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Emma looks over in Crayne's direction, still half-carrying, half-dragging Hannibal along with her. So the Highbrow had been responsible for the icy rain of hailstones. 'Odd that he's never shown himself capable of that spell,' she thinks to herself, then realizes it wasn't simply a spell. The firelight gleams off of the ring circling his finger and Emma comes to the conclusion that they've just witnessed the first bit of power from Karelth's Ring of Water Command. 'Water command?' the priestess thinks, 'More like Ice command, it would seem...but there's probably much more to it than that...'

Storm squirms, his arms and legs flailing in the large Paladin's firm grasp. "Let me go ye big ape!" he yells at the man, his eyes never leaving Slint's form on the ground, obviously dying.

Storm's outcry tears Emma's attention away from Crayne and the ring momentarily. Obviously the Dwarf is in no immediate danger of dying from his wounds...not if he has enough strength to struggle against Skandor's grasp. She checks Hannibal too, determining that he'll live as well. The priestess finally puts a hand to her shoulder where one of the hailstones had struck her before she could pull the thief clear. "By Anhur," she breathes aloud, scanning the rest of the group, "We're all lucky to still be breathing."

And then her eyes fall upon the four slumbering Clansmen spread out around the campfire. She also remembers the others back where they had scattered the horses. "Someone see to those men," the priestess directs, pointing to the ones that are starting to awaken, "Take them into custody. I'm going back for the others."

As the paladin lets him go, Storm starts making his way over toward the dying body of Slint, long sword firm in his right arm. He ignores the pain of the deep gashes along his back and arm, the heavy bruise on his thigh that's causing him to limp; he doesn't even realize he's dropped his left long sword because the bones across the back of his left hand and wrist are broken from the hail. He just plods, breathing hard toward the impaled mercenary on the ground, staring at him all the while. He walks to a spot in front of the dying man's face and falls to his knees. He stoops and pulls Slint's head back. The man is barely breathing--in fact, cannot breath correctly as Elloharin's sword has ruptured his trachea, and the blood trickling from his arteries has started to slow. But the man's soul has departed for the Abyss just yet, and his last sight is of a beaten and battered--though alive--Storm.

The dwarf leans low, speaking softly the last words Slint ever hears: "Ye lyin', usin' bastard." He suddenly grabs the hilt of El's sword and yanks it down, the blade tearing further through Slint's neck, catching his spinal cord and ending his life on the spot...all the while, Storm's eyes do not leaves Slint.

He slumps forward, his vision getting a little blurry. He forces himself to a stand and walks back toward the group, passing El first. "Nice sword ye got..." he mumbles on the way by. He makes his way to Delk's side and puts a steadying hand on the fellow dwarf's shoulder. "Me thinks..." he mumbles, breathing hard, "me needs a rest." With that he swoons, and falls over backward, landing on his rear, and then leaning over the side to lie on the ground, not wanting to move another muscles any time soon.

Skandor catches his breath, his eyes clenched shut from the pain in his chest, clenched so tightly tears escape the corners of his eyes as white speckles dance on the edge of his vision. Opening his eyes, he sees Storm return from finishing off one of the almost-dead Clansmen.

Slowly placing his bloodied two-hander back into the sling on his back, wincing again from the pain, the paladin sets his jaw firmly and slowly stands and glances at each of the party members. His eyes first, of course, go to Emma. She is hurt, but not nearly as badly as the rest of the group. He knows that his minor healing powers used on her when so many others were much worse off would only serve to irritate her. His gaze then stops at Elloharin for a long moment, contemplating the elf's actions against the defenseless men whose throats he slit. He ponders Emma's attempt to save the men by expending her magic on them. He feels torn, for a moment, for part of him agrees with El's actions, but part of him knows how Emma feels about it and he agrees with her. Perhaps now was not the best time to discuss such matters, but the Sword Bearer knew that another bout of philosophy was going to take place soon.

Emma herself eyes Elloharin a bit as she departs, biting back some very harsh words. A part of her wants to march up to the victorious elf and punch him square in the face, if for no other reason than to wake him up to his deeds. But the more rational part of her disagrees with that action, knowing that nothing good would come of it. Indeed, similar attempts with Crayne, Cy, Storm, and Hannibal had failed miserably in the past. 'What use is it to try again,' she thinks to herself, rubbing her temples as her headache mounts another assault upon her senses, 'None of them ever listen anyway. And physical blows don't open their minds any better than pretty words. Besides, they don't want Anhur's guidance. And they don't want mine either...'

Finally, Skandor strides over to Canter, who appears to be the worst out of the bunch. Kneeling before the man, Skandor crosses his right arm across his own chest, across the tabard that displays the symbol of Anhur. His left hand gently lays on Canter's shoulder.

The paladin's eyes close, and his lips move softly as an inaudible whisper, the Litany of Healing, escapes his lips. When he feels the power of his deity, his head slowly rises, a soft smile on his face. The hand on Canter's shoulder glows a very dim blue, but only for a short, fleeting moment. But that is enough, as Canter feels slightly better (4 HP Lay on Hands)

He rises, then, and surveys the area. Seeing the few prisoners starting to rouse, Skandor tiredly draws his gladius and approaches them, checking to make sure they are secure. He also uses one of their own cloaks, tearing it to bits, to gag each one of them, as well. Finding the knots to be acceptable and the men to be bound and gagged securely, he goes about the task of rounding up the dead, bringing the bodies together near one of the damaged tents, but within eye-sight of the prisoners. Perhaps the sight of their dead and bloodied comrades will make the prisoners a little more...cooperative.

Skandor then performs the short, quiet Ritual of Final Rest for the gathered dead. He obviously does not enjoy the death, and the killing, but instead views it as something that must simply take place sometimes.

Emma returns to the held Clansmen. Hearing the moans of the unconscious one, she looks in his direction, but sees that Alara had already bound him tight with rope. Fishing in her pack, the priestess takes some more rope, retrieves her broadsword to cut it, and then proceeds to tie-up the one held Clansman that she was able to save. Looking at the slashed throats of the other two, she can only shake her head. 'What was that fool, thinking?' she wonders to herself. Her gaze wanders back toward the ruined campsite. 'I guess he was just making sure everyone was safe...including his friends on the other side of the camp. But still, there was no need to kill these men. No need...' She looks at the two that are dead and says aloud, "I'm sorry. Your life was taken needlessly...partly because of the choices you made in life...and partly because of our own. May Anhur's judgement be swift upon you, and fair in its completion. And may he have mercy on us as well..."

She shakes her head again, waits for the holding enchantment to wear off and then marches the two captured Clansmen back to the campsite. Herding them to sit with their four groggy friends, she wipes her broadsword clean upon one of the nearby blankets and resheathes the weapon. The priestess gives a nod of thanks toward Skandor for completing the Ritual of Final Rest without her. Her head was still killing her and she was in no mood for performing such a ceremony...for indeed their was little rest in her own mind, much less any that she could spare for the fallen.

El slumps where Skandor left him. Bleeding. He is too drained to move. His eyes are closed tightly, and the breath is still running through his slight body in ragged dragging gasps. The pain is tremendous and yet there seem to be moments when there is no pain at all. He seems to be losing consciousness. Suddenly he cries out.

"No! No! No! Stop it!"

Skandor, who has just taken a few steps away, stops when he hears this, confused. He turns to look at El, and looks around El. "Friend Elloharin, are you alright?" Skandor asks. But when the elf does not reply, Skandor moves closer and kneels next to the elf. "Sir... what is the matter?" After a short time, he finally does speak.

The breath rasps through him. El shakes his head in delirium. Behind his tightly closed lids he sees fire. Great red gouts of it spurting from a half formed memory that hovers on the outside of his consciousness. He licks his fingers covered in blood. What happened? What happened? He was shooting arrows at an incoming Clansman, defending the dwarf captain, and then nothing. Only flashes of memory are left to him. Dead looks and ruptured throats. He thinks he hears a strange laughing behind him and turns to look. There is nothing but a dead and destroyed camp. No...wait. Is that the shadow of a strange, and deformed old man? Clutching the bolt still stuck in his stomach, El holds his slim body up on one arm. He attempts to crawl toward where he perceives the laughter coming from. The pain is too much, he falls back and rolls over onto his back. The bolt standing upright.

"Leave me alone," he whispers in delirium, "leave me...alone."

The paladin rises and looks towards Emma, the true healer. The look on his face is obvious enough for her to read: there is something more wrong with the elf than meets the eye.

Emma sighs heavily and approaches the rest of Rinder's Six once again to check upon the wounded. Noting that Skandor has already improved Canter's condition, she temporarily passes over him to visit Storm and casts her last minor curative spell upon the Dwarf.

Storm sits where he plopped down on the ground next to Delk, slumping other and breathing rhythmically. He tries to keep his left hand as still as possible, as the shattered bones begin to ache with the wearing off of his adrenaline rush. A quick thought passes through his head: Would he ever be able to use this hand again with a long sword? Then another thought, this one provoking an ever so slight twitch: Could he ever pick a lock, or a pocket, or delicately disarm a trap again? Suddenly this shattered hand was quite a problem, for he knew that breaks such as this rarely heal right...

He sits up, breathing a little harder, genuinely concerned, just in time to find Emma walking her way. Storm recognizes her motions and words as she begins the healing spell, and a soft smile cracks Storm's pained visage. He closes his eyes as Emma's warm touch sends her healing magic through her body, and suddenly his left hand grows hot. He looks down to it, and to his astonishment it is glowing a slight orange! The glowing quickly disappears with a slight tingle, and, to Storm's pleasant surprise, so does the pain.

He ventures to flex his hand, and he does so with no problem. "I be a son of a gnome," he mumbles. "That there healin' fixed me bones right in me hand! By the Gods, me's thought me two handed days be done with! Heh ha!! Thank ye priestess!" His expression is a happy one. He stands, though he once again swoons, a reminder that he is not quite fully heals. He uses Delk's sturdy form for support, all the while flexing his hand back and forth, amazed at the priestess's ability to heal broken bones. (6 hp restored to Storm)

Soon Emma delivers her Orison, and with a smile and nod in thanks Storm feels energized enough to move around. He first, though, looks at his other wounds. His injuries take a secondary role, though, when he notices his armor. "Arrr, I be a son of a gnome!! Those bastards be hackin' me cowhide ta bits!" He hastily and angrily removes his leather armor, inspecting the torn and shriveled thing. He goes up to Canter. "Say, er...ye be a leather worker...can ye be fixin' this fer an old dwarf pal?" He holds the tattered armor out to his friend.

Taking the battered armor weakly from Storm, Canter looks at it carefully. "This can be repaired. But not tonight, my friend. Remind me, when all this is over, and I will see to it."

Then, feeling somewhat naked without any armor on, he fishes his still shiny chain mail armor out of his sack. "Guess it be time I be breakin' this in," he announces to the group with a wink. "I's won't be no good at sneakin' round with it on, though," he quips as he slips the chain over his head.

With that, he goes to work putting all the dead bodies in an orderly pile somewhere. 'Fricken' ice storm...' he thinks as he takes his first good look at the carnage that occurred. 'Durn magic...' In the process he searches all the enemies' belongings, putting weapons into piles as he's done in the past. He's particularly interested in any crossbow bolts, as he knows he'll be practicing with his new weapon sometime soon.

As the aftermath plays its course, Hannibal quietly composes himself but is still unable to rise. He thinks for a moment that his legs may be broken but after a quick check finds them to be relatively undamaged. He looks around the area, the same feeling of disbelief as he sees Canter and Storm being cared for. Once he even feels someone laying hands on him but in his numbness is unable to tell if it was a heal spell or just a concerned party member. Not in all his days serving in the Duke's army, in all the battles against the Orcs, never did he ever feel this way.

As Emma hovers over Hannibal, she looks into the thief's eyes. Oddly, there is very little judgement in hers. She casts her orison and then pauses before she passes on to the next person in line. "Well," she says simply, "I assume your revenge was taken upon Bernigan. I hope it brings you rest..."

Hannibal looks into the priestesses eyes, unable to focus entirely but still making out her concern. He had always dreamed of this day, the day he would avenge his ladies death, but never imagined it like this. A sense of grief hit him, but why? Not for Bernigan surely, but why did he feel so empty? Unable to speak, although he tried, Hannibal could only stare back at Emma blankly.

For a very long time Hannibal sits in the mud, next to the fire, in the destroyed camp and just stares.

Alara sits quietly near the fire, tending to the wound on her arm, wincing at the pain. She accepts the healing given her by Emma with a nod. After several minutes she finally stands and looks around the ruined campsite.

"We should look around and see if there's anything useful here," she says to no one in particular. "I wonder if they would've kept maps, or a log of where they were going." She turns to look at the rest of the party and sighs heavily. "Well... at least we all survived."

She sets off towards the tent the others were battling in, assuming it was the tent the 'leaders' were in.

Crayne is mentally exhausted having put all his resources into stopping the ice storm. Closing his eyes for a moment he slowly gets his breath back.

His Uncle taps him on the shoulder, "Crayne my lad, it's okay now. You've stopped it!"

Crayne opens his eyes again and wearily rises to his feet with the help of Karelth.

"Here!" Karelth says as he hands back Crayne's staff.

Crayne nods and immediately uses the staff to help him walk. He takes the ring from his finger and gives it back to Karelth eager to get rid of it. 'A weight from my mind,' he thinks to himself. It is then that the destruction faces him. Entirely gobsmacked by the scene Crayne has nothing to say. It is then that Emma makes her approach demanding explanation.

Emma turns to address Crayne, whom she considers the "general" for the group who approached the tent during the ambush. "So what happened exactly?" she quietly asks him, not showing any anger, just curiosity, "Wasn't it supposed to be a quick strike to disorient and cause confusion? We were to scatter their horses and cut down a few of their men...then fall back. Wasn't that the plan?"

She rubs her temples again and squints with the pain of her headache. "Our part went off without a hitch," she offers, "We took a couple of scratches but we handled every single Clansman that came to investigate the horses. Next thing I know, we hear an alarm on your side of the camp...then the ringing of blade-on-blade...and then quite suddenly ice-stones start falling from the sky!" She eyes the Ring of Water Command as Crayne hands it back to Karelth. "Did circumstances suddenly warrant the use of that thing?" she asks.

Crayne sees the wounds and the damage done to the rest of the Six. "I am sorry!" he says looking about at everyone, "Is everyone still here?" he questions.

"Yes," Emma nods, "All are accounted for from Rinder's Six." She intentionally mentions the group's name for the benefit of the prisoners. 'Let them know who delivered justice upon their heads,' she thinks to herself, 'And with that, the legend will grow...and maybe these Clansmen will start to fear the law a little more.'

It is then that Crayne turns to Emma in a somewhat embarrassed fashion, "I will tell you what I know Emma. Please do not judge me for I am tired and weary. If you wish to scold me then leave your words for the morning!" Crayne says with a saddened face.

"No scolding," Emma shakes her head, "I'm tired, too. My head is splitting. And, I'm just not in the mood." She gives a weak smile and adds, "As you say...maybe tomorrow morning."

"What occurred was as to plan! The group to the east startled the horses and it was then that we attempted to collapse the tent. However, on my approach the tent suddenly became invisible. For some reason unknown to me the ten foot radius must have included objects. This was not my intention from the outset and so I must have copied the spell down incorrectly or I must have cast it wrongly. Thus, I will have to review my notes on that spell and amend the the mistake!

"It is that that prompted Bernigan into action. At that stage I didn't think we were too bad off as I still maintained the invisibility and began to move back from the tent. However, it was then that Storm chose to attack. I don't know whether it was due to the tent becoming invisible, that I can't say. But he cut through the tent and dived in. It was then that Hannibal immediately followed."

"So Storm dove in?" the priestess interrupts. She leaves the rest unsaid, but it's clear that she would have expected Hannibal to be the one leading the way.

Regardless, it's still unclear to her if Storm did it for noble reasons or something just as dark as Hannibal's motivations had been. After all, it was evident the Dwarf held some sort of personal grudge against at least one of the Clansmen, too...the one with Elloharin's blade pinning him to the ground. But maybe Storm had reacted that way because he knew anything else wouldn't have been enough for his friends to survive the encounter.

She looks across at the burly Dwarf and addresses the rest of the group. "Storm's actions just might be the only thing that saved your lives...aside from that icy hail, of course," she says, "If you had hesitated and lost the moment of surprise, the tables could easily have been turned against us. We might have lost half the group. A noble deed on his part then...perhaps?" Although her voice seems to support the Dwarven warrior, from his angle Storm can see a shadow of doubt behind her eyes, reserved only for him. She suspects the truth. That much is evident.

Storm looks right at the priestess, too hurting to do anything more than look at her. He meets any glare or stare she gives him with an equal one of her own, and doesn't look away until after she does. He may not be the wisest of dwarves, but he knew what she was getting at. Nonetheless, he felt quite satisfied at Slint's death. That bastard had his day, he thought. He smiles, knowing that Emma didn't know the whole story, and most likely wouldn't find out unless she really dug. Storm smiles at Emma...he liked that bit of information.

"Well!" Crayne continues, "I didn't know what to do! There were about fifteen men sitting near the fire and about another six or eight men in the tent. With odds like that I thought it suicide for me to reveal myself for I am a mage and I am not a warrior. Backing away still from the tent it was then that Canter too took it upon himself to enter the tent leaving just me invisible and Karelth hiding. Seeing more of the enemy rushing into the tent I had to do something! Canter, Storm and Hannibal were dying in there!

"It was then that my Uncle handed me the ring! Taking cover behind one of the tents I put the ring on and tried to create something from the stream over there!" Crayne points over to the stream. "I tried to create a water elemental! However, the next thing I knew I was in control of a huge ice sheet falling from the sky. I tried to direct as best I could but it was tiring and took nearly all of my concentration. The ring weighed so heavy on my hand. Seeing the destruction that it was causing I did my best to stop it and eventually I managed it! That is all I know Emma!"

The priestess nods. "You did well, Crayne," she answers, "I'm sure it took a great effort to summon up the power of the ring...and even more to control it." She gestures at the item, now in his Uncle Karelth's possession. "It might be better if you held onto it now, Highbrow," she suggests, "If anyone else tried to use it, I don't think they'd do as good of a job.

"Besides, if we plan to locate the Ring of Fire and eventually face down Paros, himself," she says, "You'd better start learning how to control that thing. Just don't overuse it. The toll would probably destroy you. And let us know when you're going to use it. Otherwise, the results may well destroy the rest of us. Agreed?"

She looks around at everyone else, implying the decision should be agreed to by everyone. To her, it's not only important to confirm the ring will be put to use...but also to show Crayne that everyone has confidence in his ability to control it.

Crayne moves to the rest of the group. He looks to Storm and notices the state he is in. He can't help but feel a certain amount of guilt as he casts his eyes about. He sprinkles some herbs into his water tank and hands it to Canter, "Here!" Crayne says, "Drink this! It should help with the pain! Pass it about!"

Canter thanks Crayne, taking a small sip of the drink. Then he passes it to Storm nearby. The dwarf eagerly accepts Crayne's painkiller potion, trusting the mage completely and unknowingly taking a little more than his actual share. He gulps it down and follows it with a big "Ahhh..." and a loud belch.

It is then that Crayne turns back to Emma, "What about Bernigan? Is he still alive?"

Emma motions toward Hannibal. "Ask him," she bluntly states, "If anyone would know, I'm sure he will..." With that, she turns and finishes administering to the wounded.

Alara, meanwhile, returns from her search of what remains of the tent. The place is completely destroyed, with bloodstains on the wet ground and puddles where ice balls have melted, and then even re-frozen. There is the crushed top of a small wooden table, and underneath a small leather backpack. Retrieving the backpack, Alara brings it closer to the fire to explore its contents.

"Just some clothes," she says quietly, disappointed, as she removes the nice shirt and trousers from the bag, plopping them on a nearby stump. "And then there's this..." she says, removing a rolled-up piece of paper. Unrolling it, she can see it is a map of Raimead, very similar to the one Canter purchased. Written on the map is a dark black line leading by Nickton, through the Baron Rothenshire's estate, and directly to the Spiked Peak.

"It looks too simple, too direct," Skandor observes as he looks at the map over Alara's shoulder. "I would have expected them to take a more roundabout route."

"And so would most, I think," Alara replies, looking up to Skandor, the sparkle of the fire reflecting off her eye, "So perhaps that's why they were planning on a direct route."

Skandor nods, considering the idea. "It could be also that they were pressed for time. They only had the wagons for a short time, I think."

"In the morning," Emma says, entering the conversation after finishing her Orisons, "I will call upon Anhur's power to insure that the prisoners answer our questions honestly, and will attempt to speak with Bernigan's spirit. Between the two, we should get a pretty clear idea of what they're plan was."

Then Alara gasps, reaching into the bag. She carefully pulls out a gem, easily the size of a large man's fist. It is intricately cut, with a diamond-like pattern. Its color is a deep, dark red, and the firelight reflecting around inside illuminates its shape spectacularly. Holding it in her hand Alara thinks for a moment she can even see it shimmer on its own.

"Woah..." Canter says, dumbfounded.

"Now that could be worth a pretty copper," Elloharin says from his seat on the other side of the fire. The glint of the gem caught his eye, and now he looked over to see what it was.

Crayne, approaching the excitement, quickly declares, "We will not be selling it! I detected some faint trace of magic in this camp. I'm not sure where it came from, but that ruby could be it. In the morning I will want to explore it closely!"

Later, when Storm gets a moment alone with Hannibal, he whispers to him in Thieves Cant. "Heh, the priestess be thinkin' I be responsible fer the attack, and she be likin' it! Heh! Ye ever be thinkin' that? I be likin' it, though, now she ain't be givin' ye no words. Hey, er...do me a favor, okay? She don't need to be knowin' 'bout Slint an me past, right? Let's just keep it fer us, eh?"

Hannibal looks up to his dwarven friend, offering a weak smile in return. "I'm glad you're okay, friend, I was afraid when I went down that you may run into trouble. How's Canter?" Hesitating for a moment, he considered the name Slint in his mind...who was Slint? It was then that he realized Storm's aggression at the tent had not been centered on Bernigan, as he had thought, but rather a vendetta of his own. Smiling again, this time more enthusiastically, "Okay, I won't mention it if you promise to tell me the story sometime."

"An' hey," Storm adds. "Me's glad ye got that sucker Bernigan. Me's glad...ye got yer revenge. We be the revenge brothers now, eh? Heh heh ha ha ha..." His chuckle trails off and he slaps Hannibal hard on the

shoulder.

Hannibal shakes his head and smiles as he watches the stout walk away. Not ever in his life, not even Cahners's in the army, had he ever had such a trustworthy friend. The irony of it all, Hannibal thinks as he sits by the fire, is that it was between two thieves!

Once all the bodies are accounted for, the prisoners bound and gagged, and the camp searched, the party reconvenes near the fire, now burning low.

"We have no horses," Canter explains, "Ours we left in Nickton and the caravan's are long since gone. So we'll need some more animals before we can move those wagons anywhere." Canter yawns as he finishes.

"Then we might want to stay here tonight, to guard the valuable ore," Alara suggests, looking around at the area and scrunching her face at the sight, "as disgusting as that may be."

Storm looks around the group, suggesting, "There be nice spots in there field, with no blood 'n all."

"...And we could still keep a close eye on the wagons from there," Canter says, nodding to the dwarf.

"Fine then," Emma says, rubbing her head and her eyes. It sure was getting late, in a few hours the sun would be up, too. "We should set up a watch for the rest of the night, I think."

"And then in the morning some can get our horses from town, while others see to the questioning!" Crayne says, following the priestess's train of thought.

"I am feeling strong, still," Alara says, looking to the tired Shield Maiden. "I will sit the first watch."

Morning arrives quite quickly for everyone. Bones ache, muscles are sore and battered. Backs are stiff and joints crack. But it is good to be alive this morning, and the cool, crisp winter air, with the breeze from the sea to the north and the spectacular mountains all around, make for a glorious morning. Rations are distributed and the fire is quickly re-lit.

Surely it wasn't a good night's sleep, but it would have to be enough. Looking around the group as they finish their breakfast and refill their canteens and waterskins in the nearby stream, Crayne considers the day's plan.

"We will need to send some to get the horses," the mage explains, "and some to handle the questioning. Naturally I will be there for the questioning, as will Emma."

Canter raises a sore arm, volunteering, "I will go with the group to town to retrieve the horses. But I cannot go alone."

"I will join you, Canter Tarp," Karelth says, calmly rising from his seat.

Canter nods to Crayne's uncle, looking around the group to see if there are any other takers. Hopefully this trip would be short and painless...by the gods they didn't need another fight like that for a while.

1. Canter gained 4 hp from Skandor's healing. Storm gained 6 hp from Emma's healing. Canter, Alara, Elloharin, Hannibal, Skandor, Storm, Delk, and Emma each gained 1 hp from Emma's Orisons. Every character also gained 1 hp for rest overnight. The new totals should be as follows:

Alara: 15/26, Canter: 9/36, Crayne: 15/15 + 6, El: 7/19, Emma: 21/35, Hannibal: 7/21, Skandor: 8/17, Storm: 12/40, Delk: 18/38, Karelth: 11/11

2. The booty:

The very large red gem; 25 crossbow bolts (procured by Storm), 7 crossbows (fair quality); 12 long swords (fair quality); the map (which is essentially the same as Canter's map, a copy of which is one the web page); a total of 30 gp, 10 sp, 25 cp found on the bodies.

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