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Turn 163.0: Late Night at Fort Dillend

Posted: 9/26/01

'Had it been so long?' Hannibal thought to himself, 'since Rinder's Six had been here fighting for their very lives?' He had been relatively new to the group and remembered this being the spot where the Paladin Edyrd of Kalt had fallen. It had been a sad day for Rinder's but not for Hannibal, back then he still had no love of life and thus found himself unfeeling of the loss. Things had changed a great deal since, though, hadn't they.

Inside, seated comfortably by the fire, Captain Wheeler of Fort Dillend sighs and smiles once more, his shadow cast large on the bare wooden wall behind him by the flickering light of the deep orange fire. "Tell me, good friends, what brings you to Fort Dillend? And how can my men here help you complete whatever task has been set before you?"

Crayne nods at Captain Wheeler, "Indeed! The weather has turned for the worst! It is becoming quite treacherous for travelling. Nevertheless we are all here now and it is good to be in such good company!" Crayne rubs his hands and then warms them by the fire. "In terms of our intentions we would like it if we could speak with both you and the mage Dire Luthor. You see we have something for the King. However, rather than travelling all the way to Merriam we thought we could entrust the item into yours and Dire's capable hands."

“Also,” Emma interjects, “We wanted to check up on our friends at the border and see how things are faring. We've come down from Jilten most recently and there seems to be a few troubles there. Apparently some elves have caused a bit of a stir. That was two weeks ago, and it’s quite possible they could have headed your way in that amount of time. Have you experienced any such problems here in Dillend? Also, we passed the army encampment outside. How's their morale? Have you had any more action since we last fought by your side here?”

Wheeler turns to regard the Shield Maiden, smiling warmly. "No, we have not heard any news of trouble with elves, not here. But then again, few would want to start such trouble with the garrison of troops we've had camped for the past two weeks. Their morale is high, priestess, but they are cold. Unfortunately, we cannot house them all here. Still, their officers keep them rotated through the fort's mess regularly, so none of them go without a warm meal."

Listening intently, Skandor stands behind and to the right of Emma, but is still able to see those gathered around. He listens to the replies, paying particular attention to any news of recent action, and the morale of the soldiers gathered around.

Hannibal stands to the side, by himself. He listens to the conversation with mild interest, showing more attention to warming himself by the fire. Diplomacy had never been his strong-suit and he left such things to the more charismatic members of the group such as Emma and Crayne.

The Captain leans back and sighs, "We have, however, had to send a few into battle. That General's troops have been sending small harassment parties out along the border, finding our patrols and firing upon them at range. We haven't lost many men to these trivial skirmishes, but they are a constant nuisance. And it makes me wonder whether they want us to become used to these small battles so they can then launch a new one...or whether these small encounters are meant to distract us here while the bulk of their troops move elsewhere. Our scouts have detected some movement to the west, toward the hole opened up by the destruction of Fort Mitchend, but those reports are, so far, unconfirmed."

Then, rising from his seat, Wheeler calls out toward the door. "Kevin! Send for Luthor!"

After a muffled, "yes sir!" and a few moments wait, the door opens with a creak, letting in a blast of cold air. Standing there in the door-frame is the towering figure of the mage Dire Luthor.

Crayne's smile widens as he sees his friend Dire Luthor. He moves up to him and shakes his hand warmly, "It is good to see you again Dire Luthor. There are many things we need to talk of." Crayne then turns to his companions, "I fear some introductions are needed. This here is Skandor, another of the religion of Anhur. A fierce warrior and a good man. And this here is Elloharin. He like us strives to learn the ways and means of magic. I, and I am sure he would be grateful if you could share with him any of those wise words that you confided in me, when I started out on the path of learning. It seems so long now since we last met. How have things been here since we departed?"

Skandor smiles as he offers his arm in a warrior's handshake towards the esteemed mage. "Dire Luthor, your reputation precedes you. I have heard an awful lot about you, good sir. Well-met."

Luthor takes Skandor's hand, returning the gesture. He simply smiles, nodding his head slightly to the Sword Bearer. Then he glances around the room, noting Storm and Canter, peering over Emma and Elloharin, and then back to Crayne.

"As you can imagine, Crayne, life on the border has been increasingly busy and complicated, especially given the influx of new soldiers over the past few weeks. Still, in my estimation, it is the path to victory in this unfortunate conflict."

Crayne continues, "Anyhow, the reason we have travelled here is to deliver an item to the Kingdom. As I said to the Captain earlier, Dire, the fort here was a more direct route than Merriam and we knew that we could entrust the item with you. Through our missions from the King we have come into a good deal of wealth and wish to donate it to the war efforts of the Kingdom against Caerloon."

Crayne looks to Storm who lifts the chest up onto the table. "There are 340 gold pieces, 155 platinum, and 6 gemstones in there," Crayne says with a quieter tone. "We hope that you will send it onto the King or use it however the King may wish."

Dire looks to Wheeler, and then takes a step closer, resting his hands on the still-closed chest. "If I may speak for our King, your efforts and your generosity are greatly appreciated in this time of need. Captain, will you see to it that this chest arrives safely in Merriam? Send one of your best guards, and I will see that it is magically sealed until such time as a member of the royal court rests a finger on it."

Wheeler nods in reply, then looks to Rinder's Six. "I wish to add my own thanks. You are a valuable asset to this kingdom."

Emma finally steps forward to give Dire Luthor an embrace rather than a mere handshake. “It is a happy occasion to find you still here at your post,” she says, “We have spoken with the Knights of Rinder, Sir Nigel the King’s servant, and Sir Duke Bryant before his ascension to the throne. With all three, we have told them of your bravery and service to the crown here at Dillend. Though the Red Dragon renegades may have attempted to frame you and sully your name, we have done all we can to set the record straight. And all along the border, even as far as Fort Ironlast, they now know that Dire Luthor is a friend and trusted ally of Rinder.”

"Shield Maiden Emmalya," Dire replies, looking Emma in the eye, "I am delighted in your personal growth since we first met, and I thank you for your shepherding of my reputation."

Emma gestures toward the chest of coins on the table. “If you think perhaps that some of that wealth can be used in the rebuilding of Fort Dillend,” she suggests, “I would urge you and Captain Wheeler to retain a portion before sending it to Merriam. Once it arrives there, there’s no telling how long it will take for the politicians and diplomats to divide it and send it back to those that are in need. We trust your wisdom in the matter, Dire. So please see that it is put to the best possible use.”

Dinner is then served and for a short while conversation drifts away from the cold winter and the growing war with Caerloon. To happier days, stories told and shared, celebrations, coronations, and the like. As the night grows late and all the food is eaten (as well as the wine drunk), the members of Rinder's Six begin to excuse themselves, beginning with Storm and Canter, who both head straight away to the barracks.

After dinner Hannibal thanks Captain Wheeler and Dire Luthor, and makes his way outside to walk the walls. He remembers the battle more vividly now, how he had been perched on the wall and shot arrows at the enemy troops below and how he had been attacked on the wall by two of the enemy guardsmen and barely fought them off. After a short while he notices Emma appear in the courtyard as well...

Before turning in for the night, Emma ventures out into the parade ground of Dillend’s square. Her eyes scan the wooden walls and battlements, recalling every vivid detail of the battle she once fought there. She looks up at the narrow walkway and remembers hurling her spear there, into a Caerloon soldier. She looks back toward some of the newer buildings, remembering their haste to eliminate the first Red Dragon renegade they had ever faced. The adrenalin had been so high back then that she hardly had time to consider how frightening the whole event had been for her. And it was mostly the grief of Edryd’s loss that had caused her to forget.

“Edryd,” she whispers to herself, crouching down slightly to trace the patch of earth where the first Sword Bearer of Rinder’s Six had given his life to save her own…an arrow meant for her, deeply embedded in his back.

Tears glimmer in her eyes, but she holds them back, promising herself to remain strong. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, remembering the funeral pyre and the words she spoke at his memorial, “I hope you’re enjoying the peace of the Halls of Justice...or wielding a holy blade in Anhur’s celestial army somewhere, dear friend. Life goes on for the rest of us in Rinder’s Six. But you’re not forgotten.” She scoops up a handful of dirt and crumbles the hardened winter soil between her fingers. Then she rises and moves on toward the gate.

Her path takes her out into the winter wonderland of the army’s encampment. Snow blankets much of the ground, some of it pristinely devoid of tracks. But there’s a path of footprints that winds toward the tents and she follows it with her boots making crunching noises and her breath steaming into the cool air. She greets each soldier that she passes along the way and seeks out several of them huddled around the campfires.

“Sword and shield!” she encourages them with the standard Anhurian words of battle, which are also commonly used by all soldiers of Rinder, “How’re you holding up in this weather?” She keeps moving among them, from one campfire to another, offering support, shaking their hands, lending advice and doing what she can to boost morale.

Finally, her steps bring her to the officers’ tents. Mentally, she checks them for any signs of the caste of Anhur. Surely her brothers and sisters would also be among the Merriam army, providing strategic guidance and support.

Hannibal watches the Priestess walk out into the camp, stopping periodically to give words of encouragement. He smiles, "Always with a warm heart willing to help." He stayed on the walls and watched her for some time, admiring her strength and willingness to help. Finally though the cold gets the best of his and Hannibal moves back inside and to bed. Tomorrow is a new day with a new adventure!

Meanwhile, Emma locates among the officers' tents, two Priests of Anhur, having a strategy planning session with four other officers. She is greeted politely, and sits in on the session for a while, learning about how another division of troops is due to arrive in a week, and how they will be stationed at the former location of Fort Mitchend, joining the division already camped there. But the draws on, and it is well past midnight. She does, however, spend a few minutes sharing her experience with the forces of the Baron General Robert Wade III, so as to better prepare the officers. Finally, Emma excuses herself as the meeting finishes, and heads back to the fort. She is a bit disappointed that she didn't get a chance to talk philosophy with the two priests, but she understands the importance of such strategy sessions and knew it was best not to interrupt, since the strategies made sense anyway.

Meanwhile, after dinner with Wheeler and Dire Luthor, Crayne, and Dire walk across the cold snowy courtyard into another building. Inside, they are greeted by a young man, perhaps eightteen years of age: Dire's apprentice. He is introduced as Aven, and he makes some space comfortable as the three more experienced mages continue their discussions:

Crayne begins, saying, "I have a lot of questions that I would like to ask you Dire Luthor and

maybe some information that you will value. First a question which has been plaguing my mind now for some time. A while back now we were given a mission to us by the King to clear out a Raimead mine

that was infested by a monster, so that the kingdom's miners could continue to work without hindrance. In the mines we stumbled upon the following." Crayne takes his backpack from his shoulder and pulls out the scrolls, "We came across these! They were contained within two small chests bearing the emblem of the Red Dragon School hidden deep in the Raimead caves behind an illusionary wall. They are yours are they not?" Crayne asks with a raised eyebrow.

Dire takes the two scroll cases from Crayne's hand, inspects them, and then hands them back to the Highbrow. "Indeed they are, Crayne. Does that surprise you?" There is a moment of pause. "Yes, I'm sure you tell me the truth when you explain the circumstances of their discovery. For I placed the scrolls there.

"I am--or was--a member of the Red Dragon School. You know this; I told you this when we first met. I am from the side, the minority, that opposed breaking away and supporting this unfortunate war. When it became clear that someone, who Rinder's Six discovered to be the renegade Red Dragon mages, was attempting to frame me for the murder of Sir Logan, my former liege, I did what I thought most prudent: I scattered the volumes from my spellbooks in various locations around the kingdom, including that Raimead Mine. I placed the illusionary wall. And I knew about the Umber Hulk, I surmised it would be enough to keep petty thieves away from my hard work. But you--Rinder's Six--were too strong for a 'mere' Umber Hulk, hmm?" Dire smiles to Crayne, patting the younger man on the shoulder. "Come let us sit and talk. I'm sure there is much else to discuss and we needn't dwell on such things. The scrolls are yours to keep, a gift from me."

Crayne smiles, then continues. "I have some news too of a mage who maybe of great danger to the kingdom. His power I believe is substantial." Crayne pauses for a moment. He knows that he has to be careful here. He didn't know whether Dire Luthor knew this mage. For all he knew the mage could be a close acquaintance. "Paros!" Crayne says, "Paros is the mage I talk of. He is close to the King--his most respected advisor. I will not go into details but we have more than good evidence to suggest that he was involved in a plot to assassinate the King. Well, we are positive that he was involved in hindering Rinder's war effort against Caerloon. I fear that he is a Red Dragon mage and one that may be on the side of Caerloon. Do you know of this Paros? He has a young apprentice by the name of Emerson."

Aven turns sharply at the name Emerson. Crayne notices this, as does Dire. Dire turns to his young apprentice, asking, "You know this Emerson?"

Aven nods slowly. "He was a young student with me...Paros claimed him nearly a year before you claimed me, sir..."

Dire scratches his chin, thinking. Then he turns back to Crayne. "Indeed I do know Paros. And indeed he is, like I am, a member of the Red Dragon School. He was conspicuously absent from the meeting at which the rift came to the fore, so I cannot be sure whose side he is on. Bear in mind, however, that the side he chooses may not be Caerloon's...it may be his own."

"Furthermore!" Crayne says, "On to more lighter things! I have already introduced you to a mage named Elloharin. He is skilled and growing powerful in the arts of magic. He has already acted valiantly with his time in the group. However, his mind is troubled and unclear and sometimes I fear for him. Not only him but the group too. I fear he could do something rash or even turn to evil when his power grows. Is there advise that you can give me in his training? Perhaps some words from you to him would help him."

Dire shakes his head slowly. "Crayne, I have an apprentice of my own now. I gave you advice when I could, but now my guidance must be mostly reserved for good Aven. If Elloharin is your apprentice, then it is for you to guide him. Guide him will teach you as much as it teaches him."

As if on cue, the door opens, and Elloharin peeks in. Aven goes to greet him, and Dire rises from his seat, motioning the elf to join the discussion.

"Finally!" Crayne says, "If I am not mistaken the academy of magic is situated within the Kingdom of Caerloon. Our next mission takes us into that kingdom and if it is possible I would like to venture to the academy. I have never been before and I believe it now time that I did. It would be good for Elloharin too I believe. Also, I still search for the 'fly' spell. Is there more you can tell me of the

academy and I would like some directions to the place if you could share them with me please?"

"The Academy..." Dire begins, exhaling. "The Academy of which you have been told lies in the city of Easden, along the Cahrendhur Ocean, about two days' journey west of the Caerloon capital by land, not counting the river crossing. I have been there, myself, though not in many years. It was once an exciting place of magic and discovery, philosophy and debate, experiments, devices, and learning. But it is deep inside Caerloon, and I fear it has fallen under the aegis of those Red Dragon mages who are loyal to the Caerloon crown. What has become of the more moderate thinkers and professors...I fear for the worst. There you may find the answers to many of your questions, Crayne, perhaps even your beloved Fly spell. But I do warn you, getting in would be no easy feat, and your northern, Rinder ways would quickly betray you. I fear for what they would do to you were you to be captured."

Once the questions have been answered Crayne begins to talk to the mage of more rudimentary issues. Sharing a bottle wine, the three of them (Dire, Crayne, and Elloharin--Aven turns in for the night) talk into the night, sipping at the wine and warming themselves by the fire. Perhaps something was forming that night. A great friendship between the three of them that could form some sort of unit in the future when the war was over. A new guild of magic, perhaps, with the ultimate aim of destroying its bad reputation amongst the common folk. One which would spread goodness and justice throughout the land, but also monitoring the misuse of magic. It was a thought which hadn't crossed Crayne's mind until now. However, it was a valid one, Crayne knew. He wasn't sure how important it was, but it had certainly set his mind thinking.

Elloharin looks around Dire Luthor's dimly lit room. The walls are lined with book shelves. Dire Luthor is an orderly man it seems, and the tools of his trade are placed in neat stacks on his desks and empty spaces. In one corner of the room, Elloharin can see a tiny laboratory set up, the candlelight flickering fitfully against the delicate glass test tubes. The conversation starts at politics and seems more than a little dry to the elf, but eventually in vino veritas, brings them to the purpose of their conclave: Magic.

By Elloharin's second glass his tongue is loosened enough to intercede in the talk of the more

experienced mages. "What do you know of the magic of the mind, honoured sir? My old master," El breaks off, his eyes going vacant and far away for a moment, "was deep in the study of it when...when..." El stops, searching for words.

"Let me try again. I have seen Magic change men, Dire Luthor, change them irrevocably. And so it goes for elves too. I once thought that magic was merely a force for our control. For our use, to be hammered, or woven, or sculpted into place. As you would use stone or wood to make a building, cotton, to make a cloak, clay to build a statue. But I have seen...the things I have seen. Lead me to believe that perhaps...perhaps magic uses us--"

Crayne tries to break in, but Elloharin overides him for the moment. "Let me finish. Crayne and I have been discussing for days why the men of the robe we have met in these last adventures have been so cruel. So uncaring. So...evil. So coldly logical, and yet so stupidly destructive. My old master..."

Even though his mind is numbed with the wine, Elloharin can feel his brain seize up as images begin to flood through his memory. "Good men, made evil. Can magic do that? Is it possible that magic, a tool to our will, or so we have been taught, can morph the will? Can change it? Destroy it? What is the will when it is not your own, but controlled by forces so big and overwhelming?

"Crayne, you are right. There is a cold wind blowing over the world. A wind so frigid and so biting, that it makes your eyes water, and forces you to blink. A wind that brings with it mirages and lies and deceit, like snowflakes swirling in a blizzard. We are all lost in that blizzard, and so we must band together. Or else we will perish, frozen and alone.

"Red Dragon Mages. What does that mean? They are a band, yes? A band of evil. They do not want merely a new kind of peace, a peace of their own. They want something else. Destruction, chaos and despair. I think we need to face them. But we cannot face them alone. The blizzard is too strong, we must band together, and fight together. Rinder's Six is not enough. A larger order, laid down by ideal, and by promise of peace. An order not based on mere knowledge and pursuit of magic, as the Academy, or

even the Renegades themselves, but an order motivated to promote the better will of men, and of life."

El leans back into his chair, staring moodily at the little wine swirling in his cup. A gust of cold wind pushes the window open and passes through the chamber, and Elloharin seizes the courage to look up to see the what the others have to say.

Crayne smiles at Elloharin as he is eventually allowed to get a word in, "Your words are wise Elloharin. Indeed magic is more than just a tool--much more! I believe magic is within our very souls. Magic is our being--it is what we are. It is our life energy! And we are the gifted ones Elloharin. Me, you and Dire Luthor! We are able to tap into the magic that binds the universe together and to some extent control it.

"The ancient words and the unique casting gestures of the spell combine together and enable an individual to tap into the divine source of all being. Thus, a person's imagination actually for a few moments or permanently becomes reality. Those who grow and grow in power as a mage in their lifetime eventually become magic and merge back with the original source. Their imagination grows so powerful that there soul separates from there body and joins back with the orginal source. However, the original source is strengthened through its adventure in a human body. It grows and learns and on death or enlightenment the magic in our souls is stronger.

"However, care is needed when tapping into the source. I believe when a mage uses magic purely for greed or hatred through destroying others then that soul is tainted and rather than merging with the original source it is separated out and destroyed or it put into a new life in the hope that it will change for the better. Thus, I believe we must try and help those that stray from the path of goodness so that the magic within them--whether they be a simple thief or an evil mage--is allowed to grow and not be hindered by evil. For some it is to late but for others I believe there is some hope. All it needs is a catalyst--something or someone to spark them off into a change."

Crayne pauses, "And as to setting up some sort of group with the objective of bringing peace and liberty I was thinking along the same lines. Groups, though, can become corrupt as we have seen with the Red Dragon group. Sadly, greed is the way of the human species. A group which becomes too powerful can

be dangerous. Thus, it would have to be carefully thought through. Nevertheless, despite the need for caution it is a good suggestion. What say you Dire Luthor?"

Dire thinks for a moment, then turns to Elloharin. "Is it not possible, Elloharin, that the Red Dragon School, itself, was once founded on such a premise? To bring peace and order to a realm. To exert a bit of control through the extraordinary means provided by magic, not for its own ends but for the betterment of people? It might explain why so many Red Dragon mages are highly placed in duchies and kingdoms, and have been for centuries. But somehow the School lost its focus.

"The Red Dragon School is not evil, Elloharin. It has become misguided, fractured. Perhaps a new School is needed, one to replace the aged and cracked Red Dragon. But do not assume that because some misdeeds have been brought to bear in the name of the Red Dragon School that all Red Dragon mages are evil. For this Red Dragon mage will not be called evil."

Dire then turns to look for a moment at Crayne. "How would you both guarantee that your group, your school, will not one day turn corrupt and evil like you view the Red Dragon School to be? How will you guide this group when you are gone. Even elves die, Elloharin. And your trusted apprentices, your disciples, may follow your lead, but what of their disciples? And those of the generations to follow?"

There is a moment of silence as the wind howls outside. "It is late," Dire says, his tone completely changed. "I must get some rest before the sun rises once more. The best of luck to you, Elloharin," he rises, grasping the elf's hand. "And to you as well, Crayne, in all your endeavors." He looks into Crayne's eyes, hoping that the Highbrow understood that Elloharin was, as far as Dire was concerned, Crayne's charge. How long it would stay that way...that was an entirely different question.

In the morning, Rinder's Six gathers once more, enjoying a warm breakfast as the snow gracefully falls from the morning sky. It is gray, but the white of the snow is somehow comforting. After breakfast, the group agrees to head back toward Jilten to wait for Emma's armor to be completed, and to look into the troublemaking-elves in the meantime. By midmorning they are on the road, riding north again through the army camp across the Lowlands toward the city of Jilten.

The day passes coldly, and they are glad to light a fire at eveningtime. Looking at a map, Canter and Skandor find their position, roughly a day's ride north-west of Dillend, about a third of the way to Jilten. The fire crackles and the wind whispers. The scene is barren, save the group's camp and its beacon of firelight. No trees, no boulders like Raimead. No dredge like Bigamore. Just the slowly rolling hills and flat stretches of the Lowlands.

As Canter rolls up the map once again, a strong wind whips through the campsite. It chills to the bone, and Hannibal wraps robe around him even tighter. Then, the wind picks up again, howling. In an instant the fire is blown out, and an eerie silence falls over the camp. Eyes flicker, Skandor's and Hannibal's looking for Emma's, Crayne's looking for Elloharin. Storm's looking for his pack and his swords.

Then there is an audible crunch. Something hitting the snow, and the packed powder giving way beneath. Then a second crunch. A high whistle, followed immediately by a third crunch.

"Arrows," Emma whispers. "Get down!" She leans forward, trying to flatten herself against the snow and reach for a weapon.

"A lantern?!" asks Canter in a whisper.

"That might give away our location..." Skandor responds.

Elloharin clears his throat. "Like the fire didn't?!"

Three more crunches are heard as, presumably, another three arrows hit the snow. Louder. Closer.

---

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

Turn 163.2: Luring

Posted: 10/5/01

Dire Luthor's words had sent a shiver through Elloharin. He had not been aware that the Red Dragon School had once been good. And apparently still was...from Luthor's words. The heavy cynicism of the experienced mage had filled Elloharin with foreboding and helpless despair. He's right? What was the use if corruption would only seize any agency they could create? His mind scrambles for answers...

Maybe Dire Luthor was right, but still...what were the use of kingdoms, of nations, of aristocracy itself then? They could all be corrupted. The intimation that the SIx could be corrupted fills El with fear. Certainly none of them now could be...of course, it was quite possible that their employers, those who sent them on these quests themselves were corrupt? Once they gathered the rings, who would they hand them to? Who could they trust? Would the Six keep the rings, and thereby become the target of every Red Dragon Mage in the world? Would they keep them and become the new law of the kingdom? For certainly they would have the power to. Frightening thoughts. It will surely be a long time before Elloharin is able to sleep.

With the dark sky raining arrows, El whispers harshly, "Storm! You and I can see better than these others, let us scout!" Elloharin's infravision would be especially useful in this weather, the ambushers would stick out of the darkness like sore thumbs.

El then begins to creep off in one direction, squinting his eyes in the cold and looking for any sign of the enemy.

In her heart, Emma quickly knows that the suddenness of the attack must be the prelude to another ambush. It seemed that every time Rinder's Six succeeded in one of their missions, someone was always sending a group against them. 'Well, we've survived all the others,' she tells herself, 'Time to root out these attackers and deal with them the same way as before.'

Storm, crouching low, nods and offers a quick salute to the elf in agreement, then creeps off the opposite way. The cold of the snow seems to barely faze the physical specimen that is Storm, as days of trekking around in the snow of the Raimead peaks have given him much experience in that department.

He keeps one sword out and one sword sheathed for the moment, using his free hand for better maneuverability. Like El, he plans to attack the ambushers if he encounters one alone, and will avoid them and keep scouting if there are more. If he encounters no enemies on his half, he will make his way almost back to their camp (but not quite) and inform his friends on the info before creeping off again in El's direction looking for enemies.

Crayne falls to ground. He keeps as low as he can hoping that Elloharin or Storm can see something. He slowly moves away from the campfire in the opposite direction of where he thinks that the arrows are coming from. He then waits patiently.

Hannibal reaches for his shield and hoists it over head, moving to Mage Crayne to offer him some cover as well. "Moments like these make me glad to own a shield," he quips to the shield-less wizard.

"Elloharin!" Hannibal whispers harshly, "See if you can spot one of the arrows, the angle should tell us the direction of our attackers." Hannibal, based on El's guidance, stays with Crayne and shields the mage for so long as Crayne needs it. If El and Storm do scout out and find the archers he plans to follow and give aid if need be.

Heeding Hannibal's advice, Emma crawls forward through the snow to where one of the arrows must have fallen and reaches around so she can feel for its angle in the snow. "Off to the west," she hisses, "At least, I think so..." She pushes back from the arrow in case any more might be on their way. "We need to draw them in if we can," Emma suggests, "If they can see in the dark as well as Storm and Elloharin, they have us at a disadvantage. But if we can act injured and get them to come closer, I have something that might help to turn the tide of battle."

As she speaks, Emma gropes her way to her bedroll and retrieves her own shield, strapping it over her arm. The memory of charging headlong into a hail of arrows back when she first joined Rinder's Six runs through her mind. The days of Edryd and Cyvieliog were long past, however, and she doesn't fancy trying the same thing in the dark. She'd be as likely to hit a tree as an opponent.

"Crayne?" she whispers, "How are your acting skills? Did you only teach Guilliam magecraft, or did he also teach you something about playing a convincing role? Do you think maybe you could pretend to be injured and make some noises to draw them in? They're bound to send in warriors soon and I can help to play along, if you'd like...making like I'm trying to staunch your wounds. Canter? Skandor? Hannibal? Stand ready to attack when I give the word. Hopefully, Storm and El can support us from the edges and cut off their archers. Sword Bearer? Stand close. If I'm able to carry out the divine blessing I have in mind, you and I are about to become true warriors in service to Anhur this day."

Emma drags her spear over to her position and partially buries it in the snow that any incoming warriors won't see that she has a weapon readily at hand. In the meantime, she stays close to Crayne, hoping he can help to carry our her ruse.

As Storm and El scout, another wave of arrows comes in, this time coordinated so they land around the same time. They come pelting down from they sky. It is difficult to tell how many there are, as the crunching of the snow beneath each person at the campsite, as well as Storm and El moving away, masks the sounds of the missiles striking the ground. Emma feels the impact of one of the arrows on her shield, and Hannibal hears an audible "ping!" as one strikes his sheet, just where it covers Crayne.

Canter, still scrambling for his weapon, is hit by one of the incoming arrows. It lands in the back of his calf. The sting of the cold almost instantly numbs the wound, and, once his sword is retrieved, Canter reaches back and removes the arrow from the wound, wrapping his trouser-leg around it as tightly as he can. (3 hp damage)

Storm, meanwhile, is crawling north west, and just begins to make out some moving figures in the distance when he, too, feels the pinch of an arrowhead, striking his shoulder. (4 hp damage) He growls quietly, grabbing at the arrow and tearing it out of his skin and clothing.

Refocusing on the shapes in the distance, the dwarf squints, trying to count. He can see at least three. No, four? Five? It is hard to tell, and at least two appear to be hovering above the snow. Crawling a few feet closer, Storm stops again to reassess. Smiling, he can tell now what he had seen less clearly just a few seconds before: three figures, humanoid, two mounted (though on what Storm cannot yet tell).

El, in the meantime, is scanning the horizon with his infravision on his side. At first he sees nothing but slowly falling snowflakes. Then, as he sweeps his head around to the right (to the west as he crawls south east), he spots two more figures, both mounted.

(163.1)

Noting their findings, both Storm and El turn around, headed back toward the campsite. "Off to the west," El explains, whispering, to the others.

"I be seein' 'em, too. They gots horses, methinks," Storm adds.

"I was just barely able to see them," El continues. "So they are at quite a distance."

Crayne chuckles. "But they can surely see us!"

"That's true..." Skandor whispers, adjusting his shield.

Emma asks, "Are they approaching?" Her mind is already at work, planning on exactly how she will direct their counterstrike once she has completed her prayer to Anhur.

El looks to Storm, who shurgs his shoulders. "I don't be thinkin' so," the dwarf says.

"Those I spotted held their position," El responds.

"Then we need to draw them in," Emma concludes. "Crayne, Hannibal, you're the lures. Give me a moment to effect my prayer, and then I want you to pretend to be injured. Call out for help, moan, whatever. We need to get whoever is out there to come closer."

"Gotcha," Hannibal responds.

"In the meantime, El, Storm, head back out there and be ready to attack their flank when they come in. But wait for my signal. Sword Bearer, stay with me. We're leading the charge. Canter, you're the second wave. Hannibal, stay by Crayne, and Crayne, if you can help us out, feel free to jump on in..."

With that, the Shield Maiden turns away for a moment, looking out into the darkness as more arrows continue to fall to the ground around her. She takes a deep breath, calming herself and reciting passages from the Scrolls of Anhur.

A moment later she is finished, and Crayne and Hannibal begin their act. At first they are just quietly moaning. But after a forceful poke from Canter's sword-tip, Crayne really gets into it, screaming out into the cold, dark night: "Oh! The gods be merciful! The pain! Save me from the pain! Oh!"

Hannibal does his best to keep up the act, and stop himself from laughing.

"We'd better hope this works..." Canter mutters, turning around to face the expected assault.

El and Storm crawl back out at the same time. In a few moments they both once again spot the enemy, just at the edge of their infravision range.

(163.2)

For a moment, nothing happens. Arrows continue to fall sporadically, but the enemies make no move to advance. Then, Storm notices one of the mounted figures lean down to the non-mounted one near him. Presumably, Storm thinks, he is saying something to the guy on foot. Then, that guy on foot hands something up to the mounted one--his bow?--and draws some other weapon. Finally, he begins to approach.

El, meanwhile, continues to watch the enemies he spotted. But much to his dismay, they continue to hold their position, not advancing at all. Their arrows, however, continue to land closer and closer to their targets.

"If this lasts much longer there's going to be a lot of Rinder's Six's blood on the snow by morning..." El says quietly to himself.

The two remaining behind, both mounted, whom Storm is watching, stop firing their bows. And Storm watches carefully as the third one, approaching the campsite, continues to draw near, his boots softly crunching in the snow with each footstep.

"The arrows have slowed..." Skandor notes to the others.

Emma nods, though imperceptibly in the darkness. "They must be coming in. Keep moaning back there!"

There is a tense moment as a steady, quiet crunching of footsteps grows louder. "How many?" Skandor whispers.

"Just one, as best I can tell over their screaming..." Canter replies.

"Steady..." Emma says. Then, when she thinks the foe is close enough: "Now!"

The priestess launches her spear at the approaching enemy. It flies from her frozen hand, spraying snowflakes as it soars through the air. With a loud "thunk!" it impacts the enemy's chest, and the enemy lets out an "oomf!" with a thin, reedy voice.

Skandor immediately, pounces, his massive two-hander slamming into the falling enemy, cutting him down and sending him to the snow at his feet.

As soon as the counterstrike is launched, El notices a change in the two figures he is tracking. They immediately stop their firing, turning to consult each other. Then, they begin riding north at a steady trot. El looks farther north, trying to make out where they are going--he suspects there are others of their forces there--but the distance is too great for the limits of his infravision.

Storm, too, notices an instantaneous change, as soon as that enemy's voice echoed through the night with Emma's spear hit. The two remaining enemies, both mounted, fire one last round and then begin to ride south, the leader pointing into the distance, to the west.

---

1. HP Status: Canter 41/44, Cranye 30/16, Elloharin 30/30, Emma 47/47, Hannibal 29/29, Skandor 48/48, Storm 46/50.

2. Actions?!

STORM and EL: at what point do you pursue the enemies you are tracking? Or at what point do you break off and head back to the campsite, from where you can't see these enemies?

EMMA: Your Recitation spell is currently in effect, and will remain so until 163.8.

Current positions:

EMMA, SKANDOR, and CANTER are near the center of the campsite, with Emma having just thrown her spear at, and hitting, the lone approaching enemy. Skandor has just cut him down, and is presently standing over him. Whether or not he is dead is unknown. He has also not been identified. HANNIBAL and CRAYNE are farther away, to the east, but still within the campsite and within earshot of Emma, Skandor, and Canter. STORM is about fifteen yards outside the campsite, to the northwest; EL is about fifteen yards outside to the south east.

STORM can see two mounted enemies, beginning to ride to the south. Nobody else can see them.

EL can see two mounted enemies, riding to the north. Nobody else can see them.

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