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Alara quickens her pace a bit and leads her group of horses up towards Canter. When she reaches his side she turns and smiles at the man. "There is much I can learn from you," she says. "Hopefully we'll have enough quiet time during our journey's together that I may do so."

Canter turns to the half-elven girl and smiles as he looks upon her. "Well, Alara, I for one don't mind teaching you. And I'm sure if we undertake this quest the priests keep babbling about, we'll have plenty of time..."

She continues back towards the camp at Canter's side, humming quietly to herself as they walk.

Just before the camp is within sight she says, "I wonder how the questioning is going. I hope they are able to get enough information to convince Captain Delk. If we can avoid it I don't think we should try to face the drow.

"I've never faced any of them myself, but my mother has told me tales of their evil deeds." She sighs heavily at the mention of her mother.

Canter looks quickly to Alara, but doesn't really answer. He is intent on returning to the camp to see how the questioning is going. After all, the answers to those questions could well determine their future, and the future of the kingdom!

As she concludes questioning the Clansmen, Emma starts to walk away, but then turns back to regard the leader. "And what 'service' is it that these Drow were supposed to perform for the Blood Clan in exchange for your ore?" she asks. Mental visions of assassinations and similar disruptions of the new government spring to mind. Her hand tightens into a fist as she knows the Blood Clan would easily stoop to such crimes. After all, they had done so in the past...

Skandor watches the interrogation with deep interest, and in an equally as deep silence. Emma was quite skilled, both with the questioning and the effective use of her spells to aid in that questioning. He watches with a glimpse of satisfaction as the men are forced to tell the truth, and the one, noted as their remaining highest-ranked individual, is forced to confess. He watches Emma closely, he watches her technique and her demeanor. He watches... and learns.

The leader looks hard at Emma, feeling the constraint of her truth-saying spell upon him. "I won't tell you," he replies plainly.

Frustrated, Emma looks to Storm, who at that moment happened to look up from his inspection of the gemstone. Her look said it all, and with a nod of understanding, Storm closes his other fist (the one not holding the stone) and punches the leader hard across the face, easily breaking the man's nose.

"Fine! Enough!" the leader finally says after two or three more punches. Emma knew that such violence shouldn't be necessary, after all, this man had been beaten in battle. But sometimes some people just need a little more reason to talk, and with the fate of the kingdom hanging in the balance, she wasn't going to let the captive control the questioning.

"The Drow were supposed to...supposed to...they were supposed to assassinate Bryant in Merriam during the coronation."

Her fears confirmed, Emma decides that the questioning is through. She looks to Captain Delk to see his reaction.

"I be convinced," the captain finally says to Emma and Crayne after much apparent deliberation. "I can convince the Clans not ta sell to these vermin. But we still gots to get the Duke to work on the treaty, or we ain't sellin' the ore ta him, neither."

"A reasonable expectation," Emma diplomatically agrees. Inwardly, she wishes Naeron could have been with the Six at this moment to lend his support and understanding on behalf of the Duke. But, recalling the half-elf's less-than-skillful mannerisms regarding Dwarves, she quickly reconsiders. This is probably for the best.

"Before we asked you to accompany us on this fact-finding trip," she explains, "We met with Sir Duke Bryant and he is indeed open to a renegotiation of the treaty. It is his advisor, Paros, that we must steer clear of in these matters. Once we return to Parton, perhaps we can arrange for a meeting between you and the Duke...alone. We'll certainly try..."

Then she goes to preparing Bernigan's body and summoning his spirit. Soon the image of the evil diplomat is hovering in the air before them, and answering their questions defiantly.

Hannibal wants to kill Bernigan again! Even in death he mocked Hannibal as he did in life, giving the thief absolutely no gratification in his triumph. The only solace Hannibal could take at this point was that Bernigan was on his way to a special place, one reserved for the most evil and vile of people. A smile pierces his lips as he thought of this, Bernigan wouldn't laugh again that he was sure of.

Smiling in response to Hannibal's question ("Where is Singe Alei Vei?"), Bernigan's spirit looks down upon Hannibal with narrowed, empty eyes. "You will not find him here, you fool. Go home, poor Hannibal Smith. Go home!"

'What did that mean?' Hannibal thinks to himself, becoming very intent. For a moment Hannibal's thoughts are lost on the answer, and then Hannibal listens to Bernigan give an answer to Emma in regards to the gemstone. But such things did not concern him now. He takes a few steps away from the body, hand stroking his stubbled chin as he thought to himself. Already the remaining Clansmen had promised retribution for the acts of Rinder's, but would it be from just the Drow or rather the weight of the Clan itself? Had Bernigan broken away from Singe or was he still a vassal of the Clan lord?

Hannibal lets his thoughts go back in time, to the frozen plains of Bigamore's Dredge again. He had replayed that battle in his mind so many times before and yet to no avail. It would seem that his demons would forever haunt him. Just prior to that battle, Hannibal remembered his Lord speaking to a lieutenant about 'Intelligence' and how it was very important here. Hannibal had not understood at the time but realized quickly what he meant when the Orc archers turned out to number in the thousands as opposed to the hundreds as the spies had estimated earlier.

Hannibal is brought back to the present by a movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he notices Emma watching him curiously. Although she looks only to be conserned, that look in her eyes betrays her and Hannibal knows exactly what she is thinking...and how she must be thinking right now about his question to Bernigan. Bowing his head slightly in respect Hannibal offers a muttered "Priestess" before walking off to be alone with his thoughts.

Emma watches the thief go, a frown beginning to mar her features. 'Hannibal...' she thinks to herself. She pushes away from Skandor and sways a little upon her feet for a moment. Shaking her head, she clears away the rest of the fog which summoning a restless spirit into their plane had brought about.

"Thanks," she offers to the Sword-Bearer. Then her eyes move past him toward Crayne and Storm. "What do the two of you make of Bernigan's explanation?" she asks, directing the question toward them alone. "The rest of us weren't with the Six when you explored the Raimead Mines. What did he mean about the gemstone? Who did it belong to?"

Skandor stays near Emma for a short while, to make sure she does not have another moment of fatigue. His respect for her grows...admiration?...when she straightens herself and continues to question Crayne and Storm.

"I dunno..." Storm says distantly, his gaze not leaving the gem.

"I would wonder," Crayne suggests, "if the gem were not hidden in the mine much like Dire's chests were. Perhaps down one of the shafts we did not explore? That is a possibility, but to be honest, Emma, I don't really know the answer!"

As the party with the horses returns to the camp, Alara quickly ties her group to a nearby tree, making sure the rope will keep them from running off.

As the others return Hannibal welcomes them all back, showing no great deal of emotion other than just the relief of knowing his friends are ok. He even welcomes back Alara, regardless of their confrontations in the past, although he does not push for any meaningful conversation.

After greeting Hannibal, Alara crosses over to where Crayne, Emma, and Delk are standing. Her face shows concern when she sees Emma tired visage. "What happened?" she asks Skandor, her voice showing her concern.

"She is fatigued from the communication ritual. Bernigan's spirit was here, but it was strong and uncooperative. Emma is fine, or will be fine, shortly."

Alara turns her head from Skandor to Crayne and asks, "Were you able to find out anything?"

Emma looks up from the fire and waits for the other two to answer the girl's question. "Captain Delk is satisfied that Bernigan and the Blood Clan intended to sell the ore to House D'Urdenterrad of the Drow," she says, "What remains is a renegotiation of the treaty between the Duchy of Raimead and the Dwarves.

"Also, apparently, the ore was being paid to the drow for some kind of service to the Blood Clan," she adds, "And I'm certain it was for something nefarious... The leader claims it was supposed to be an assassination, of the king."

El is still quiet from the previous evening's battle. Even after his somewhat explosive outburst on Gerz, he quickly falls into grim and dour ruminations.

"What happened?" Crayne asks, "Very little I am afraid! Bernigan was as difficult as ever! What does intrigue me, though, is this gem stone! You see Alara, one of our very first missions as 'Rinder's Six'" Crayne pauses and ponders, "I think only me, Storm and Canter are left who took part on that mission! For a lot of different members you see have been of Rinder's Six! Come and go they do. Just like the wind!" Crayne whispers and smiles, "Although us three still remain like some sort of trinity I guess!"

Crayne says as he looks to Storm and Canter, "Anyhow as I was saying. The mission we undertook was of great importance and consequence for you see there were problems with the mining of adamantine ore from the mountains of Raimead. Miners were being sent to the mines in order to bring back the ore. However, they were

not returning! Thus, it was our duty to go up there and find out what was indeed going on. What we found was very queer indeed! At first on entering into a chamber we were attacked by a group of skeletons which we dispatched. Then we discovered an Umber Hulk which was huge and staring into its eyes would render yourself useless.

"Nevertheless after defeating the creature we investigated further using a map that we had found! What we found was of very strange consequence! If my memory serves me correctly there was a secret entrance that we found through an illusionary wall! Entering through there we came upon a chest and a few rings. After I magically unlocked the chest we looked inside and found a set of scrolls that were written by a Red Dragon mage by the name of Dire Luthor. The scrolls contained very valuable spells. I still haven't asked the Dire about those scrolls and what they were doing just lying there left abandoned. For something as valuable as that you don't just leave behind! I have never been happy with the mission of the Raimead Mines and it still troubles me today! Why had someone as powerful as Dire Luthor left those objects behind? Where had those undead appeared from? And now I have learnt that another object was found in the abandoned mines. This gemstone! My guess is that it was concealed away in part of the chest and that we didn't search the chest properly. That I curse myself for but at least now I have it in my hands!" Crayne says as he lifts the gem up from Storm's grasp, examining it.

"So that, Alara, was the mission of the Raimead Mines!"

Later that evening, around the fire and over dinner, Hannibal took the opportunity to address the group. "I know what you all must be thinking and want you to know it is unwarranted. I may be a thief by trade but still carry a warrior's heart."

Hannibal speaks softly, not wanting anyone there to think he carries any ill will. "I asked the question of Bernigan only to gather information that may save us in the end. Those Clansman over there," Hannibal points with his dagger at the bound prisoners for effect, "promised retribution for our actions the other day. Now four drow Rinder's had trouble with, an army of drow we could only run from..." he hesitates for effect, "the entire Clan you can't even run from." Hannibal gazes across the fire at each member of Rinder's Six present, hoping that they are heeding his warning seriously.

"I know only that for months Melinda and I ran from the Clan and it seemed as if each town we cam to the Clan was waiting. Now imagine that if that is the effect two nobody thieves can attract from the Clan, imagine what kind of attention the famous Rinder's Six could garner. Add to that an allegiance with the drow and we won't live to see the next spring festival." Hannibal takes a moment to drink from his mead, a drink he had taken too quite well since entering the service of Rinder's. It seemed to not weigh him down as heavily as beer or wine did.

"Singe was the Clan Lord for the region I worked, Marlond. He is powerful but not the head of the organization. In him I feel we may have a good opportunity to exact valuable intelligence as to the nature of the Clan's involvement. If the entire Clan is brought upon us, then we will want to know about it for sure. The decision is yours but I promise you that my vendetta ended with Bernigan, I have no hatred to Singe other than he is a dark and evil man."

Hannibal lets his last comments trail off, allowing the others a moment to take in all he has said. He matches no one's gaze, instead, intent on gazing into the fire and drinking from his mead.

Throughout Hannibal's speech, Emma continues to frown. 'I wish I could cast a Zone of Truth once again,' she thinks to herself, 'If for no other reason than to be sure of his words. He could easily lie to us.' She pauses for a moment, considering Hannibal's actions in the past, and finally concludes that he's probably being truthful. 'He hasn't shown himself to be a liar...,' she reminds herself, 'To others, perhaps. But to us, he's always been forthright with his words...even if they are often in opposition to my beliefs.'

"Your words are wisely spoken Hannibal!" Crayne replies. "You did well! You are wise to see that the drow will now try and take some sort of retribution against us. Your contact with Singe may well indeed be of great importance to us in the near future. That is if you believe that you could extract information from him!"

"So when you asked for Singe's location," Emma attempts to clarify, "It was because you feared for our safety following the Clanman's threats of retribution...not because you intend to track down your former Clan Lord?" She waits for the thief's accepting nod and then continues, "I can't tell you what a weight that removes from my heart, Hannibal." She struggles to her feet and tells him, "Honestly, I feared for your soul.

"I know most of you don't believe in my religion...," she says, a hard edge momentarily coming to her voice, but quickly softening, "Or care for my rant. But, I'll try to communicate one last thing to you, Hannibal. Anhur does come to judge us all for the choices we make in this life. And sometimes a choice to exact personal vengeance can lead to a long list of crimes that tilt the scales in the wrong direction. You claim that you still have a warrior's heart, and as a priestess of Anhur, I would agree with you. I don't think you ever lost it. And, I think everyone here believes that as well. Whatever choices you made long ago upon joining the Blood Clan are behind you now. With the death of Melinda and your unborn, you have experienced great loss...a severe punishment that no doubt cuts to the bone. And with the death of Bernigan, your soul can now be free...or so I've prayed on your behalf."

Hannibal squirms slightly in his seat, uncomfortable with being spoken to in this manner in front of the others. He listens to Emma's words, although avoiding her gaze.

The priestess continues, "I think Anhur and Nire have heard those prayers, whether you want to believe so or not...," she explains, "But just because they've given you a chance to start your life over, doesn't mean everything will turn out roses and sunshine with no effort on your part. You're now faced with another choice, Hannibal Smith...much as you were long, long ago. Consider it well. And perhaps this time, your choice will have better consequences."

Hannibal thinks for a moment about approaching Emma with a question he has had but thinks better of it. She still seemed very weak, even some time after the casting of her spell, and would need rest. "There will be time for that later," he mutters to himself quietly.

The priestess winds down and retakes her seat. She picks at her food, half-heartedly listening to the rest of the party's plans. Her own thoughts are instead busied with considering her feeble attempt at providing guidance to Hannibal's lost soul. Would he listen? Would he care? 'Time will tell,' she reminds herself, a phrase taken from one of the religious writings of Nire instead of Anhur. But more importantly, did she even care that much herself anymore? How much of that diatribe was just religious rant that she felt obligated to mention because of her service to the caste of Anhur? 'Why can't I stop caring?' she asks herself, 'Is it because nobody else does?' The rest of her meal goes uneaten as she excuses herself to go to bed early.

Skandor watches, brow furrowed with concern, as Emma gets up and heads towards her sleeping area. His mind screams to stop her, to think of some reason to keep her there. But, as his mind fumbles for ideas, she quickly walks by.

His eyes follow her for a moment, then return to stare into the fire. He ponders the possibility of approaching her now, to speak with her, but she would most definitely consider that bad form. He decides he will wait, let her get some rest from the trials of the day, and speak with her later.

Meanwhile, his eyes dart to Hannibal, and watch him for a few moments. Hannibal didn't look old enough, but maybe he would know. Maybe he could answer a question or two that has been burning in the Sword Bearer's mind. Was there a connection?

"Sir Hannibal," Skandor says, clearing his throat and addressing his warrior comrade. "The Blood Clan, would you happen to know how long they have been in existence? Would you happen to know if they have or ever had any activities around the city of Merriam? And lastly...would the name 'Goril' ring a bell to you at all?" The paladin looks sideways at Storm, as well, thinking that perhaps he might also have something to say on this matter.

Hannibal looks curiously to Skandor, wondering if there was more to this man than met the eye. How could he know anything about 'Goril'? Taking in a breath, Hannibal replies. "The Blood Clan has been around a long, long time, Skandor. Longer than you or me have been alive, that's for sure. Though I don't think they're as old as the kingdom itself. As for Merriam, I would assume they would have a cell operating there. After all, they seem to be in Raimead, I know they were in Marlond, I would bet they are in Seden, and with this new information about the assassination plot, I would expect they'd be in Merriam too. After all, Merriam is the kingdom's capital city. No thief alive would be stupid enough not to have connections there."

Hannibal draws another breath, coming to what he can tell is the sensitive part. "'Goril,' yes, indeed that name does sound a little familiar." Hannibal pauses, as if he had to think. But in reality, there was no thinking necessary. How could he forget? "Goril...he...a man by that name recruited me and Melinda, one rainy night in Bigamore. He promised us wealth; he promised me many women. He promised Melinda jewels prettier than she could ever imagine. Once we signed on, he went somewhere else...most Clanners fairly high on the pecking order move from cell to cell...it keeps them honest, they can't stash too much of their own for they'll have nowhere to put it. So I never saw him again."

The thief watches Skandor as he answers. "Does this sound like the Goril you know?"

That done, Hannibal settles back into his mead, taking a long pull from his cup. As an afterthought, he addresses Skandor again. "And don't call me Sir Hannibal, I'm not a Knight...and never will be."

Emma arises early in the morning, before the sun has actually crested the far-off hills. Moving quietly toward Skandor's bedroll, she picks up her broadsword along the way, leaving it inside its ornate scabbard. Upon reaching the Sword-Bearer's side, she squats down and places a hand on his chest. She quickly motions him to be quiet when he awakens, making it clear that they aren't in any danger, lest he think the Clansmen have returned to retake the ore or something.

Skandor awakens from the slightest touch, his hand darting towards the handle of his gladius just a foot away. But he instantly relaxes when he sees Emma hunkered down near him. Her eyes search his for a moment and then she points toward his sword, motioning for him to follow her away from the camp.

He smiles, and rises as quietly as possible. He does not bother to don his chain mail, but he does grab both his claymore, and his gladius. He carries one in each hand as he follows Emma a short distance from the camp.

Once they manage to put some distance between themselves and their sleeping friends, she turns and draws forth her broadsword. "I am unfamiliar with your local temple's customs," she explains, "But I assume that morning rituals and sparring strike a familiar chord in all sects of our caste."

He nods, his eyes still blinking away the sleep in his eyes. "Yes, Shield Maiden. Shadow-sparring was required at my temple for the first several years of training, but eventually, each initiate was paired up with another for sparring each morning. Your partner changed daily, to keep you on your toes, to prevent us from getting 'set' in our routines. The tactics of one student might be totally different than another."

She executes a Cavalier's salute, the same maneuver Cyveiliog used a handful of times in honor of the defunct organization that honored Anhur long ago in service to their King. Skandor furrows his brow...was she mocking him? Or was she being playful? Or was this some sort of opening routine practiced by her particular church?

Then she lashes out with her weapon in a series of straight-forward attacks...all of them designed to simply take Skandor's measure. Physically, she knows she cannot best the paladin, but her experience helps to keep her on even footing with him.

His curiosity is swept aside as she lashes out at him. He knew she was measuring him up. He knew that, at some time, this would happen. She obviously had much more experience in the field than he did, and for a relatively inexperienced paladin to be assigned to her protection, she had to know if he was up to the task. Was he worthy? Perhaps that's what all of this was about: a test.

And in turn, he easily provides her with the workout she needs, pushing her to the limits of her swordplay knowledge more thoroughly than any Blood Clansman could. "Good...," she encourages him, falling back on the defensive as his own series of counter-attacks begins. She proves much more effective at deflecting and defending against an opponent, something she's had more experience doing as a Shield Maiden. But, in Emma's mind, she needs to become something more than that now. A Shield Maiden's title and talents aren't enough to accomplish her goals. She has realized that much in the course of her journeys with Rinder's Six.

Skandor presses the attack, using his main strength: offense, against her main strength: defense. His muscles awaken in the cool morning air, the 'burn' begins to set in as he swings his massive blade. It takes severe discipline to pull his blows, so that they would not injure her, accidentally or otherwise. But he wields a large weapon, heavy, slow, and cumbersome compared to her comparatively light broadsword. He begins to sweat after mere minutes of this swordplay, and he smiles slightly, loving the feel of the weapon in his hands, his mind and spirit one with the blade.

"Now, counter," she continues, remembering the lessons from her weapons master back at Seden's temple. She slips her broadsword inside the Sword Bearer's next arcing swing, adding weight behind the ringing blow to knock the heavier weapon out wide. She pivots and quickly turns full circle to close. "And strike," she finishes, pointing with her blade, but not bothering to follow through on the attack. Both she and the paladin still had wounds that they needed to be aware of.

"Tell me, Skandor," she pants while still holding her broadsword at chest level, "Have you ever seen a Cavalier's salute before? Or heard of the Cavaliers of Anhur?"

He gently shakes his head, comfirming her suspicions that, if he had indeed heard anything, it was minor and not very much.

She smiles at his confusion. "I wouldn't expect you to," she explains, "Very few have ever heard of them. I've only read about it...but there was a former member of Rinder's Six that tried to join them early in his career. Cyveiliog. You met him briefly before he was reassigned. The group wasn't comprised of Sword Bearers, or Shield Maidens, or affiliated with our caste in any official capacity. They were all warriors and knights that simply honored the tenets and teachings of Anhur while in service to the King. Cyveiliog was rejected by the group the first time he applied and eventually the organization fell apart anyway, probably even before you or I were born. But, with the appointment of Sir Duke Bryant as King of Rinder, they shall return. Cyveiliog will make it his personal mission, I think."

Skandor nods. "From what little I know of the man, Lady, he will do an exceptional job, I believe."

She relaxes and steps back, eyeing the Sword-Bearer for a moment. "Where does your allegiance lie?" she boldly asks with a soft voice and a curious expression, "Many claimed in the histories that the Cavaliers honored their King above their god. As Sword Bearers and Shield Maidens we've often been accused of holding our god above the good of our Kingdom and the common people. How do you see our role in society, Skandor?"

Skandor is taken aback by the sudden questions. His opinion has rarely mattered to the few important people in his life. He knew that she would test him physically, but he had no idea that he would be tested mentally. He takes a deep breath, pretending to wind-down, while his mind races. He wants to answer 'correctly', but he suddenly has the feeling that this line of questioning did not have a 'wrong' or 'right' answer. So, he does what he feels he must: he tells the truth.

"My allegiance lies to our god, and our Kingdom both. It is said in the Scrolls, as you well know: 'god and Kingdom, Kingdom and god. Both are required equally to have the other. If one shall fall, so they both shall suffer the same fate. And if both shall fall, all that follows is Chaos.'

"Perhaps the Cavaliers honored their kingdom above their god, and perhaps we of the Caste honor our god above our kingdom. And perhaps, since the Cavaliers were gone from the kingdom for so long, the balance shifted, which might perhaps explain some of the woes that have befallen the kingdom?

"As for my role--our role as paladins...sword-bearers--we are the militant division of our Caste. Where the clerics and priests are the spiritual leaders, we are the leaders on the field of battle. For even in the Caste, there exist inter-dependencies of all sorts. The spiritual portion of our caste needs the militant portion for protection and support. The militant portion, on the other hand, can not act without spiritual guidance, for then their actions would be without reason, guidance, or rationale. Indeed, it is much akin to the relationship of the kingdom and our god, or even a man and a woman. But in the end, I see my role as protector of the people, equal to my role as servant of my god."

"You asked me once how I perceived Hannibal's desire for revenge," Emma replies, "And I stated that I saw our mission more clearly in terms of completing the King's mission, delivering his enemies into his hand, and helping to safeguard the peace between the Duchy of Raimead and the Dwarves. Hannibal's motivations took second-stage.

"What am I then?" she asks, sweeping her broadsword in slow arcs that brush the dry stalks of grass that make up the field, "A Cavalier or a Shield Maiden?"

Skandor raises his eyebrows, and nods. "I can see why you would question thus. In this particular instance, you put the good of the kingdom above all else, especially your friend's motivations. For a short time, you were playing the role of a Cavalier more so than a Shield Maiden. But lady, there is nothing wrong with that. The balance I spoke of, the balance between Kingdom and god that you and I have been taught, the balance is seldom ever exact. The scales usually tilt to one side or the other, however slightly. The scales," he pauses, pointing to the image of a perfectly balanced set of scales on his tabard, "are rarely so balanced. We only seek to keep the balance as best we can, but it is unfair to Anhur--and yourself--to expect perfection."

"There are times when I feel more at ease with the notions of the Cavaliers of Anhur," Emma admits to him, "They undertook heroic deeds on behalf of their King and countrymen, while motivated by their faith in Anhur's laws. But this business of shepherding the individual souls of those under the law grows tiresome to me. My words of encouragement are seen as interference. My attempts to lead by example go ignored or they are resented outright. I am useful to this group not as a moral compass, but rather as a tool...just one more weapon to suit their individual goals.

"For Hannibal, his goal was vengeance. He's taken it now, but his course still remains uncertain. For Crayne, I sense it's power and prestige most of the time, especially when motivated by the jealousy of a rival or his own self-pride. But, occasionally, he does surprise me. For Storm, well it's hard to tell much about the rugged Dwarf, but it's clear his past is just as shady as Hannibal's and perhaps more so. At times, it seems like he just relishes conflict...which in and of itself isn't so bad, as long as it's put to a useful purpose. But if it borders on recklessness or viciousness...well, sometimes it's hard to tell. The same can be said of our new acquaintance, Elloharin. The Elf is unusual. Something is haunting him, and the deaths of two defenseless men appear to mean very little to him.

"For the rest of the party, I'm a source of divine strength because of the 'favors' I can bestow from my god," she continues, "And I'm loathe to given them out so freely anymore because I sense they go unappreciated in their proper context. Curative spells, holding enchantments, auguries and divinations...all of these things have helped us to be successful in our missions, whether upon the battlefield or not.

"But to hear Crayne and Storm voice their opinions on what they see as an overdependence on Anhur," the priestess explains, "Or the fact that they feel they are being made to conform to Anhur's beliefs," She shakes her head and trails off for a moment. "I just don't understand how they can see Anhur's powers displayed right in front of their eyes...their wounds sealing closed, our enemies defeated, our choices simplified by heavenly guidance...and yet they still reject him. It's not like I expect them to bow down and worship Anhur on the spot, mind you. But doesn't he deserve some respect? Some reverence? Some acknowledgement for the things he's done to help us succeed?"

The priestess spins her blade and then slams it back into her scabbard. "Well, I'm just about through caring anymore," she says, "All they want is a Cavalier of Anhur in their midst...preferrably one that says very little about religious beliefs at all. One that will recognize their own ingenuity in overcoming problems, rather than the divine spirits of the gods moving among them. And for now, I've subdued my feelings and become just that...a Cavalier of Anhur, rather than a priestess..."

She leaves the words hanging, then notices the sun finally rising above the far-off hills.

Just as she looks up at the Sword Bearer, Skandor raises a hand, cutting off what might be her next statement. He had let her talk, let her share her feelings. Some of what she mentioned, he had already suspected. He had sensed a change in her attitude, her posture, her very spirit. He feared for her, but until now, until she had opened a small part of her soul to him, he had not felt the right to speak of it.

But now, after speaking to him quite frankly and about such personal matters, he feels now is the time.

"The sheppard in the hills, he herds his sheep, keeping them together and safe. He knows that there is safety in numbers. He knows that if he can keep his eyes on each one, none of them will stray, none will be lost to him. But, he knows that he only has two eyes, and there are many more than two sheep.

"Do you think the sheep want to be hearded? Of course not. Their spirits urge them to be free and without guidance, for their minds are not aware of the dangers that lurk beyond the shepherd's protection. Occasionally, one or more of these sheep will sneak away from the shepherd's protection, but usually, they fall prey to wolves.

"Now, dear lady, do you think the shepherd ever gets tired? Do you think that he ever has moments of hopelessness? Moments where he questions his own actions, his own reason for being the protector? And of course, sheep are sheep...do you think he ever gets frustrated that they do not show their gratitude to him in some way? Of course he does. But he remains ever vigilant, ever watchful, lest there be no more sheep left in his herd.

"Sometimes, the people you help do not show their gratitude. That is the way of sheep, of those people who are not enlightened to all that you do for them. I, for one, am extremely grateful," Skandor pauses just long enough to give Emma a deep, low bow. "Now, you addressed individuals.

"Sir Hannibal has indeed obtained his vengeance. Only time will tell whether it was for the better, or for the worse. Matters like that frequently turn the individual's heart to darkness, but not always. You can help him along the right path, even if he is resistant. Master Crayne is a mage, and you know what they say about mages in the church. But even wizards and warlocks are not without souls that need tending. Sir Storm is a dwarf, and therefore his thoughts and feelings, and yes, his spirit, are somewhat alien to us. The same can be said of friend Elloharin, but I fear there is something more, something tragic, that lies behind his almond-shaped eyes. Lady Alara is still a mystery, as well. Perhaps she, more so than any of the others, would be most receptive to your ideals. I would put sir Canter into a similar comparison as lady Alara.

"All of these individuals are your friends, your close companions through many trials. And though they do not worship our deity, I know in my heart that they are thankful for him. They see your clerical powers, and they realize that through you, he touches them. They simply can not deny this, they simply must believe their own eyes. Some people just do not want to believe, since that is what they have been used to their whole lives. For others, believing in a deity or acknowledging a certain one might go against their own particular beliefs. And still others...are just afraid.

"Now, you can deliver your message in one of two different ways. You can go for the straight-forward, blunt and full-press attack," he says, raising his hand with his 2-hander in front of him then slowly, he drops it to his side. "Or, you can go for a more subtle approach, which is still effective, but maybe not quite as overwhelming," he says, raising his other hand with his short sword, then slowly bringing it down to his side.

Skandor looks long at Emma, trying to gauge her feelings, her thoughts. "You simply can not abandon Rinder's Six as their spiritual guide. Times are only going to become more difficult, more challenging. Your leadership, your abilities, your strength and wisdom are going to be needed far more than ever before. For you to step down as the spiritual guide, for you to withold his gifts to you that you deliver to your friends, that would be as if the shepherd in the hills stood from his post, glanced one last time at his sheep...and simply walked away..."

She looks up at the Sword Bearer and changes gears saying, "Morning rituals. Will you pray with me here? Or do you prefer privacy?"

Skandor bows deeply, smiling about as widely as he has since meeting Emma. "I would be most honored for you to lead us in the morning prayer, Lady."

After returning to the others at the campsite, Emma goes about the task of healing. She does so expressionlessly, her body revealing her lack care. Still, she goes about the movements mechanically, and Anhur's healing power brings with its warmth, the mending of wounds.

Soon after breakfast, Canter and Alara begin to harness the new draft horses to the wagons, making sure each wagon has at least one draft horse (one has two, actually), while the second horse on the others is one of the riding mounts. Camp is broken. The captives are placed in the wagons and their manacles are tightened for the ride. The others mount their horses, with Canter, Hannibal, and Skandor sitting atop wagons to drive them. By the time mid-morning arrives, they are ready to leave.

"To Parton!" Canter announces, holding up a fist. And with that, they are off.

The going is slow, for the wagons are very heavy. In fact, the trip takes all day, and it is well into the night when they finally arrive at the city gates of Parton. Following Canter's lead, they head into the city and straight for the castle. As they arrive at the castle gate, Canter explains their purpose to the guards, who send for a herald to direct them and their cargo.

It is close to midnight when they finally get inside. There, the Master Chamberlain is waiting for them. He yawns as he sits behind his desk, his candle burning low. The castle is very quiet and dark.

"Master Chamberlain," Crayne begins, "We are Rinder's Six, and we have returned to speak with the Duke."

The MC looks up sleepily at the mage. Slowly, he responds. "Rinder's Six? Well...under normal circumstances I'd have to wait until morning. But the Duke is scheduled to end his meeting with the Assessor of Taxation any moment now. If he is willing to meet with you, then so be it..."

With a smile and nod, Crayne thanks the MC, and promptly leads the group, prisoners and all, down the corridor toward the now-familiar meeting room. As they march down the hallway, over ten pairs of feet stomping on the red carpet all the way, the door to the meeting room at the end of the corridor opens. First to appear is a new face, unknown to anyone in the party. He is tall, with pointy features and a tightly trimmed black beard. His deep red cape flows behind him in the draft. He cocks his head as he sees the group approaching him and gives a look behind him, probably toward Bryant.

Stepping aside, this new man allows Sir Bryant, Duke of Raimead and Council Knight to step into the doorway. He smiles as he sees Rinder's Six approaching, and then turns to head back into the room.

Yawning as the party enters the room, which features a number of ornate tapestries on the walls, a beatuiful oak table in the center, and various artistic portraits of Dukes and Duchesses, Bryant sits in the chair at the head of the table.

"You are returned, I can see," he begins. His voice reveals his state: he is tired. Surely this has been a long day for him. "And I can see you have with you Captain Delk, and..." he looks past Karelth and Elloharin to the prisoners, "...those men."

"These men are bound, Sir!" the other man in the room says loudly to the Duke. Then turning to Emma, he asks, "Are they prisoners? The enemy? From Caerloon?"

"You must forgive my Assessor of Taxation," Bryant interjects calmly, "he means only to see to my safety." Then after a beat, "do tell me, and quickly for I must to my Lady in my private chambers, what have you to report on this issue of the dwarves? Do you bring from them an agreement to end the blockade? What news?"

1. HP Status including all healing in this turn: Alara: 26/26, Canter: 25/36, Crayne: 15/15 +6, El: 20/20, Emma: 32/42, Hannibal: 19/26, Skandor: 21/26, Storm: 23/44, Delk: 29/38, Karelth: 11/11.

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