~ The Quest for the Ring of Fire Command: [Home] [Previous Turn] [Next Turn] ~

Hannibal watches the two praying men for a moment; was he losing his nerve? Was he just so uneasy that now it seemed everyone was out to get them or were those men as threatening as he thought they might be? For a moment Hannibal questions his own sanity, and then he remembers the words of Bernigan. In fact the only thing he had learned from that worm in the years he suffered under his tutelage. "Always expect the worst puke!" Bernigan had said, Puke being his pet name for Hannibal. "And you will never be let down." Hannibal smiles at the sudden irony of it all. "Words to live by eh Bernigan?" he mutters to himself.

"An unusual accent, to say the least," Emma mumbles aloud as Amos speaks to them inside the bare sanctuary, "I suppose that's normal enough for these parts, though. We're fairly close to the border and the people living here probably have little contact with those on the other side of these deserts."

Canter's eyes flash to Hannibal, the fighter sensing the thief's unease. "I don't like the looks of this place, something just doesn't seem right. Stay alert," Hannibal whispers in thieves' cant.

"Hmm," Storm mumbles back in agreement. "There be tracks outside, lots o' 'em. Wheels, horses, and feet. Me not think it special at first--" he stops his thieves' cant as he doesn't want to appear out of the ordinary.

Hannibal had been privy to enough ambushes in his day to be able to smell one. This man was sweating and nervous, his eyes darted about, he planned something and it would not benefit Rinder's Six, this Hannibal knew! Quietly Hannibal steps backwards, merging into the deep shadows that filled every corner of the Church. He draws his dagger but leaves his long sword sheathed, for now. Slowly, cautiously, he begins to circle the room.

Still shivering from the cold outside, El rues not having the money to purchase an extra blanket. The days are cold and the nights are colder. He withdraws into what cloak he does have, as if trying to expose as little skin to the elements as he can. He recalls how Skandor had lent him a blanket, and the warmth it provided.

Something the Captain had said had disturbed the Dimmed one. He wondered now if they were right to be pursuing this mysterious ring. Even though the magic intrigued and fascinated him, he could not help but wonder, that this trip very nicely put Rinder's Six out of the way. In all likelihood they would miss the Duke's coronation. And if there were still an attempt on the human's life, if not by drow hands, then by Blood Clan, then they would be no way for them to reach Merriam in time. He tried to remember by what

authority they had accepted this quest. Had it been on the orders of the Council? Or the priest? He had been with the group only mere days, and he had not even thought to question the loyalty of those around him.

Now it seemed, that everyone's loyalty was subject to doubt. What if the Red Dragon mages had sent them on this quest? He could almost hear that mysterious voice he'd heard in the dinner hall at Parton so long ago, whispering commands instead of threats, "Go and find the Ring of Fire control, and bring it back to us." Perhaps it would be better for all involved if the rings were to stay lost. How can you protect something, when you do not know who you can trust to protect them?

El shakes his head warily. Who could he approach with these doubts? Certainly not Crayne, his thirst for the magic was too strong, he might perceive El's question as a challenge to his dominance. Of course not Emma. She would perceive the question as a threat to her faith--dare you accuse the church of treason? El grinds his teeth in frustration. How easily this quest confounded all the powerhouses in the Six. Crayne and his drive for magic, evidenced so strongly by his dismissal of El's question, "why did you start practicing magic?" Emma and her desperate search to defend her faith.

Storm? Could Storm even comprehend the vast forces at work here? Storm could be a valuable ally if he were convinced, but could he even be approached? Hannibal of course, was too concerned with saving his own skin. Something in Hannibal's past was just too troubling for him to even consider accepting the responsibilty of a kingdom. Skandor was a possibility. Of course, he too was fresh from the Church, but, he did not seem as zealous as Emma. Skandor seemed a bastion of level-headedness and careful thought. But then again, could he be trusted with such a doubt? He had been acting rather strangely toward the Shield Maiden of late. What about Canter? A possibility, but Canter rarely took a stand within the group. It seemed he was more fond of a supporting role within the Six. That left Alara.

El turns to watch the girl, standing Canter. She certainly was pretty. For a moment, El's eyes traced her form against the dim candlelight. The girl didn't talk much. He wondered where she stood regarding this quest? She'd seemed pretty adamant about not going back into Caerloon. Maybe she had good reason--but she had to realize it was only a matter of time before the war would take them into the camp of the enemy.

El pauses a moment to consider his own loyalty to the cause. What did it matter to him? He wasn't native to Rinder, was he? A dim headache began to plague him. He forced himself to try and answer the question. What was he to Rinder or Rinder to him that he should care? Frankly El wasn't sure. But where else could he go, what else could he do?

El's ruminations are deflected by the surrounding sanctuary of El-Balans. He scans the walls, looking for more detail. Could the settlement really be this small? El loosens his long sword in it's sheath, and runs through the words of his spells in his mind. More humans, he thinks as he spies Amos before them, always more humans. He meets Amos' eyes as they pass over him, and returns the glance with cool precision.

Storm takes a seat at the table facing the rest of the room, and noisily puts his right boot up on the table as he reclines back. He again gets curious as the priest pauses to stare at his daggers, and Storm's brow yet again crinkles in annoyance. 'What be this one's itch?' he thinks. His rogue's senses starting to make themselves known, Storm crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back, using the motion to disguise the fact that his hands are now resting on the hilts of two daggers.

"As is probably the case for most of your visitors," Emma explains, "We came here seeking knowledge most of all...though I'd be lying if I didn't admit your warm fireplace held a certain allure of its own." She smiles pleasantly, choosing to ignore the man's nervousness for the moment...presuming it's a natural enough reaction to such a well-armed band. She's more concerned with trying to use her etiquette to put him at ease.

"A long time ago," Emma says, "There was a priest of Hathe from El-Balans that researched a couple of wizards known as Vohnungt and Damacht. I believe he intended to write a song about the folly of their rivalry. Something about wizards and their all-consuming desire for power, I suppose. We'd like to retrace that priest's footsteps and follow the path he used to do his research. If you know of such a priest in your faith who undertook that mission, we'd be most grateful if you could tell us his name and possibly guide our attempt to follow him. Or, failing that, we'd like to request access to your library so we might pick up the bits and pieces he used to guide himself."

'Everything thing seems so plain and bare,' Crayne thinks to himself as he looks about the small sanctuary. "Very strange!" he whispers to himself as he finds it hard to believe that these men worship the arts. For there was certainly little evidence of it thus far. Crayne remains silent as the questions are directed at the priests of Anhur. Rather he moves back a little surveying the scene about him. He also tries to focus his eyes on the two men who are preying concealed amongst the shadows. Crayne clasps his staff and again turns his attention back to the nervous looking Amos. Everything here seemed to be not quite right in Crayne's eyes. He was seriously considering casting detect magic, but knew that the priest would take great offense if he caught him. Crayne looks to Hannibal and sees that he too isn't satisfied with the current situation. He decides to wait however and see what Emma and Skandor can up with.

Skandor freezes as the hair on the back of his head stands on end. He feels a tingle down his spine, as if someone had dripped a single drop of ice-water onto his back. Perhaps it was being in a church of Hathe, or perhaps it was the long journey making him feel a bit paranoid. Or, more likely, perhaps it was the odd feeling that Amos was hiding something from the group.

His eyes narrow only slightly as he takes in a deep breath. He focuses his vision, the Clarity of Justice, onto Amos. A moment later, satisfied with his reading, he acts. He leans forward, bowing his head. Others nearby might perceive it as a man bowing his head in prayer, the paladin's lips moving as if confessing, or speaking the words of some holy scripture. But Skandor speaks softly, "Amos, I sense an unease about you, about this place...what is the matter? Why the nervousness? Can you not speak of it now?"

Emma looks sidelong at Skandor. Curiously, she examines the rest of the sanctuary, concerned that she might have missed something. Two men sit across the chamber, but little else seems out of place. She does notice that Hannibal is missing. Had he stayed with the horses?

Regardless, she trusts the Sword Bearer's senses better than her own, and turns back to await Amos' response. After all, Skandor had been sent along to protect her, so if he thought something was amiss, she'd better allow him the opportunity to discover it. 'I just hope he's not being paranoid,' she thinks to herself. She smiles pleasantly again, prepared to apologize if the paladin is wrong.

As Emma exchanges the look with Skandor, Hannibal sinks deeper into the dark shadows of the room. His eyes dart about, scanning the walls as best he can for hidden doors and anything else suspicious. He does notice a crack along the wall behind Amos, a very even vertical line between the stones. He narrows his eyes, looking as best he can. It is dark and difficult to tell, but that could be a hidden or secret door. Elsewhere, the two men on the other side of the sanctuary continue to sit at the far end of the pew, as far away from Amos and his guests as possible. They have their backs to the party, and are quietly whispering amongst themselves, though there are long pauses between their whispers, as if they are listening as well.

Amos looks directly at Skandor, then to Emma, then back at Skandor. He swallows noticeably, his Adam's apple slowly descending on his neck. A bead of sweat falls from his cheek to the table as he leans forward to match Skandor. He whispers his rely, his voice quiet and strained. As he does so, his eyes dart to the other side of the room, toward the two whispering men.

"You'n are an observant one, Sword Bearer," Amos says, nodding. Then his voice is more strained as he emphasises: "They are here!" His eyes quickly shoot to the side, toward the men.

Canter's eyes widen as he hears Amos's reply. 'What in the Nine Hells could he mean?'

"How many," Skandor whispers, resting a hand on the table and concentrating intently. "How many are they?"

"They fill the sleeping quarters. At least fifty. And there were more. Wizards! And they murdered the Coreognate before some of them left! Murdered him!" Amos's face is red with fury, but his whispers grow louder, echoing through the stone sanctuary.

The two men on the other side turn around to look at what is happening. Their glances fall upon Amos and Skandor, both leaning over the table, their faces but a foot apart. Eyes narrowing, they nod to each other and then one of them rises, walking toward the party and Amos. The man wears a tabard of Hathe draped over his chain mail, but the hilt of his sword is clearly sticking up from his hip beneath the cloth fabric.

"Prayerleader Amos," the man asks in a calm tone, his deep voice seeming quite loud because he is not whispering. Still, in reality he isn't yelling either. But the difference is startling. "Is everything alright?" He cocks his head to the side, his eyes focused on Amos.

Was that a question or a statement? Alara wonders. She looks beyond this man to the other, who is standing at the end of the pew on the far end of the sanctuary. This first one is right by the door, about halfway between.

"J-j-just fine, thank you'n," Amos replies nervously.

"I'm glad," the man replies, his tone soothing. "We will need to speak with you in a few minutes, if it pleases you. We must discuss tomorrow's...service."

"Why, y-y-yes of course. I will be with you'n shortly." Amos replies. There is a tense moment of silence as the man returns to the other end of the pew, sitting back down.

"You'n see?!" Amos whispers back to Skandor. "They mustn't know that you'n know. They have the High Director. They will kill him too if we'n do anything wrong. Anything!"

Just then the main doors to the sanctuary open, a gust of chilled air flowing through the sanctuary causing the candles the flutter. A single man steps through, his hard-heeled shoes clicking on the stone floor and his cape curling around his fur-wrapped legs. He looks about the room, first looking to the two other "priests" at the far end, and then in the direction of Amos.

"Amos!" he calls. In the dim light--the sanctuary is lit only by candles, thus allowing Hannibal to hide, and outside it is a dark night--he cannot easily make out who these people with Amos are, though he does see their shapes. Likewise, the humans in the party have a very difficult time making out this man's features.

Those with exceptional night vision (Storm, Alara, and El) can, however, make out more of this man's features. His hair is dark, short and curly atop his head. His features are strong, with a defined jaw and dark eyes. He looks to be of perhaps twenty-five to thirty years old, weathered and experienced in the ways of the world, but not yet old and hardened. And his red cape is secured to his shoulders with golden buttons.

Alara and El don't recognize him, for of course they couldn't. They simply weren't there.

But Storm does. He was there, and he was closer than everyone--save Emma--as this man lay comfortably in his own den. Storm's eyes narrow and his hands curl on the two daggers resting at his palms. Slowly he lowers the front legs of his chair until they rest solidly on the stone floor beneath them. He is ready to strike, all he needs is the signal.

"You are needed now in--" This caped man suddenly stops himself as he perceives the party (whether he can see Hannibal hiding in the shadows is unclear). He turns to face Amos and the party, though he doesn't move from his position by the door.

But Emma can tell by his voice. She had hoped this day would never arrive. And she had secretly hoped that it would. Last time she saw him she was someone else, and when the ruse was up, she had made a clean escape. What was to happen this time? What were they to do? Would they be recognized? The others might not be, for those who were present were invisible at the time. But she would be instantly recognized.

And if she didn't control herself, she would melt like butter in front of this man. In front of Robert Wade IV.

~ The Quest for the Ring of Fire Command: [Home] [Previous Turn] [Next Turn] ~