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Once again, Anhur seems to have favored their actions on a grander scale than Emma had ever imagined. 'Everything went off without a hitch,' she realizes, 'The Hold Person enchantment, Crayne's colorful spell, and Storm's sneak attack...' She coolly regards the Attender, narrowing her eyes so he can see the righteous anger and determination that has guided her tonight. She sweeps her cloak aside to reveal her face as well as the horseman's flail tucked inside her belt. It is the weapon of Anhur's caste that symbolizes the exactment of justice, and for some reason there doesn't appear to be anything more appropriate to use at this precise moment.

"My friends aren't interested in paying you for the ore," she addresses the Attender in a hard-edged voice, focusing on the remaining confrontation, "Only the wages you're due for your sinful treachery to King and country." She pulls forth the flail and allows the spiked heads to sway back and forth with the clinking noise of its metal chains. She leaves little doubt for the man that his fate could very easily be the same as the dead elf in the alleyway.

But, even though she yearns to exact justice by flailing away against the evil thief and assassin, Emma knows that information is what Rinder's Six needs the most right now. So, calling upon Anhur's spiritual power, she casts a Command spell directly into the Attender's subconscious, appealing to the buried notions of nobility and good that remain inside and directing them to rise up and challenge the evil that taints his soul. "Surrender!" she commands, gesturing for him to drop the stiletto and give himself over to them without a fight.

Crayne looks about the current scene. He is pleased to see that one fell at the hands of his Color spray though he would have preferred it more if the Attender had been affected too. Seeing that Emma is about to deal with the Attender, he quickly turns his attention to the archers and the foe that Hannibal is currently fighting with.

Seeing Hannibal is in the most danger, Crayne intones the words of magic. From the dark shadows of the alleyway emerge three glowing missiles. They are colored green and as they shoot off towards their target a green hue trail is left in their path. The missiles shoot off and strike the balding male in the chest hitting him back with impact.

Storm smiles broadly, reveling in his kill. He hadn't thought his move would have been that successful, but he wasn't about to complain. He considers his actions, and realizes that his knowledge of physiology and the workings of the typical humanoid body have increased greatly since he first learned the assassin's art. And he realizes that he learns something new every time he tries it. He looks down at the body of the elegant, yet evil, elf at his feet, noticing the blood ooze rapidly from the hole in her chest cavity and back. 'Suren I's gotta be rememberin' that spot...' he thinks to himself.

His brief reverie is broken as he hears the sounds of Hannibal facing off against the plumper of the two terror troops. He grins as he turns toward the last remaining threatening enemy, just in time see three green glowing missiles leap from the hands of Crayne. Storm smile and laughs out loud, and quips an under-his-voice praise to the dwarven battle god. As he draws his remaining long sword from his belt with his free hand, Storm leaps into action right behind the green missiles. With a growl and a soft yell of oncoming victory, he runs in with the missiles, following their path and plunging swords-first at the round man.

Hannibal reaches the plump one first, thrusting at him and grunting with effort as he presses his attack. The thrust is knocked aside, however, by the rotund thug's club as he whacks back at Hannibal in reply.

Then Storm arrives, his two swords swinging. He jumps right into the fray, his blood pumping at full force and the natural high of battle exuding from every pore. He swings the sword in his left hand, but with a strong motion, the thug knocks it aside. Then the dwarf attacks with the right hand's blade. Again, the thug defends himself, though this time he finds himself showered with splintered pieces of wood from his own weapon.

Meanwhile, the Attender cocks his head to the side; for the slightest moment he is confused. Then, as if making up his mind, he drops his stiletto to the ground, which lands with a loud metallic clang, bouncing once. Then he stands straight up, opening up his hands by his side, palms forward, to show he's got no other weapons. With a straight face that shows no emotion at all, he nods slowly to Emma, and then looks to the ground, standing still. Surrendered.

The balding, plump thug then takes the offensive, pressing his attack on Storm. He aggressively prods the dwarf, moving him backwards down the alley. Finally he raises his splintered club and brings it down toward Storm's head. But Storm is ready for the move, and raises both swords above his forehead, intercepting the club on its way down. The sheer force of the blow sends Storm to the alley floor, on his backside, but his defense paid off--the club never actually got past his blades.

Then, as if timed perfectly, Hannibal moves to attack Baldie, drawing the thug's attention away from Storm to allow the dwarf to get back up on his feet. His attack is perfectly executed, and after trading thrusts and parries for just a moment, Hannibal's skill with his long sword pays off. The tip of the blade finds a hole in the thug's defense and enters the plump foe. As soon as he can feel it, Hannibal lunges forward, sending his entire body weight into the killing blow. Soon he can feel his fist in the thug's stomach, the warm blood of his dying opponent oozing onto his dirty hand.

With a swift motion, he yanks his sword from the belly of the thug, pushing the dead body back with his other hand. Then, Hannibal turns to Storm, offering his dwarven battle-partner a bloody hand to help him up. Grasping the hand without hesitation, Storm smiles and rises to his feet, clutching Hannibal's hand in victory.

Crayne smiles broadly and then turns his attention to the held archer up on the crates. With his more than adequate dexterity, Crayne leaps up and pulls himself up on top of the crates. With his staff, he smashes the held archer around the head. He then takes the archer's crossbow from him. Once pleased that he has all his weapons, Crayne pushes the archer off the crates, carefully looking down first just to make sure no one is below.

The body of the held archer leans over the edge of the crates as if a statue being slowly pushed off the top of a tall building. Then, listing sideways it falls to the hard street below, landing with a muffled thud. Soon, Crayne can see from his perch high above a pool of blood draining out from underneath the body into the street.

At the same time, Emma begins to instruct her comrades. "Naeron, see to the remaining archer. Cy, Canter, your help with the Attender please." Her voice is calm and steady; she is issuing orders. At first Cy is taken aback by the priestess's newfound confidence on the battlefield. Perhaps the Commune with Anhur truly did have an effect on her. Recognizing the tactical wisdom in her well-executed plan, he joins her and Canter moving toward the Attender, a slight smile on his face.

Naeron, too, approaches his target: the second crossbowman. He finds him lying on the ground, asleep and unconscious from Crayne's Color Spray spell. Grabbing a length of rope from his bag and cutting it with his dagger, he ties it tightly around the crossbowman's arms, behind his back. Then he takes a second length and gags the sleeping foe.

Emma, Cy, and Canter, meanwhile, approach the Attender with caution. For the moment he was surrendered and cooperative. But Emma knows that her Command spell won't last very long. Therefore, grabbing a strip of leather from Canter's hand, she moves quickly to bind the Attender's hands behind his back and gag him. Soon, the Attender begins to struggle, indicating the Command had worn off. But by then it was too late for him. He was in custody, three of his team were dead, and one more also captive.

"Emma," Canter says quietly, grabbing her forearm and leaning into her ear, "We should get out of the street. We don't want to be connected with these bodies, you know."

The priestess nods, "Good thinking." Then she looks around, seeing Storm and Hannibal approaching, leaving two bodies in the street behind them. "Nice work, guys. But we need to move from here. The Attender came out here from somewhere behind these crates. Can you check it out?"

"Aye," Storm says excitedly.

Hannibal nods, as well, and soon the two are exploring the area behind the crates, looking for secret and concealed doors.

"Crayne!" Emma whispers to the mage atop the crates. "Can you see where they came from?"

Crayne peers over the edge of the crates to listen to Emma, then his head disappears as he examines the building against which the crates are stacked. Sure enough, there was an open window leading into the building.

"Emma!" Hannibal whispers, his voice coming from hehind the crates at street level. "There's a door here, leading inside. Storm's gone in, and he says it looks empty!"

"Good," Cy reponds in a deep voice. "Let us make haste and leave this scene. We'll take the prisoners."

Soon they are inside the building, some kind of abandoned shop. It is dark and dusty from years of disuse and abuse. Soon, a soft yellow hue can be seen descending what appears to be an old, rickety staircase across the room: Crayne's lightstone.

"What a disgusting place!" the mage says, spitting dust from his mouth and kicking debris aside as he crosses the room. It is about fifteen feet square, with the staircase along the wall opposite the entrace behind the crates. There is another door leading out to the main street, but it is firmly boarded up from the inside, making the stairs up to the second and third floors and the secret entrace to the alley the only ways in and out. There are broken wooden chairs, and a table in the room, as well as shelves along the wall.

Spying something on the floor, Canter leans down to pick it up. Brushing off years of dust and dirt, he shakes it off. "Leather," he says confidently. "Probably a tanner's shop. Closed years ago."

"But occupied much more recently," Cy proclaims, holding up some dirty plates. "Had these been here since the shop closed they would have been licked clean by the rats long ago. Someone has been here since."

"Blood Clan?" Crayne wonders aloud.

"Could be," Hannibal responds, explaining. "They tend to use these old abandoned buildings. With the windows and doors all shuttered up, they make for good cover. To say nothing of a roof over your head, and for many in the Blood Clan, that's not always been the case."

"Emma?" Naeron asks, motioning to the two prisoners. He holding the unconscious one by the scruff of the neck, and Cy's got the Attender, who is unhappy but not fighting back.

"Over here," she instructs, picking up two chairs which appear to be in decent condition. "Lash them to the chairs and we can question them."

Hannibal looks around the room, scanning the area for more secret doors or compartments. Then he stops himself, for a though has just occurred to him: "If this place has been used by the Blood Clan, and recently as Cy has discovered, how long do you think we have until someone else from the Clan stumbles in here?"

"I don't know," Cy replies, "but we should get what information we can out of these vermin and dispatch them before we find out."

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