~ The Dwarven Blockade: [Archive] [Home] [Previous Turn] [Next Turn] ~

Crayne smiles as he stands there listening to the drow address him. He hadn't been totally convinced before that drow existed at all. He had heard of them through tales and poems, but never had he actually set his eyes upon them before. Dark Elves, they were otherwise known as. Very skilled and highly dangerous. Not to be treated lightly that was for certain. To be seen above ground was a very rare happening from what he had been told. And for four drow to be seen must render some cause for concern.

He begins to rid his face of a smile as he is addressed by name and then threatened. It is at that point that he speaks up in a manner of calm, "Good day to you all! I am indeed Crayne of Mistledale and I suppose little introduction is needed for the rest of my company. Your request is one of great consequence. Therefore before even considering it we ask you to explain why you want us to take such an action. Let us talk more where there is more privacy!"

Crayne looks to Naeron, "Shall we?"

Hannibal tenses up as the weight of the threat hits home. He had heard of drow before but never had the honor, he wasn't impressed. Despite the rumors of their great powers and evil tendencies Hannibal was beginning to grow irritated with being pushed around. Between the assassination ring, Bernigan, the Dwarves and now the Drow he had pretty much had enough.

He was, however, still aware that he was not a warrior and thus kept quiet. Instead, he kept a ready hand on his sword and a steady eye on the Drow, Determined that should one make a false move he would ensure at least that one's demise.

Canter waits, not making any moves. Naeron obviously recognized these creatures, at least to some extent. Deciding he would wait for the others to move first, Canter sets his jaw, observing all the action on the steps and street below.

At the same time, Naeron is sickened and steeled by the presence of these vermin. He answers Crayne without taking his eyes from the Drow spokesman. He makes no attempt to hide his disdain. "No, Crayne, I will not treat with these four anywhere but in plain daylight, in sight of everyone." He looks to their spokesman and hisses, "Who let you in to this city without a proper identification?"

"Indeed," the lead drow says slowly, almost singing. "No one halted our entrance to this human city, though I must confess," the drow begins to smile, "our entrance was hardly through a formal gate."

Then one of the drow in the second row, just over the lead drow's shoulder, speaks. It appears to utter just one word, and that very quietly. Crayne, Canter, and Hannibal don't recognize the word at all. Even Naeron is unsure, recognizing the underlying elven language base but not the drow dialect. To the best of the half-elf's ability, the word is "assurance."

Turning his head slightly, the lead drow acknowledges the word, nodding slightly. Then his gaze returns to Crayne, who is standing in front as Rinder's Six's spokesman.

"We must have your assurance that the quest you follow will be halted."

Canter is enraged. Like Hannibal, he is tired of him and his friends being threatened left and right when they knew that their cause was just. "We will do no such thing!" the tanner's son belts out. "Our cause is for the good of the kingdom, and we will not easily give it up!"

There is a pregnant pause. "Very well then," the lead drow says slowly. Over his shoulder one of the others appears to be whispering some words, and all of a sudden the evening grows considerably darker, as if it had suddenly become the dead of night without any moon or stars in the sky above.

Inwardly, Emma experiences equal amounts of joy and anxiety as she follows Towers. Engaging in a Commune is something she's always imagined herself doing. 'To speak directly with Anhur! What a wonder that must be!' she thinks, 'There are so many things that could be asked...so many things that could be learned...'

But then her joyful thoughts become more guarded. To enter into such a close communion with her god would be to bare her very soul to him. 'Am I ready for that?' she nervously wonders.

Anhur is a god of Justice, she knows. That much she has always felt very strongly about in her heart...although some of the other clergy members of her caste would argue to the contrary, believing him to be a god of War and Tactics only. To Emma such beliefs strike at the under-pinnings of all she holds dear. War without a purpose is nothing short of chaos and barbarism in her mind. 'No,' she thinks, 'Anhur provides guidance and wisdom in defending his people. He judges us all upon our deaths, weighing the balance of our souls upon his scales...I must be ready to face that judgement before simply engaging in communion. I must be found worthy of him...or the High Priest's question may go unanswered.'

Anhur, I hope that I find favor in your sight,' she silently prays, 'And that the actions I have taken in this world would have been your very own had you walked among us. But, I am mortal...and because of my mortality I know that I have imperfect wisdom. I ask you to forgive me for my failures...and allow us to seek your guidance so that we can avoid making more costly mistakes in the days ahead. I can only pray that my soul's balance measures up to your expectations, Anhur...both today and tomorrow.' "Emmalya," Towers whispers, this time his mouth actually moving, for the voice echoes not in the mist of their inner visions, "You may ask on my behalf..."

A momentary sense of panic sweeps across Emma, but she rallies her courage, not wanting to falter at a time like this...not in front of the High Priest...and especially not in front of Anhur, himself. "Yes," Emma mentally speaks into the mists, a smile of love and joy appearing outwardly upon her face, "I shall ask..."

"Glorious and revered Anhur, General of All," she says, "Disturbing events sweep our nation. We seek your counsel so we may act according to your will. There is an advisor to our mortal future-King by the name of Paros, whom we suspect of treachery. We must know if his intentions are guided by our enemies. Is Paros one of the renegade mages of the Red Dragon School that have allied themselves with the forces of Caerloon?"

The voice seems to come from far away, from beyond the mist. But its answer is disturbingly clear: "Yes."

Emma continues, still nervous, "Is Paros intentionally hindering the efforts of negotiating a peaceful settlement with the Dwarves of the Raimead Mountains?"

"Yes."

Gaining a bit of confidence, Emma presses on: "Does Paros hold some kind of magical charm upon Sir Duke Bryant, the newly recommended regent?"

"No."

A bit surprised by that answer, Emma decides to pursue a slightly different track: "Is Paros cooperating with Bernigan, the diplomat from Marlond, in any way?"

"Yes."

"If we follow Paros, investigate him thoroughly, and search his chambers, will we succeed in obtaining information to convince Sir Duke Bryant of his advisor's true intentions?"

"Not at your present strength."

With a gulp, Emma presses on. "If we follow Bernigan and investigate his connections to the Blood Clan, will we succeed in finding information to convince the Dwarves and Sir Duke Bryant to hear our case?"

"Perhaps."

"Does the ring that belongs to Crayne's Uncle Karelth hold the key to facing down Paros?"

"Perhaps."

"Did the Dwarves of the Raimead Mountains slay the Knight of Rinder whose death was reported to Sir Duke Bryant this evening?"

"No."

Curious, Emma tries, "Did Bernigan's allies slay the Knight of Rinder?"

"Yes."

"Is the Baron General Wade the Third of Caerloon involved in the Dwarven Blockade in any way?"

"No."

"Are you pleased with Rinder's Six efforts to defend our kingdom in your name?"

"Yes."

"Do you prefer that we seek an honorable and just end to this war so that our people may return to a time of peace, rather than continue the war and turn ourselves into conquerors?"

"There is a time for conquerors just."

"Is Sir Duke Bryant the wisest choice to be our King?"

"Yes."

Then the mist in her mind's eye begins to recede and a sudden sense of cold hit her. Opening her eyes, Emma can see Towers next to her. He is rubbing his eyes, then slowly rocks back and pushes himself to his feet. The Commune was finished.

Storm looks around, making sure there are no more goblins on this side of the narrow path upon which they were first ambushed. Seeing none, and seeing a single goblin facing off against the tough dwarven patrol leader, Storm regards Brauenok's question? "Can me do it?" He rhetorically asks. "Hehahaha!!"

He bangs his two long swords loudly together, much like most other dwarves bang their axes and shields to boost adrenaline (not ALL dwarven battle traditions were abandoned by the Strongblades!), and takes off running toward the smaller row of boulders. 'Me gosh,' he thinks as he runs, 'me not done THAT in a while!' A small smile cracks his lips as he leaps (literally) into action.

Storm jumps across to the higher level of boulders, using the smaller boulders as a launching platform. He runs full speed up to the rocks and jumps like he's hurdling something, but instead of clearing the rock, he plants his front foot squarely on it. Then, in one swift movement, he jumps with his momentum across to the higher rocks.

Landing with a strong momentous thud, Storm quickly spots two nearby goblins, both taking aim with their puny bows. They were the ones firing at the dwarven soldiers attempting to climb the rocks on the other side, below. Using his momentum, Storm charges at these two, his swords swinging wildly. Both blades connect, one slicing into a goblin's arm, causing the animal to squeal and throw down its bow. The other blade cuts clear through the goblin with which it meets, ending that creatures measly existence right then and there.

Meanwhile, Brauenok continues to battle the goblin attacking him. With a strong sudden move, he catches the goblin with its guard down for just the smallest instant. Pouncing on the opportunity, he thrusts forward, send his short sword directly into the goblin's neck, and sending a stream of goblish blood out the other side. Kicking the dead monster aside and watching it roll down the side of the mountain, Brauenok screams in delight and turns around to survey the rest of the scene, including his troops below, which are busy fighting off the goblins unfortunate enough to join them on the trail.

Reveling in the kill of one of the archers, Storm is momentarily caught off guard as the other archer--whom he hit but did not kill--unsheathes a short rusty sword and attacks. Storm is suddenly brought back to the present battle as the sting of blade enters his side. (3 hp damage)

At the same time, the fighting continues below, as Brauenok notices three goblins striking at dwarven soldiers successfully. Seeing no more threats from these boulders, the patrol leader grinds his teeth and looks for an opening big enough for him to jump back down and support his troops. "We ain't gonna go down taday!"

Another goblin then appears near Storm, charging at him with a club in hand. Storm manages to jump aside, though, rudely awakened from his recent hit. Then he maneuvers himslef aroud so that he's got both goblins in front of him, and contemplates his next move.

Faced with these two foes, Storm spins his blades in the air, hoping to intimidate the creatures. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he notices two other dwarven soldiers, the ones who moments ago were climbing up the rocks on the other side, leaping through the air--just like Storm did--toward him. Smiling a bit, he knows that they are here to help. Not that he really needed any!

Then, lunging toward the goblin who he had traded blows with, he fakes to the left, and then to the right, finally actually attacking with the left. His blade seems guided by the gods as it connects with the goblin's short neck, lodging its sharp edge deep in the creatures thick hide. Knowing he has slain another one, Storm smiles to himself as he kicks the body away.

Then Storm sees the other two dwarves land on his side, both attacking the other remaining goblin. The goblin manages to evade one, but not both. The second dwarf's blade sinks into the goblin's upper arm, hitting it but not killing it.

Below on the trail, the melee continues with dwarves attacking goblins and goblins striking back at dwarves. Brauenok, having landed in a small opening, finds one of his patrol members who is faltering and quickly moves to attack that soldier's adversary, striking the goblin with dwarven battlecry ringing through the boulders surrounding them.

Storm watches as the goblin near him lashes out at the two soldiers who had recently landed and attacked. The creatures jumps at the one who had hit him, but his wound is beginning to take its toll, and the dwarf easily jumps aside.

Seeing that he is under no immediate threat, Storm also takes a quick second to peek at the action below. He can see seven dwarven soldiers, plus Brauenok, fighting against what looks like two remaining goblins. Slowly a grin spreads itself across Storm's face as he can feel victory within his grasp. He can see a goblish blade blocked by a dwarven sword, the clanging of the metals ringing off the mountain face. But he also sees Brauenok take a hit. Still, the leader appeared to be holding up, and Storm can see the dwarf Brauenok had been defending was faring much worse, dragging itself from the scene of the battle toward some other dwarves to tend to its deep cuts and slashes.

Breathing heavily, from his vantage point Storm can see the end of the battle. A goblin ambush gone awry, because the dwarves were ultimately stronger. Nearby one of the two other dwarven soldiers finished off the last remaining goblin on these boulders. The boulders on other side of crevice were emptied of all enemies.

And below, the dwarves were finishing up, killing off all the remaining golbins. The vile creatures didn't even stand a chance, outnumbered and out-fought. One by one they were mobbed and cut down, and within moments the blades had stopped. Only dwarves remained.

Ten goblins had been killed in all. One dwarf had been slain, another one was close to death but would ultimately be saved. Brauenok looked up from the carnage to Storm, on the boulders above, who simply smiled in return, a silent look of recognition passing between them once again.

Slowly, the lead drow raises one hand. His delicate fingers begin to move, ever so slightly. Then, his fist suddenly clenches closed. In that instant, the four dark elves throw off their brown cloaks, revealing the black armor they wear beneath. The lead drow springs into action, in one swift and agile movement leaping toward Crayne and unleashing his shiny short sword. The blade whips through the darkened night air and slashes at Crayne before the mage knows what hit him. (3 hp damage)

Crayne screams in pain and blood seeps to the surface of his shirt and stumbles backwards, tripping onto the steps behind him. He can see two of the other three drow advancing forward. The one to Crayne's left moves toward Canter, attacking him. Canter, in an effort not to appear overly offensive, had not drawn his sword in advance and was now paying for that mistake. He quickly reaches for the hilt of his weapon but is just too late. The advancing drow's shiny short sword slices down the length of Canter's arm, and Canter lets out a scream which seems to echo through the empty square in front of the temple and off its marble face. (6 hp damage)

At the same time, the drow on the right side of the stumbling Crayne leaps up the steps and attacks Naeron in the descending darkness. Naeron does manage to release his sword in time, but the drow is very skilled as a warrior and quickly overpowers the diplomat with his upward momentum. His blade cuts into Naeron's chest, just above the edge of his armor. (5 hp damage) Naeron clenches his teeth to combat the pain and focuses his energies on keeping track of his dark foe in the magically enhanced darkness of the evening.

Then, in that darkness, a dim light begins to appear around Hannibal. "What?!" Hannibal asks himself as his attention is diverted from trying to locate his friends in the darkness to trying to discern the source of the light. Then he realizes that the source is him! "Cursed magic!" he growls, whipping out his blade and squinting his eyes. The soft, pale light defining his outline does little to penetrate the darkness of the area, yet it surely would let the enemy know exactly where he was.

Hannibal, without hesitation, leaps to action, his blade leaving it's sheath with alarming speed for a thief. He has but one objective at this point now that this new magic was upon him, that was to be seen! Launching himself down the stairs quickly, he targets the lead Drow and leaps, his blood boiling now with anger.

As he lands on the ground below, Hannibal's blade connects with the lead drow's side, slicing into the dark elf with his long sword.

Crayne is not impressed at all as he moves back clenching his teeth. Perhaps these Drow weren't as skilled as he first thought. To attack Rinder's Six just outside a Temple of Anhur seemed on the verge of ridicule. He was more than certain that in a few moments the war priests of Anhur would deal with this skirmish. Nevertheless, at the moment Crayne had to defend himself and the party about him.

Moving back, clenching his magical staff, Crayne quickly reaches down to his belt and brings out his continual lightstone. Just at that moment Crayne closes his eyes protecting him from the sudden conversion to brightness. If he assumes correctly with his extensive knowledge of magic, the stone negates out the darkness spell bringing advantage back to Rinder's Six. Hopefully also blinding the Dark elves for a small moment. Just enough time in fact for Crayne to blast a spray of color at their faces.

Crayne is partially correct. To his pleasure, the lightstone does successfully negate the effects of the magical darkness, but only in a small area around himself, which now includes Hannibal and the lead drow. The others, Canter, Naeron, and the other three drow, are all lost in the darkness. And even the lightstone's luminescence seems weak, its usual bright yellow light this time a dimmer, cooler glow. But it is enough.

Meanwhile, the magical darkness closing in and making sight difficult, Canter steps forward to attack his aggressor. He tightens his grip around his trusted blade, counting on his years of experience--especially the months with Rinder's Six--to battle this foe, perhaps one of the most dangerous he's ever faced. He steps to the left, thrusting and slashing, but the drow is quick and agile, and Canter's blade meets only with the strong blade of his dark adversary.

Naeron, too, springs into action, narrowing his eyes as the magical blackness seems to envelop him. Curiously, his normal infravision does not seem to cut through the magical darkness. Frustrated, he channels his energy into his attack, using the time he's got before all goes black. Jumping aside and down the temple's steps, Naeron slashes and thrusts, weaving his sword around his opponent. Then, finding an opening, he presses the attack, striking the drow in the chest. He can just barely see his blade cut into his enemy's black, malleable armor, a sight which brings a small smile to his face.

Having been struck by Hannibal, the lead drow focuses his attentions on this new target. He can clearly see the thief, who is outlined by one of the other drow's Faerie Fire spells. Thus, he presses the attack. So in this magical darkness, the drow appears to dance opposite a magically lit enemy in the street at the base of the steps of the temple. The drow jabs, but Hannibal jumps aside. The drow hauls his blade around the other side, but Hannibal miraculously blocks it. Hannibal, however, doesn't even think; his concentration is intense, knowing he must do his best to defeat this foe lest he attack the more defenseless Crayne.

The drow opposite Canter, however, has more success. His blade quickly finds the skin of Canter Tarp, jabbing at him and opening up a small puncture wound. Canter grinds his teeth and lets out a "yelp!" with the impact, stumbling backwards up the steps. (4 hp damage)

And the drow attacking Naeron presses on, as well. He duels with the half-elf diplomat, their blades meeting in the darkened air just as the magically-enhanced night fully descends. After a moment, however, his blade does meet with its target, striking Naeron on the upper arm and slicing into his skin. (3 hp damage)

The fourth drow approaches Naeron, who can just barely make out its outline before all goes black. Naeron raises his sword just in time, defending himself against the drow's attack.

Hannibal, his intense concentration continuing, looks for an opening into which he can take the offensive. He thinks he sees one, attempting to maneuver his blade around for the strike. But the drow is quick and agile, and its sword meets Hannibal's out in front of his body, blocking the attack with a loud clash of metals.

Crayne, protected for the moment by Hannibal and in somewhat lighted conditions due to his lightstone, begins to intone the now-familiar words of Color Spray, aiming the spell toward the lead drow attacking Hannibal. The three others are just not close enough to be affected by the spell, but Crayne figures that it is better to get at least one.

The bright colors stream from the mage's hands through the blackness toward the lead drow. They strike the dark elf as he trades thrusts and parries with Hannibal, but to Crayne's immense frustration, the spell does not appear to have any effect! Crayne pounds his staff into the stone steps on which he stands, considering what to do next.

Naeron searches vainly in the darkness for the two foes which he knows are nearby. Damn that dark elven magic! His eyesight, normally fairly good in darkness, was completely lost, and he was as blind as a bat. He does his best to approximate the positions of his enemies based on the sounds of their feet on the ground, but the quiet drow are difficult to track. Swinging his sword wildly, Naeron does not feel the telltale impact of sword-on-flesh, much to his frustration.

Canter, too, grows frustrated, indeed, frightened as he suddenly finds the area around him pitch black. No moonlight, no starlight, not even Crayne's lightstone was bright enough to reach him. He could hear the swishing of movement nearby, but his jabs and thrusts meet with only open air.

Hannibal can feel the pitch-black darkness surrounding the pale glow he casts about him. In that glow he can just barely make out the outline of his foe. He manages to block one thrust. But the quick rebound and attack of the lead drow is just too fast. Hannibal feels the dark elf's blade sink into his side, and can feel the warmth of blood as it begins to flow out of the large wound. "Ahhh!" Hannibal cries with the impact, suddenly aware of the echo of his scream off of the temple behind him. (7 hp damage)

Canter is tense, all his senses acutely tuned to any movement nearby. Suddenly, he begins to feel the slightest breeze and just at the very last moment jumps aside and ducks. He can hear the "swoosh!" as the drow's blade streams through the air just above his head. "That was close..." he whispers. "Too close."

At the same time, Naeron feels his stomach turn as he recognizes the severity of the situation. He thinks there are two drow nearby, and any second he expects to feel a blade cut into his flesh. Indeed, just a second later one does. It seems to come out of nowhere--Naeron just couldn't see it coming! It catches the diplomat in the stomach, slicing open a laceration clear across his body. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Naeron calls out into the blackness, "you cursed beings!" (9 hp damage)

Crayne begins to feel very alone in his small bubble of dim light. He can hear the sounds of swords clashing, and then the eerie sound of blade-on-flesh around him. Then, suddenly, coming out of the blackness one of the drow appears charging toward him. Crayne attempts to jump aside, to evade the foe's sword. He does, to some extent, but the tip of the blade still manages to slice into his lower arm, opening up a long cut from his palm to his elbow. (3 hp damage)

"We've got to get out of here!" Canter's voice floats through the darkness.

Emma feels tired, having just completed the Rite of the Commune. Her first. Opening her eyes, she considers the answers that have been revealed to her. Suddenly, she turns to Towers as if with great urgency.

"Towers, you heard what he said, yes?"

The older priest nods slowly, regaining his strength. "I did, Emmalya."

"So you now understand...you see...Paros must be stopped! He is a member of the renegade Red Dragon School, and he is cooperating with Bernigan, who we know is associated with the dangerous Blood Clan! Can you now help us?" Emma pleads, inwardly hoping that Paros will offer some kind of assistance. He did want her succeed, right?

"My dear," Towers says, placing a hand on Emma's shoulder, "you must understand, as I do, the larger pictures here. Of course, Paros must be stopped. But..." his voice trails off as he considers the words to speak. "...we must consider the position of the Caste, of the Church. We could, as a Caste of Warrior Priests, force the new king to dispose of his wizardly advisor and seek out and kill this Bernigan diplomat. But what sort of repercussions would that have?"

Emma is silent, knowing that Towers must come to some logical conclusion, but knowing also that she wouldn't like it when she heard it.

"Surely the Duke on whose behalf Bernigan speaks would not be pleased with the execution of his servant. Even if it can be proven that Bernigan is tainted. And then there is the larger issue of Paros. We must tread carefully there. The muscle of the Caste of Anhur is great; we surely have the power and the means, if well coordinated, to assume control of the throne and do with Bryant as we please. But I fear the reaction of the people.

"They fear us, Emmalya. They see us as warriors, and rightly so. But to install ourselves on the throne, after the Knights have given their blessing to Bryant, would merely incite rebellion. And I think you would agree that that is something we don't need in our kingdom right now."

"With that I agree, your holiness," Emma says, rising from her position on the floor and tossing her hair aside with a flick of her head. She folds her arms on her chest and begins to pace about the small chamber, unaware of the deadly events going on outside. "But do you agree that something must be done?"

Towers swallows and pauses for a beat. "Yes. Something must be done."

"And in your best tactical appraisal of the situation, what do you see as our options?" Emma asks pointedly, trying--despite her slight frustration with the high priest--to appeal to the tactician she knows lies within him.

"The way I see it," Towers explain, straining to rise from the floor, "you have at least two options. In any case, the goals, the objectives, are to expose the treachery of Paros and of Bernigan to those who can do something about it. Namely, King Bryant. You must be careful, for Anhur himself was not assured you could succeed in these tasks. But here are two choices:

"One: You can investigate Paros. Does he have students? Most major wizards, at least those within society, often do. Perhaps seeking out one of these students will offer you a window into the dealings of Paros. Perhaps allow you into his library or laboratory."

"Mmmm..." Emma moans, thinking about the possibilities down that avenue.

"Two:" Paros continues, "Investigate Bernigan. Find his connections with the Blood Clan leadership in Parton. He cannot be a part of that leadership, given his permanent station in the Duchy of Marlond, so he must have contact people in this city. Find out why he is really here and what his business in the Raimead Mountains really is."

"I see..." Emma says.

"Then, there are other options," Towers says, turning his back to Emma and blowing out some candles on the altar.

"Such as?" Emma asks, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

"If you fail to investigate Paros or Bernigan by conventional means, or if you choose not to given the popularity you and your comrades seem to enjoy, perhaps locate someone willing to assist you by magical means. Some other wizard...or..." Towers inhales quickly, smiling suddenly as if he suddenly has an idea.

"What? Or what?"

"There is something..." he says, grabbing a torch from the wall and moving toward the door to his office. He pushes a button on the wall and the door slides open, revealing the empty office before them. Thinking nothing of it, Towers moves quickly into the room and over to one of his bookshelves.

Emma, meanwhile, steps cautiously through the secret door, looking around the office for any sign of her friends. "Canter? Hannibal? Crayne? Naeron? Where could they have gone?" she wonders.

Towers, however, pays no heed to Emma's sudden concern. He is busy thumbing through the pages of one of his books. "Ahh..." he says triumphantly, moving toward the desk and laying the book upon it. "Here." He points to the page, "You might try to locate this device. Legend says it was last seen--"

There is a knock at the door, and a nervous Fallon peeks through. "I'm s-sorry to interrupt, your h-holiness. But the others..."

"Yes, where are they?" Emma says quickly.

Nodding and swallowing, Fallon continues, "They went outside. There some people to see them. So I showed them out. Now it is quite dark out there, like the deepest of night when Nire hides the moon and stars from view. Yet it is not time for that kind of darkness, according to the caldendars of the Caste of Thoth. I fear something is not right."

Emma's eyes widen, and she turns quickly to look to Towers. His attention, however, remains focused on the book before him as he reads the translation of some ancient text. Did he even listen to Fallon?

Storm surveys the scene from atop the higher slope, looking down on his fellow dwarves as they mop up the remaining Goblins. He smiles at the results: Ten of the vermin dead, with only a single dwarven loss! "Guess they not be so smart after all!" Storm thinks to himself. He chuckles as he makes his way back to the rest of the patrol.

Before climbing down completely, though, he takes one last look around, searching for the goblins' temporary camp and pointing it out to the other dwarves should he see it.

Storm shrugs off his wounds, as usual, and he marches with Brauenok as the group makes its way wherever they go. He has a newfound respect for the Warhammer Brigade, and he has the strangest sensation that the feeling is mutual from the patrol leader. Every moment he spends with the dwarves, Storm realizes, he notices just how much he's missed his old life.

Yet he still realizes he likes the life he has come to lead. He is a toughened veteran now, no longer the brash, rabble-rousing youth he had been while still among the Raimeads, nor the talented fool that was used and taken advantage of with Nightshade's mercernary group. He was a stealthy warrior among Rinder's Six, and gaining reputation quickly as a member of that group. Storm wondered what further reputation he would garner for both him and his people as the only dwarven member of the up-and-coming-famous Rinder's Six. He smirks to himself, more proud of the good he was doing rather than the reputation that would follow his deeds. For the first time in years, he felt as if he was finally making up for some of the wrongs he was led to commit at the beck and call of Nightshade.

Damn it all if his father doesn't understand.

Back at the Warhammer Brigade's base, Storm greets Cy and Karelth heartily, eager to tell the story (very poorly, at that) of the goblin raid. After things settle, Storm seeks out Brauenok and decides to talk with the patrol leader. He asks

about the Warhammers and particularly the Strongblades, trying to discern how his old clan fares.

"Aye, the Strongblades," Brauenok says with a toothy smile, drinking from a goblet of ale, "they be makin' the best swords in the mountains!"

Storm smiles, knowing that his father's blades were the best of those of the Strongblades.

"They be a strong bunch," Brauenok continues seriously, "and are among the staunches of thems supporters of the Clans. Aye... a dwarf of the Strongblades be of good stock. But then, so be those of Warhammer! Ha!" With that, Brauenok knocks Storm's shoulder once more and moves on, joking with members of his patrol and retelling the story of the day's battle to younger soldiers nearby.

Storm watches Brauenok amble away, and the thought occurs to him: had he stayed in the fold, he could be the seasoned warrior and patrol leader Brauenok is today. Still, Storm thinks, Brauenok had never seen the Northern Sea off the city of Seden, or armies marching along Faren Ridge, or the Sea of Wheat just over the Caerloon border. Yes, Brauenok was a good patrol leader, but good for the mountains. Storm was good for more than that.

"Storm," Cy's deep voice wakes him from his thoughts. How long had he been standing there? "Karelth and I have spoken with Korg..."

Karelth then steps forward, an eager air about him. "Yes, and he has agreed, given the service you performed today while on patrol, to grant us permission to leave this place as long as you give your word you will return with a more honorable treaty."

Storm begins to smile, pleased with the news. But then his expression flattens as he realizes that this would mean leaving his home once more. Still, it was necessary. "Aye," he finally responds, looking up to Cy and then quickly to Crayne's uncle. "Then we be goin'."

With a laugh, Cy, pats Storm on the back as they walk away from the rest of the patrol, toward their packs on the other side of the cave. Cy turns to Storm after a few moments, asking, "Storm, is it true then?"

"What?" Storm replies, unsure what his warrior friend is talking about.

"True that you single-handedly bested ten goblins, throwing their bodies from the side of the mountain?"

Storm is stunned, stopping in his tracks. Where had they heard that?

"That is what is Brauenok told Korg..." Karelth says, eager to hear Storm confirm the story.

Suddenly Storm bursts into laughter, his voice carrying through the Warhammer Brigade's camp. Cy laughs too, and even Karelth finally understands. Someday, perhaps upon his return, Storm would have to congratulate on Brauenok on his artful deception.

"Come," Cy says, gently shoving his dwarven friend forward, "lets us set off toward Parton and see what trouble the others have found!"

If only they knew.

Storm is in good spirits as he leaves the mountains with his comrades. A lot has happened over the last few days, things that would leave most people in his position rather depressed. His father had rejected him, after ten years of silence...the thought put a small temporary slouch in Storm's walk. The happy bounce returned, though, for he could not help but smile at Brauenok's skillful storytelling, as well as the truthful adventure on the mountainside. At least some dwarves still appreciated him! That was it, Storm realized. He had gained some acceptance among his people. Truly, that hadn't happened before, save for his sister. Suddenly part of his eccentricity was appreciated--a few dwarves realized that his strange fighting style could work. No more childish competition and the ridicule that came with it. Truly, it seems as though those Storm's age had grown up.

Those Storm's age, but not those older.

Storm thought of his father, but still smiled. His confidence was bolstered, and he had learned and realized much over the last two days. If Thorn didn't accept him now, he would eventually. Rinder's Six was ever growing in reputation, and a dwarf lived a long time. Storm would have his day, in his father's eyes, eventually.

He looked to Cy as he walked, the two casually involved in conversation along with Karelth. For the first time in a while, Storm felt truly happy to be alive.

And he was an uncle! His sister, the only other dwarf to ever show compassion and understanding toward Storm, has children! Storm vowed that the next time they were back in the mountains, he would have to see his sister and his nephews. But for now, he realized, he had other people to find. He gently fondles Edryd's pendant, still around his neck, wondering what new songs Guilliam will have to share when he sees him next...

Naeron curses, angry with these foes... He wants to draw and quarter them, to split them from stem to stern...but the coppery taste in his mouth tells him there is another necessity... He depends on his agility to back out of the range of the darkness, keeping his weapon poised ahead of him.

"How can they see me in this darkness?" he thinks... He didn't know of a spell that only worked one way like this.

He takes a few tentative steps back, feeling the rise of the step with his ankle. Just then he hears the familiar whistle of the air as a blade cuts through it like a knife. With faith and determination, he moves his own blade out to the side and in front of him, and there he can feel as the drow's blade slams against his. The metallic clang of their collision is music to the ranger's ears, as he knows that at least for the moment the enemy's blade has not found his skin.

"We've got to get out of here!" Canter's voice floats through the darkness.

Crayne nods in approval raising his voice, "Let us get out of this darkness!" Quickly Crayne begins to intone the words of his new spell, Levitate. He speaks the words carefully, not exactly confident in the spell's effect. But soon he can feel it beginning as he thinks, imagining his feet rising off the marble step on which he stands. Then, his feet do. His ascent is slow, excruciatingly slow. The darkness still surrounds him as he rises up, hoping that he can rise above this veil of darkness before all is lost.

Hannibal squints his eyes, trying his best to use the slight glow of his body to his own advantage. But that cursed drow kept moving around, in and out of the range of his luminescence! Finally he decides to strike, his sword sweeping through the darkness. But as it does, Hannibal realizes that the move is a failure, and he quickly reins in the blade, lest it get away from him. Frustrated, Hannibal casts a quick glance behind him, up the steps, as far as his soft glow would allow.

Canter, meanwhile, is busy trying to guess the location of his enemy. He, too, is frustrated. Cocking his head to the side he tries to use his senses, but he was no thief! Deciding not to wait too long, he makes his best guess and launches his attack in that direction, to his right. Perhaps the gods were smiling down upon him--even through the darkness--for he can feel his blade connect with the drow foe. Immediately with the contact he pulls down on the hilt of the sword, draging its sharp blade across as much of the drow as he can before finally losing contact in the blackness.

Emma frowns, concerned at the high priest's inattention to the matters at hand. She looks toward Fallon and says simply, "Show me." She follows the young acolyte out of Towers' office and up the stairs to the main entrance. As he slides open the viewport on the heavy door, she gasps as she sees a familiar figure rise out of the unnatural darkness.

Once again Hannibal has that feeling in the pit of his stomach. Then he can feel the air moving through those tiny hairs on the back of his neck. Instinctively, he ducks down, spinning around. He can feel as the drow's sword slices through the air where his head was just seconds before, sending a cool breeze down toward Hannibal's current position, crouched down low. That was close!

Canter suddenly feels the razor edge of a blade slice into the back of his leg. he spins and tries to move away, but the damage is done, and he drops a hand down to the wound, trying his best to feel how bad it is, for he cannot see it. (4 hp damage)

Naeron, in the meantime, continues to backpedal up the steps. Out of nowhere he feels the sudden thud as an object, the flat edge of a sword, strikes him in the chest. But the thickened of his studded leather armor saves him from any serious damage, aside from the surprise of the sudden hit!

Holding tightly onto his lightstone, Crayne can make out the faint outline of the drow before him, raising his blade in preparation for an attack as Crayne continues to slowly rise above the ground. Crayne, however, correctly anticipates the drow's movements and kicks his legs aside just in time to evade the blow.

Infuriated with the severity of the situation, Crayne seizes the opening he sees as the drow below him stumbles with his recent miss. Lining up his powerful staff with the drow's head, he swings his weapon downwards with tremendous force. The end of the staff strikes the drow's head on the side with a thundrous "thwack!" sending the dark elf tumbling into the darkness and out of the cool glow of Crayne's lightstone. The mage is suddenly overwhelmed with satisfaction, knowing that that must have caused a lot of damage! (3 charges used)

As Crayne climbs out of the darkness, his head just beginning to clear, he focuses his mind on Emma and Towers and bellow, screaming "Emmmmma!"

Emerging from the temple and stand on the top landing, Emma surveys the situation. With swift determination, Emma draws her broadsword in a ring of steel. "Rally the guardsmen!" she exclaims to Fallon. She can hear the younger cleric beside her scramble away. "And summon Towers from his study!"

Then she races down the steps to rejoin her friends and whatever they may face.

"Oh mighty Anhur, send a spirit from on high to lend your servants aid...," she whispers, looking up into the heavens. She could almost see a pin-point of light streak from the sky to join her upon the ground. "Attack our enemy and defend us," she says.

Seemingly out of nowhere, she hears the growl of the panther beside her. The great black cat bears its fangs to Emma, as if smiling at the priestess. Then it leaps from the top landing clear down the steps and disappears into the darkness, its godly mission clear.

Then the drow struck by Crayne's magical staff appears, flying out of the sphere of darkness and landing in the square not far away. Not a second later the panther bounds out of the sphere. With unparalleled viciousness, it pounces on the stunned drow, sinking its sharp fangs into the dark elf's neck. In no time it has bitten into the evil creature's throat, tearing out a bloody chunk of flesh and killing the drow right there on the dirty street.

Hannibal is sure that the edge of the darkness is just a few more feet away. He heard Crayne's plea for help, and even though he could see the mage's lightstone for a moment. And he heard what he though was some kind of feline growl, as well. But if he could just retreat far enough to get out of this darkness!

Before getting far enough, however, Hannibal feels the crushing blow of his opponents sword as it strikes him. He knows he is struck as soon as the first pang of pain shoots through his right arm. The drow blade sinks deeply into his shoulder, opening up a cavernous wound and causing a geyser of blood to spurt up. Screaming with the pain, Hannibal stumbles backwards, landing on the marble steps behind him, and rolls his eyes toward the darkened sky. (7 hp damage) He would not go. Not like this.

Canter, who is also retreating, can see the darkness around him begin to lift. Fortunately, he notices this just in time, and in the dim starlight he sees the glint of steel as his opponent's blade comes streaming toward his face. With a quick duck and a roll, Canter evades the blade, squirming away and up two more steps.

Naeron, too, continues to retreat up the steps. And he can feel the magical darkness around him weaken as well. But he also feels the shooting pains of his wounds. Suddenly he is struck again as the dark elf pursuing him leaps from the darkness and strikes. It's blade nicks his elbow as he tries to jump aside, cutting the skin. (3 hp damage)

Observing a drow emerge from the darkness in pursuit of the retreating Hannibal, Emma chooses to focus her next spell on this foe. "Curse the weapon of my enemy, Anhur...so that his strikes are mine and his blows bring death to his allies," Emma prays, focusing her next spell's energy on a Drow's blade.

Hannibal, of course, doesn't realize the effects Emma's spell will have on his adversary's weapon, nor is he even aware she is casting it in his direction! He is more concerned with his own wellbeing. That is, staying alive over the next few minutes! He continues to step up the steps backwards, but it is slow going: not only climbing the marble steps backwards, but blocking the drow's continuous pounding. Fortunately the increased light level of a few stars above and a little luck allow him to escape unharmed, for the moment.

Naeron retreats as well, also escaping harm.

Realizing he is beginning to escape the magical effects of the darkness, Canter tries his hand on the offensive again. But he finds his move thwarted as his blade clashes metallically with that of the drow.

Crayne, continuing his rise, is now fully above the darkness. He cannot see into it, however. Still, he notices the bloody, dead body of the drow and the shape of some animal nearby, its dark coat almost blending in with the night. Then he turns his concentrations on the dark cloud below him, looking for any magical emanations he can detect. After a brief moment, he decides he can detect none. Now all he can see are the three drow pursuing Hannibal, Canter, and Naeron up the steps of the temple. Counting those and the dead one, all are accounted for...as far as Crayne can surmise.

Then, the effects of his Detect Magic spell still lingering, Crayne sees a streak of blue as the Panther bounds back through the darkness, leaving behind its last victim and heading toward it's next. With a growl, it leaps through the air toward the drow attacking Canter. But that drow hears the growl, and dodges the animal just in time. Landing gracefully on all fours on the marble steps, the Panther whips its head around, its dark feline eyes glaring at the drow.

Hannibal continues to retreat, doing his best to parry each of his foe's jabs and thrusts. But in his weakened state he knows when he is licked. He can tell as soon as the drow blade moves toward his right quarter, and he clenches his jaw as he anticipates the pain of the impact. But that pain does not arrive.

Canter's foe, fresh off his evasion of the Panther, uses his momentum to lunge toward Canter. But the tanner's son does his best to evade, too, and this time succeeds, moving to the side as the drow's body brushes past along the steps of the temple.

Naeron watches as the drow before him prepares for his attack. But suddenly, it appears to be thrust struck in the stomach, as if hit my a weapon. Naeron could see none, but it was clear that his opponent was damaged by something. Then, the half elf diplomat casts a glance up above him at the top landing of the steps: Emma. It had to be.

"Empower me, Anhur!" Emma shouts, "For your servant enters battle to defend the sanctity of your temple grounds!" She bangs her broadsword against her shield and charges forward. "Crayne! Naeron! Fall back to the steps and regroup. The guardsmen should be right behind me! And there are priests that can see to your wounds!"

She steps close to the darkness and mentally commands the animal spirit to circle around behind. "Let's finish this!" she calls into the dark and boldly steps forward, her sword leading the way.

"You would dare initiate battle on the steps of our holy temple?" she spits at the nearest enemy, the drow attacking Canter, "You will pay for such foolishness with your lives!"

With that, the panther leaps from the steps above Emma (as she begins to move down). Its midnight-colored body glides through Nire's air and lands upon the drow Emma approaches, its flight path just clearing over Canter's shoulder. The animal wrestles the drow down the steps, scratching at the elf all the while.

Canter then breaks into a sprint down the steps, bounding toward his fallen foe. With one swift motion, he flips his sword around and thrusts it straight down, its pointed blade cutting directly at the tackled drow's neck. His blade slices clear through until its tip hits the step beneath, and then he knows the drow is dead. The panther, knowing this as well, moves off the dark elf's stomach, scanning the scene for its next victim.

"Emma," Hannibal mutters, still retreating up the stairs and away from the pursuing drow before him.

The priestess's hair whips around as she turns to face Hannibal, just a few yards away. She knows who she will strike first. The drow senses her sights suddenly set on him, and looks up to face her, his black skin and white hair making a sharp contrast.

Naeron is at first stunned by the way in which the drow before him appeared struck by some unseen foe. But the quick realization that it must be Emma's magic makes for a sudden burst of energy for the ailing ranger. And with this newfound drive, Naeron thrusts himself upward off the steps, his blade leading the way. Its tip meets with the drow's stomach and continues clear through until Naeron's hand is buried in the dark elf's bloody stomach.

Now, up close, Naeron could see into the pitiful drow's eyes and watch it die.

Crayne, seeing the battle move up the steps, begins to control his Levitate spell, instructing it once again to descend. Still, it is a slow process and it will take a few moments until his feet are once again on the ground.

Narrowing its black eyes, the only drow remaining alive steps away from Hannibal and begins to approach the newest member of Rinder's Six to appear on the scene, Emmalya. With a sudden move, it jumps up a step, attempting to move around Emma for a better shot. Emma jumps down, spinning in the air and keeping the drow in front of her. She can see, as the top of the steps come into view, Towers emerging from the temple. As he looks over the situation, he begins to raise his hands as if to cast a spell. But seeing Emma fighting the last foe one-on-one, he lowers them again, instead folding them on his chest as he and the other priests standing behind him watch one of their own take on a mythical drow warrior.

Seeing Emma momentarily distracted by the appearance of Towers and the other priests behind him, the drow attacks. It's blade finds an opening in Emma's defenses, but Emma's faithful magic works its tricks. Instead of harming the priestess, the damage otherwise done by the blow is instead turned against the drow itself, whipping it back and causing it to fall backwards against the steps.

Then, narrowing her eyes, Emma takes control. She flexes her muscles, jumping up from her lower, more vulnerable vantage point to the step beside the falling drow. Harnessing her momentum, she slams her broadsword into the drow's stomach, the severe blow finding an opening in its black armor and cutting into its skin clear across its abdomen.

As she follows through and finishes dragging her sharp blade across the skin of he drow, her faithful servant, the panther, pounces. Its fangs beared, it sends those sharp teeth piercing into the drow's upper chest, tearing into its body.

By the time she has raised her blade for the next round of attacks, the drow is dead.

Storm, Karleth, and Cy begin their journey on foot from the dwarven camp toward Parton. The journey would take at least two days, and none of the three had any idea of the goings on in Parton itself. Making camp for the first night, Storm is busy trying to light the fire when Cy raises his head. Squinting into the sunset, he mutters, "A dust cloud. Someone is coming...probably a couple of horses. Five, maybe six, perhaps."

Grabbing his long bow, Cy cocks a war arrow, aiming it in the direction of the oncoming party. It is still far away, but while mounted, it would be here soon enough. With Karelth, they would undoubtedly move too slowly to conceal themselves. And a skilled party would surely notice the stack of twigs they had made in preparation for the fire they would cook over.

He just hoped the sun would hold out long enough to make some kind of identification before it was too late. It could be King Bryant's men, perhaps. Or, it might not--it might be fighters sent by Paros, who knows? There was only one way to find out.

"Who is it?" Karelth asks, still seated by the unlit fire, but a modicum of concern in his voice.

"I don't know," Cy says, squinting and concentrating. "But we're going to find out. Ready, Storm?"

"Ya..." the dwarf replies, tightening the straps on his leather armor and picking up his composite long bow. "I be ready for ya."

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