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Elloharin asks, "Mage Crayne, what made you decide to pursue magic?"

Crayne looks up at Elloharin as he flicks through one of Halbredan's many books. He drops the book on his lap as he listens to the question. Silence envelops the room for an awkward moment. Crayne looks to Karelth and then finally breaks the silence, "Let us just say Elloharin that I had my reasons!"

He then picks up the book again and begins to find his place. Old Halbredan in the corner coughs and then moves his face back into the seclusion of the shadows.

A moment of time passes when again Elloharin breaks the silence. Crayne sighs and mutters, "Come on then! Out with it lad!"

Spurred on, El asks his question more fully. "Have you ever studied any magic philosophy? You ever wondered where it comes from? Why it's here? How can the gods exist in a world where magic reigns supreme? I've seen you clash with the priestess--we all have-- what is the source of your doubt?"

Crayne looks up at Elloharin, "You certainly don't beat about the bush with your questioning Elloharin the Dimmed. Regarding the first question. I have taken some interest in that side of affairs and have often thought about it during my study and my time in contemplation. I do think quite often about magic and the fact that I have it as a gift and why it is that only a few appointed ones are able to use it. Some stronger than others. Where it actually comes from is a good question and one which I often ponder over. I am sure that you do the same as you wouldn't be asking me the question if you didn't. I will share with you some thoughts that I have put together as to its origins.

"Magic has always been here since the beginning of time. It is, I believe, the true source of life. We are all of this source, every human and animal that breaths in life. It is magic that is our essence and gives us presence. It is our ability to think and to imagine. It is our intelligence. We are, I believe, all of magic. Each of us has a part of the one source, some stronger than others such as me and you Elloharin when compared to say Hannibal or Storm. Because we have this strength in magic we are able to tap into the true source only in a very minor way but we are able to do it. Of course there are mages who do become so powerful and entwined with the true source that they merely break away from their physical self and again join their true source. Why then you may ask are we put here in these forms when we will eventually rejoin the source that we originated from on the event of death. Well, I personally believe it's to learn--for the source to grow in strength and to advance.

"Now in terms of how the gods relate to this, well, that is another good question! I believe that the priests are also powerful in the source. For they are often clever and can wield the source in similar ways to what we can. But it is the source that they tap into--it is just in a different manner to ours. Perhaps not as great a way for our methods are stronger there can be little doubt of that! So you see, Elloharin the Dimmed, they are some of my thoughts and you do not have to believe in them. But what I shall say is that we are all of the same essence some stronger than others. We are one!"

Crayne smiles as he stares into the fire. Taking the book again from his lap he again begins to search for his place where he last left off. He then thinks twice and looks up with a raised brow, "Any more questions?"

Elloharin listens to the mage's words intently. It was an interesting interpretation--and one he had never heard before. Though recollection of his past is a dim and painful thing, El vaguely remembers a more elf-biased version of the story. For a moment he considers responding to the mage--then stops himself. Master Crayne looks more interested in his manuscript than he does in having a discussion. El bites back a sigh of disappointment and returns to copying 'Blindness' from Halbredan's spell book.

Pausing over his quill he looks into the darkest corner of the room, his eyes unfocusing. Magic...it had always been a part of his existence. Of course, an elf is part magic anyway, but his earliest memories are those spent in study. To him magic was indelibly impressed upon everything. There were days when he felt he could almost see the energy that filled it all. When a spell was cast he could feel the little specks of energy near him--within his own body even--begin to vibrate madly. Everything around him would be shaking in preparation, gathering closer almost bending reality toward the spell caster. And then the spell was released and the world would shoot back into position wobbling uncertainly like a the canvass of a beaten drum. There were some things that seemed more magical to him. A tree was more energetic than a stone. An elf more energetic than a dwarf. Than a human too. At least in most cases. It seemed the energy inherent in Crayne or Halbredan glowed more powerfully than the likes of Hannibal or Skandor. When he looked at Emma, he felt something else--something alien. It did not seem to be the same energy in him--in Crayne. Oh it was there alright, but not in the way that a magical being would gleam. He could not stare at she or Skandor for very long without feeling a slight shiver. "Perhaps there power is derived of faith, and faith alone...not...not magic. Perhaps there power is derived on the strength of their will--not on life itself. If that were true-then there minds must be truly remarkable indeed. How could anyone have such trust?"

Realizing he spoke the last, he slams his jaw shut, hoping Crayne had not heard him.

Storm's nerves are tense, and his adrenaline flows as the sounds of a marching army reaches his ears. Taking a little while to realize that he was still deep in Rinder, he soon realized he was indeed safe. His curiosity, though, was most certainly piqued.

"Fine work, I say, Mister Tarp," the Captain says to Canter. "You and your men should be commissioned for the kind of bravery I've heard was displayed in that affair. Say, my company will be setting camp about a mile south of here. I would like to invite you and your company to my personal tent later this evening, if you'll join my officers and I?"

Crayne nods at the Captain, "Well! I cannot speak for the rest of my companions but I would be delighted to accept your invitation!"

"As would I, Captain," Emma replies, "And for the record, it's not just the men that took care of that business in Seden. Sometimes we women play a role in such matters, too." She smiles with obvious mirth, not really attempting to start a gender-war or anything. But still, she does make it clear that there's a priestess of Anhur among Rinder's Six, if he hadn't already heard.

The paladin pulls up beside Emma after she finishes speaking, and adds, "I, too, would be honored to dine with you tonight, Captain." He smiles and bows his head respectfully.

Standing a few feet behind and to the side of Canter, Storm listens to their conversation with interest, though he grows a little impatient with all their formality. Upon hearing the invitation to visit the Captain's camp, Storm, without hesitation, immediately chimes in. "What kind o' food ye got?" he asks directly, treating the question as seriously as he would one about his own life. Apparently, the stomach of a dwarf never rests...

Parst chuckles to himself, smiling from atop his mount. "And you must be the dwarf, Storm." Storm replies with a sharp nod. "Worry not, good warrior. My cooks with come up with the best stew you've ever had--in an army camp!"

That evening, Emma does her best to change into nicer clothes. She's determined to look more like a noblewoman than a trailworn rider. She combs her hair and washes her face and hands with some of her drinking water. She also changes into her best robe rather than her usual tunic and breeches, and only carries her broadsword belted at her narrow waist. Lastly, she puts on her golden earrings, shaped like miniature suns, which match nicely with the shiny holy symbol around her neck.

As the army breaks for camp, Skandor remains near Emma's side, ever-watchful for some assault or trickery. With so many people in such a small area now, an attack could come at anytime, from any direction--and he only has two eyes!

Hannibal agrees to stay at the camp to keep an eye on things there while the others venture down the road a ways to the army camp. There they are met by two guards, who quickly show them through the moderate camp and toward Parst's tent in the center. It was certainly not as sizable as the Baron General Wade III's camp, but that camp was a more permanent one whereas this was just for the night. The smell of cooking over fires wafts through the air from all directions, and Canter and Alara can spot other soldiers cooking their own evening meals over small fires.

Skandor sighs, glancing around at the various men in the warband. Surely they would be safe amongst this group? If they meant harm towards Rinder's Six, they could obviously overwhelm their small group with numbers. 'It is at times you feel most relaxed, when you should be most ready,' the Scrolls had said. Skandor softly smiles, nodding slightly towards no one in particular, and sharpens his guard. He casts a quick glance at his newly-cleaned tabard, making sure it is straight for the meeting with the Captain. His full-battle gear was a bit cumbersome for such an event, but he felt more comfortable in this attire rather than the loose fitting clothing of a common thief.

After they convene at Captain Parst's personal tent, Emma acts as warm and friendly as possible. It's unclear how loyal the Duchy of Archadia is to the throne, despite the captain's assurances. "So, Captain," she asks as some cider is poured into goblets, "What can you tell us of the road ahead? Are you and your men going to join the royal troops at the border? What dangers might we encounter if we journey that way as well?"

The sword-bearer listens to Emma's questions, and listens for the captain's words with great interest. But for the most part, at least for now, Skandor remains silent.

Elloharin, like Skandor, is a little wary of the Captain. Likewise, he does not complain--just follows the group as usual.

"Yes, Emmalya, my men and I will join up with the other troops of Rinder at Fort Farenhead, serving as reinforcements there." He looks about the table, taking in the faces of Rinder's Six. "There are certainly dangers that lie ahead of us. We are, after all, at war. Since the destruction of Fort Mitchend a few months ago, and your recapture of Fort Dillend, the rest of the border forts have come under increasing pressure. Regular patrols, though doubled, are more frequently attacked, and Farenhead itself has come under direct assault on one occasion. I am sorry to report that there is a buckling in the line where Mitchend once stood, with Caerloon's forces fortified along the road inside Rinder. Naturally, we are very unhappy about this, and I am told that plans for a counteroffensive are being drawn up. It's just that..."

"Just that what, Captain?" Crayne asks, sensing that there is something lurking just below the surface.

"Well, mage Crayne, to be frank, the men in my unit (and I suspect in others as well) need someone to serve. We need a king, plainly speaking. They will follow my orders--to live or to die, to fight or to surrender--without a king. But they need a king to inspire them. And the longer our kingdom waits to crown a new king, the weaker our forces will become, and the further into our kingdom the enemy will be able to advance, I fear."

"Captain," Canter responds, finishing his glass of cider as a bowl of stew is placed in front of him, "We have just journeyed from the Duchy of Raimead. And I can assure you that there the issues involving the Dwarven Clans, which were impeding the coronation in Merriam, are very close to being resolved. You can tell that to your men, Captain. Rinder's Six says it is true."

Crayne smiles proudly.

Changing the subject, Elloharin asks the captain a question. "So Captain, where are you from? Have you heard much from your family recently?"

"I was raised in a small fishing hamlet about a day's travel west of Conoran, in Archadia, along the Northern Sea. Fortunately, I was able to visit with my wife and young son just a week ago, before we set out for the southern border."

"Has Rinder begun to fortify its towns?" El continues.

"Yes, the kingdom has. The good news is that there are not many major towns along the border. Most of it is open farmland with isolated houses and villages. The dukes and duchesses of the duchies along the border--Welten and Adela--have levied and dispatched troops to the larger towns and many of the smaller villages. Unfortunately, this draws heavily from the troops these duchies can send to the border forts."

"Are you aware of any troop movement in Caerloon right now?" El asks.

The captain sighs as he thinks. "I do know of one trend. Reports reaching my unit as we marched by Merriam indicated that a sizable number of troops were moving west, parallel to the border on the Caerloon side. This should relieve some of the pressure recently weighed upon the eastern forts, such as Dillend, Lowfield, and Sinele (all the way by the Orcish border). But at the same time, it places increased pressure on the western half of the border and the forts there: Farenhead, Rycote, and Ironlast. Lucky for us," he continues with a (sarcastic?) smile, "we are heading to this very side."

"Would these movements indicate any change in the strategy on the Caerloon side?" Skandor asks.

"Some might think so, Sword Bearer," Parst replies. "Mitchen, Dillend, and Lowfield were seeing a lot of activity as of late, which led many in the late king's military to suspect a push was to be made into Rinder through the east, following up the Sinele river. This would have, if effective, taken Caerloon through Adela, Marlond, and ultimately into Seden. But in recent weeks we have seen that strategy shift; it is almost as if the priority has changed and that the push will instead come on the western side, through Welten and into Raimead. We don't know the reason for the shift."

"I would like to ask you, Captain," Crayne says, "if you are aware of a certain place. We are in search of El-Balans."

"'El-Balans?'" The captain searches his mind, trying to remember. "I have heard the name only once before, when I was just a child. My mother...she used to sing to me. I once asked her where she learned the song she sang, because it was so beautiful. She told me that she had learned it from a cleric of Hathe, and that he had composed it while in study at El-Balans. But that was the last time I heard of it, and that was some fourty years ago. And who knows whether the cleric my mother actually spoke of actually wrote the song, or whether it was passed down, like a legend, to speak of El-Balans?"

Captain Parst, having finished his stew, leans forward over the table. "Does El-Balans still exist? They said it had a magical, mystical aura about it, that for some it was as close to pure happiness as one could get while on this plane. But doesn't that sound a bit too fantastic? Did it ever exist?

"Why would you venture in search of El-Balans, I wonder." His eyes narrow and he regards the group, trying to read Emma's facial expression. He is intrigued, and his brows furrows. "Is this some mission from the Knights?"

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