely, but soon remembers the pressing details at hand.

Emma adds a hastily dipped curtsy to Sir Bryant, as well. Although she's no longer wearing her formal gown from their first meeting, it still seems appropriate somehow. After the formalities are done, however, she stands rather stoically with her thumbs hooked into the belt around her waist. She seems a much different young woman from the one he met just a few weeks earlier.

"My lord," Naeron continues, "it appears that the dwarves have been convinced by agents unfriendly to Rinder to blockade the passes out of greed. They have been offered a price for Adamantine far above what we have paid by the old treaty. They are demanding a revision to the treaty to obtain fair market values. On the one hand they do not ask something totally unreasonable, but they pick a remarkably suspect time to do it, then sit agape at our consternation and dismay at their actions. I am convinced, despite my anger at their timing, that we should take the higher road and go to the table with them and hammer out a fair price. They are, after all, our friends and our family in Rinder.

"I believe the poor timing of their request is instigated by this diplomat 'Bernigan' of Malrond. He is, for reasons yet undetermined, undermining the war effort by tendering his own offer for the mineral, plus he is a suspected member of the Blood Clan." He noted the widening of his liege's eyes. "We must act quickly, Sire." He bows again and awaited the King's answer and his companions' input in the situation.

Emma nods to Sir Bryant after Naeron finishes, then adds her own voice to that of the diplomat's. "I believe the Dwarves were first angered, Your Grace, by the incursion of a group of miners into the Raimead Mountains," she explains, "In times past, and in accordance with the Great Dwarven Pact, men of Raimead were not allowed into the mines without the guidance of the Dwarves. For some reason...perhaps with the plight of the war on our hands...this detail was overlooked in our haste to equip our armies with adamantine. Nonetheless, this action on our part has angered our allies. And this is one of the primary reasons they have blockaded the passes.

"At the same time, the Dwarves have been trying to reach you with a plea for renegotiation of the Great Dwarven Pact," she continues, "The terms of that contract do not specifically mention adamantine ore...which we all know is worth considerably more than the amount of retribution Raimead provides to them now. They claim to have sent several negotiators to speak with you, but each time they have been sent away empty-handed by your advisor, Paros."

The priestess continues, "We have agreed to escort a representative of the Warhammer Brigade directly to you, Your Grace, so that he may negotiate in good faith. In return, we have left three of Rinder's Six...half our number...in the Dwarven camp to ensure the safe return of their diplomat. The representative is Captain Delk, an honorable Dwarf and warrior. I would advise you to listen well to him, Your Grace. There is no evil intent behind his people's actions...only a desire for justice...something which Anhur would see done in this matter."

Emma bows her head respectfully and then waits for the new king to respond.

There is a brief moment of silence as Bryant listens to Naeron and Emma and then considers the news they bring. In that moment, another advisor enters through a side chamber, approaching the king. He whispers into Bryant's ear, handing him a piece of parchment, bowing, and then turning away. Bryant looks quickly to the paper and nods.

Then he looks up to Emma and Naeron, his eyes flicking between them. "It appears the situation continues to worsen since your departure from the dwarven camp," his tone is grave. "The Knights of Rinder do not take the death of one of their own lightly."

Bryant hands the parchment to Naeron, looking to Gladstone. "Convene a meeting. I want to see Peters Lander and Sir Jornek." Gladstone nods, turning to leave the room. "And get me Paros."

Emma looks over Naeron's shoulder, peering at the document the other advisor delivered. "Great," she whispers sarcastically under her breath. "Just what we need. A knight, killed in the mountains. Why would the dwarves do such a thing? General Korg may not be a master engineer, but I would think he'd know better than to intimidate the knights so..."

"I don't know..." Naeron says, his voice trailing off in thought. "But I don't like it."

"Thank you," Bryant says, approaching Emma and Naeron again. He seems a bit hurried, understandably so. "The news you bring is most grave, but we are better off for it. Tell me," he continues, stopping himself, "have you any news from the Council of the Knights?" He settles into his stance, focussing his entire attention on the two members of Rinder's Six before him. "Since the blockade began, we have had absolutely no word from beyond the mountains. I regret I was unable to fulfil my duty as a Council Knight. But I think you understand," he cracks a small smile, "we have had much to keep us busy."

Canter is surprised, leaning forward between Naeron and Emma. "Does he not know the Council's decision?"

Crayne looks at Paros, a little suprised by his sudden appearance. "I am Crayne and this here is Hannibal."

Hannibal nods slowly, sizing up the man while resting his hand casually on the hilt of his sword. Although he and Crayne hadn't been close till recently, he could still tell in the Mage's tone of voice that he was a bit uneasy.

"We are both of Rinder's Six and wish to speak with you about matter of great delicacy and urgency." Crayne stands there awaiting a response from Paros. As he does however, he keeps a close eye on the actions of all present.

Hannibal remains silent unless spoken too, seeming to actually be bored with the conversation but all the while looking for trouble. If it's one thing he had learned over the last five years it was to be ever vigilant.

Paros stands there in silence as well, sizing up Crayne and Hannibal as they do him. Then his eyes look to the Master Chamberlain behind. "I will take care of this," he says. With a nod, the older administrator understands, picking up a bundle of papers and leaving the room. Only Hannibal, Crayne, and Paros remain.

"Follow me," Paros says, his voice low and grim. His rolls up the scroll in his hand tightly, placing it into a pocket within the folds of his flowing robe. He then walks past Hannibal and Crayne.

Hannibal gives Crayne a look, raising his eyebrows. Crayne returns the gaze, then looks after Paros, who is slowly making his way out of the antechamber and into a hallway. The way his long robe flows to the floor it appears as if the man is floating away.

"Tell me, Hannibal Smith," Paros begins, his deep voice echoing off the stone walls of the corridor, "how is life outside the confines of the blockade?" He turns and begins to descend down a spiral, stone staircase. The path he leads continues down for two flights, well underground. At the bottom is a large wooden door, reinforced with strips of metal.

Upon reaching the door, he stops, turns, and looks at the two men behind him. "Hmm?" he asks Hannibal, looking also to Crayne.

Without waiting for the answer, he removes a key from the folds of his robe and places it in the lock. After a click, the door swings open, revealing a moderately sized room. Inside are three large wooden tables. Two are covered with glass vials and beakers, as well as sheets of papers with various numbers and arcane symbols. The third table is littered with open books, piled one atop another in a haphazard fashion.

Paros leads Crayne and Hannibal through these tables. Crayne is fascinated by the laboratory he finds himself within. He notices multicolored liquids in various beakers, boiling without a flame. In another, a blue-tinted liquid appears to freeze and then thaw by itself, yet the temperature doesn't seem to change.

They follow the mysterious man past the tables toward the other end of the room. There is a slight step up into another area where the walls are adorned with filled bookcases and there is a large oakwood desk. Paros approaches the desk, removing the scroll from his robe and placing it in the top drawer. Then he turns around to face Crayne and Hannibal, stopping finally.

"Well," he begins. "You have come farther than most," he says, raising a single eyebrow and tilting his head. "And you have sought me," he sounds definitive. His next words come out slowly as he gives Crayne and Hannibal one more careful look over: "Why is that?"

"Excellent," Cy says, gathering his things.

"Brilliant," Karelth agrees.

Storm gathers his gear silently, considering the news that his father had arranged for his release. After a moment of contemplation--albeit a short one, considering it isn't usual for Storm to contemplate anything--he picks up his pack, leading his friends out of the cell.

Not more than five minutes pass before Storm hears his name called. "[Storm?]" the voice asks, questioningly.

Storm stops in his tracks, turning around to face the owner of that voice. "[Be that Storm, son of Marron?]" It is a small dwarf, a young one, perhaps only thirty years of age.

Storm's eyes narrow as he thinks of who this young one might be. "[Ya don't remember?]" the young dwarf asks, scratching the stubble on his cheek, "[I be Gellick, son of Padamour.]"

Padamour, Storm recalls. Oh yes, an old friend of his mother's. "[Gellick,]" Storm repeats. "[I do remember ye,]" he is a bit uneasy. He turns to Cy, saying quietly in common, "He not be a close friend, me mother knows his. He be a youngun when I left."

Cy nods in understanding. He looks at Gellick, "[heading out on patrol?]"

"[Yeah,]" Gellick replies, a little surprised to hear his own tounge from a human. Then his face changes, as if an idea strikes him. He looks to Storm, "[ye wanna join me? I be hearin' lots about thems goblins, and with yer two-sword style, ye c'n really chop 'em up!]" He chuckles nervously. He looks to the two swords recently returned to Storm, now sitting at their spots on his sides. "[Ye still do that, right?]"

Storm gives a look to Cy, not used to such friendly conversation with his own kind. It really has been a long time.

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