~ The Council of the Knights of Rinder: [Archive] [Home] [Previous Turn] [Next Turn] ~

As the Six walked into Seden, Storm quietly said to Hannibal, "When should we be splittin' from the group? Me be rarin' ta find some assassins!"

"Rest easy, friend," Emma had responded, "There'll be plenty of time for that." In truth, her mind begun to stray. The sights and sounds of Seden seemed so odd to her. Going home is never what you think it will be, she thought to herself. Although the place was hardly different than when she left, it still felt different...and then she realized it wasn't the city that had changed, but her instead. What would Frances think of her now?

Storm flashed a quick glance toward the Priestess, followed by an annoyed squint. He turned back to Hannibal and whispers in thieves cant "Aye, that woman's got her a set o' sharp ears. Me's gotta keep me voice down, eh?"

Then, the group met with Willem and his associate, Bernigan.

Storm is quite anxious for a stout glass of ale, feeling it's been way to long since he's had a bruch with alcohol. He enters the tavern toward the front of the group, and sits quickly at the table. When his drink comes, he snatches it right out of the barmaid's hand and noisily gulps three quarters of it down in one gulp, spilling a bit out the sides of his mouth. He smacks the cup down on the table, sending more ale spilling, with a big "Ahhhh...." of a smile. But then he sees Hannibal, who has yet to sit down, out of the corner of his eye. He picks up on his friend's uneasiness and is suddenly less happy and more attentive, leaning back in his chair with a hand near his belt.

Emma nearly laughs at Storm's eagerness for the drink, and barely restrains herself from doing so, settling for a wide grin instead. She realizes that Willem and his friend, Bernigan, might be taken aback at such a display, but to her it's just Storm being himself. Nevertheless, she tries to offer an apology on his behalf, knowing that no such thing will be forthcoming from the dwarf.

"I'm sorry," she tells them, thinking of a quick excuse, "It's been a long, fast ride here, I'm afraid...and we're all a bit thirsty."

As Willem and Bernigan make their proposal, Naeron does his best to remain civil and even-handed, very careful not to tip his hand until the proper time. Yet Hannibal's effort at containing his fury doesn't go unnoticed. Naeron is alarmed, afraid that should Hannibal be unable to collect himself, whatever the matter may be, that the credibility on which he'd based his hopes would be dashed before the council even began.

Crayne listens intently to the man Willem and then glances at Bernigan. He also notes Hannibal's rage at the site of the man called Bernigan, but chooses to be discreet and lodges it at the back of his mind.

Hearing voices but not the context, Hannibal begins to lose control of his anger. A flood of emotions overpower him, the hate, the pain; for the first time in a long time he felt them all anew, and strong as ever.

"How could the bastard be so cool!" Hannibal rages to himself, his hand gripping tightly on his dagger just below the table. "Of course, Bernigan wouldn't recognize me easily, not after so much time." Hannibal tries to ease up, tries to relax his stance, but can't. He can feel the other members of Rinder's six, could almost read their thoughts as they wondered to one another the reason for his anger, and then the reasons came back to him.

The rainy night so many years ago, the shop keeper who had begged for his life, Singe handing him the dagger. It had been only right that he and Melinda fled, not realizing at first what they had gotten themselves into. Hard months of running ensued, the two narrowly escaping death on several occassions, and then a long winter which nearly killed Hannibal. Through it all Melinda had been at his side, always there for him, and in the end he had failed her. He could still see her crumpled body vividly, laying face down in the muddy street with an arrow plunged in her back. The man on horseback with the bow, smiling back at him mockingly. How many times Hannibal had played this meeting over in his mind, how he had wanted to slit the pig's throat and then smile back as he slowly died. But that wasn't happening!

Hannibal looks around the table, meeting each gaze of Rinder’s six, if only for a moment. They had a mission to do and revenge now would only ruin their plans. He wanted so badly to kill Bernigan, launch over the table and tear the man apart with his own bare hands!

And now Bernigan was an emissary of a Duke? Whoever would associate themselves with the likes of Bernigan was a pig too! You could count your stars that when election day came around, Duke Patrick would definitely not have Hannibal's vote.

Hannibal burns with rage, his stomach filled with acid; he wants to scream but somehow keeps it in. "I'm sorry Melinda," he thinks to the heavens, "your revenge has to wait." Enough was enough, Hannibal rages. He couldn't kill the swine now but didn't have to sit and drink with him either. Standing roughly, Hannibal pushed his chair back hard, scattering it across the floor and creating a commotion. He could feel the eyes of the other patrons upon him but didn't care. Matching Bernigan's stare, he tries to sum up wether there was any recognition at all.

"I'm not feeling well," he growls, his tone fooling no one. "I'm going out for some air." Spinning on his heels, Hannibal strides outside determindly, hiding the tears which welled in his eyes the closer he got to the door.

Storm watches Hannibal at the table, still leaning back and trying to look like he's reclining in his chair. When Hannibal leaps up, sending his chair flying, Storm twitches, his instincts ready to propell him to conflict if the need arises, and his hand drawing a dagger part way out of its scabbard. His eyes stay on Hannibal unerringly as he leaves the inn, and Storm sits confused for a minute or two, wondering just why Hannibal is so on edge.

He thinks he's come to the right decision when he thinks Hannibal is just anxious to get their mission underway, uninterested at the distraction of another Duke's bid for the crown. He smiles, thinking he finally has someone to go sneaking around with. Grabbing his mug and quickly gulping down the rest of his ale, he too stands and excuses himself. "Aye, that be some fine ale!" He says, interrupting the conversation. "I'm eh...ehh...gonna go--er-- grab some air meself. Yeahhh....." He looks over the table a second, and then hurries out the door, rather excitedly, after Hannibal.

Hannibal staggers out the door, feeling he is losing control of the moment. A sickening feeling overwhelmes him and he doubles over, his knees digging into the soft earth. For a moment, the feeling subsides but only coming back twice as strong. Giving in, he retches uncontrollably for a few moments. Once done, he looks to the night sky, hoping for the answers to his problem.

Canter rolls his eyes, feeling a little embarrassed at the group's behavior in front of Naeron, Willem, and Bernigan. After all, these men are diplomats, and walking out on a meeting of this sort was poor manners...certainly not the behavior of heroes. That is, unless there was a good reason...

Hannibal's sudden commotion startles Emma. She really hadn't noticed the thief's building rage up until now, having just assumed that he and Canter might have been discussing a problem of some kind. She looks back and forth between Hannibal and the rest of the table, unsure of what to do or say. "What's going on?" her eyes seem to ask Crayne across the table.

But Crayne is focused. He looks to Willem. "You offer is much appreciated, Willem. Please tell the Duke that we appreciate his hospitality. I must also declare my sadness on the news of the death of the King.

"However, I also realise that the Kingdom must quickly find a replacement, especially with times being as dark as they are. This successor must be chosen wisely though for if he is not the right choice then the Kingdom will more than surely be doomed. I would be most interested in hearing what the Duke of Marlond has to say for I have so far only heard good of him. I cannot speak for the group but you may be assured that I will meet with the Duke in a week. Although it must be made clear that I will only side with the candidate who has the strongest case. I cannot in any way guarantee my support for the Duke of Marlond."

Crayne seems especially wary of the two that sit before him.

Temporarily at a loss for words, Emma's eyes follow Hannibal's retreating back, wondering what must be bothering the man. What had that look at Bernigan been all about? Did they know one another? Finally, she catches the end of Crayne's reply to Willem, coming back to her senses.

"Ummm...y-yes, yes," she stammers, "It would be rude of us to refuse such a gracious invitation from Duke Patrick. We would be happy to visit with him and get to know his vision for Rinder's future. And, regardless of which claimant might ascend to the throne, we are assured of his committment to the betterment of our nation."

She takes a steadying sip of her ale, relieved that the words of diplomacy still come easily to her lips, even when rattled so much by Hannibal's display. "Thank you for the drink," she says, putting the mug back onto the table. She didn't particularly care for the brand of ale...wine being more to her personal taste...but it wouldn't do to offend Willem's hospitality. Besides, she should get her courtly manners back in order before they met with Duke Elgar's court. It had been several years since her finishing school classes, but hopefully it hadn't all been a waste...

Emma watches Storm make haste after Hannibal, breathing an inward sigh of relief. If anyone could understand and calm down the thief, it would probably be his Dwarven friend, she thinks. She looks back around the table, sensing that maybe it will be easier to converse with Willem and Bernigan with both of them absent anyway. But still, both of them had to be surprised by the disruption.

"So," she asks the two representatives of Duke Patrick, trying to smooth over the departure of almost a third of Rinder's Six, "How did you come to serve your current lord? And I'm also curious as to what efforts he has undertaken so far to support the border forts near Caerloon with all of the skirmishing that's been going on...what can you tell me of his personality and his patriotism? And what drew you both to him?"

"As for myself," Willem responds, "I come from a family which has served the Duke for three generations. My father was the advisor to Patrick's father. They are very much alike, the Duke and his late father...both very wise and intelligent men." Willem then looks to his associate.

Bernigan clears his throat before beginning. "I have been in the service of the Duke's militia for a number of years." There is a moment of silence, as if everyone expected Bernigan to continue, but he doesn't. He smiles weakly and gives a glance back to Willem.

"Very well then," Willem says with a slow nod, a bit uneasy after two of Rinder's Six rudely stormed away from him. "We will meet again at Duke Patrick's court in one week."

"I look forward to it," Bernigan says, punctuating his words forcefully. The two men then rise from the table and make their way to the door.

Crayne's eyes follow them as they amble across the room. "What do you think?" he asks the others at the table.

"I think we should find out what just happened with Hannibal," Emma responds, rising from the table and gathering her things. "Canter, will you see to it we have lodgings for the night?" Canter nods and moves toward the bar, calling for the barkeep on the way.

Storm runs after Hannibal through the street. "Aye friend! Slow ye legs down! By the Gods they made ye human legs too long!" He trots up to Hannibal, a broad toothy smile on his face. "Aye then! So where we be headin'? We's got to find us some assassins, eh? Heh-ha!! Should be a mighty search, eh? Nows we can be crawlin' around without the priestess blowin' her top at us, eh? Heh heh heh..." He pats the man on the back as they walk side by side. As he's waiting for an answer, he remembers suddenly that Hannibal was rather agitated upon leaving the tavern. "Hey, er...whay be buggin' ye? Ye's not seemin' normal..."

Hannibal smiles to the stout, glad to have his friend along with him but needing time alone too. Patting the dwarf on the shoulder, he looks directly into Storm's eyes. "Now isn't the time to talk about this Storm but thanks, I knew I could count on you."

He takes a few steps away from the dwarf, heading down the least occupied of the streets before turning back. Pausing a moment to think, he sighs and looks again at his friend. "I may have to do something that could bring shame on Rinder's six, and possibly bring my own death. I can't explain right now, and I can't ask you to help...all I can say is that when it happens you will know, and I hope I can count on you to watch my back."

With that he offers a weak smile and heads off down the street alone, he had some soul searching to do. He hasn't taken more than a few steps when he notices Willem and Bernigan leave the tavern. His eyes follow them as they cross the street. Before turning a corner, Bernigan stops and looks around. His eyes lock with Hannibal's, and a sly smile slowly grows on his face. A moment later, he and Willem are gone. Hannibal then continues his directionless walk, disappearing into the night.

Storm just stares confusedly at his fellow rogue as he walks off into the night. Storm stands alone and glances back toward the tavern, then all around him, as if looking to the corners of the city for an answer of what just happened. After a few seconds, he decides to follow Hannibal as he walks, staying well away from him so as to let him have his privacy, but close enough just to keep an eye on him. Storm tries to remain relatively hidden so as to give Hannibal his privacy, but will not take drastic measures to do so. Whether he is seen by Hannibal or not is not really relevant to him.

Then the rest of the party arrives. "What happened in there?" Emma asks the empty street corner.

"He was upset over that man, Bernigan," Canter offers, "but that's all I know."

"Hmm..." Emma responds, "I've never seen him act like that. And it greatly disturbs me..."

Cy gives Crayne a look, shaking his head slowly. Crayne merely shrugs his shoulders in response. Neither know what to make of Hannibal's strange and impolite behavior.

Crayne then smiles and turns to Emma, trying to return to another, happier topic. "I would take some time to teach you the elven tongue if your earlier request is serious. For it would bring me up to scratch too, which would be appropriate seeing as we now have elven blood amongst us. Maybe in return you would teach me more about the weapons that you wield. What say you Emma?"

Emma does her best to smile, and nods with gratitude. "Certainly...yes, Crayne, that would be wonderful." Then her tone becomes teasing and she adds, "But which weapon would you prefer to learn more about? My rapier wit? Or my even sharper tongue when confronting the sinful?"

She laughs at her own jab at herself. "No, seriously," she finishes, "I'd dearly love to learn something of the Elven language. Perhaps you and Naeron could see to my education? In return, I'll offer whatever knowledge I can share."

For a moment there the mood was lighter, but then a silence falls over the party. Maybe it was Hannibal's behavior that disturbed them. Perhaps it was just getting late. Maybe the invitations from two Dukes. Possibly it was the King's death and its ramifications. Or perhaps someone else's.

Emma pauses to look fully upon the Temple of Anhur, not far away. "Now that is definitely still the same as I left it," she thinks to herself, "Stern, comforting, and full of narrow-minded old men." She stifles a weak laugh as she remembers the number of debates she'd had with the rest of the priesthood. Some of them probably wouldn't be so happy to see her again.

Crayne looks at the Temple with an impressive look about his face, "I would like it very much if I could see something of the Temple before I depart from Seden. If time permits I would be indebted to you Emma if you would show me a little of it. For I have spent too long being ignorant of the people around me. I have come to realise that now since the death of Edyrd.

"I now consider you as friends and they are something which have alluded me for most of my life and I will not let that continue. You are good hearts! All of you!" Crayne then bows his head a little awkwardly. It was Rinder's Six's first showing of Crayne opening up to the group since his joining. From his slightly embarrassed tone it seemed evident that Crayne, the Highbrow, was human, after all, and craved for relationships along with everyone else. Perhaps what was lacking within his heart was his ability to grow close to another soul for risk of loss or defiance. It was easy to make the assumption from there that his background had something to do with that. Perhaps that was why Crayne seemed so reserved and kept to himself during his time with the Rinders Six.

"You surprise me, Highbrow!" Emma says, responding to his request. She leans across and softly kisses his cheek. "And your heart is not so different...it's as good as mine or Edryd's deep down. I'll be happy to show you the temple before we leave the city, and once we have some time to spare in our service to the Crown.

"Perhaps the rest of you can come as well?" she asks, looking around at the others, "At the very least, come and see where I spent many of my years in study and contemplation of my place in life...and Anhur's will."

The following morning everyone rises early. Cy, Crayne, Emma, and Naeron all dress as nicely as they can, preparing for their court appearance during the day. Storm, Canter, and Hannibal are in their normal garb, making sure they blend in with the commonfolk.

Storm appears at the table, all of his belongings fimly stowed in their proper places, indicating his readiness and eagerness to get to work. He is among the first to awaken.

Hannibal is now back in the company of Rinder's six, acting as if the previous night was nothing more than a dream. He is quiet, but responsive and will even offer a slight bow to the lady Emma.

Surprised by the bow, Emma gives Hannibal a funny look, though sprinkled with concern for him. She still remembers his departure from the table last night and had even sought him out after the meeting with Willem and Bernigan, but he was nowhere to be found...or Storm, for that matter.

"In better spirits, today, I see?" she asks politely, not quite sure how to bring up the subject of his odd behavior. She fiddles nervously with the holy symbol around her neck.

As some eggs are served, Crayne recalls the recent conversations about the mysterious Paros. He looks up from his plate, "About Paros," he begins, "Emma! You have spoken words that duplicate my current thoughts on the matter. Nevertheless we know little of Paros and our assumptions are merely based on a gut rench feeling that I had when I first set eyes upon Paros. Before I put the matter back to rest, think now: Naeron, is there anything that you know of Paros or have seen Paros do that in your mind would be seen as suspicious?"

Naeron politely swallows his food and pats his mouth with a napkin. "I'm sorry I can't provide you with more information, Crayne. But like I told you, Paros was a reclusive man. He spoke with the Duke alone. Certainly not in front of any of the Duke's emissaries. I know very little of his activities, opinions, or associations."

Crayne nods. He is slightly disappointed, but at the same time satisfied that Naeron has provided all the information he can. Still, he suspects Paros of so many things...

As he finishes his food, Cy remembers how much he truly hates politics. Making sure he has at least one weapon, a dagger, where it is not readily seen, he prepares for this true-to-be-trying event. As a particular twitch of sarcastic humor, he puts the badge of his disposed noble family upon his breast. Just adding a bit of color, he muses to himself.

After breakfast, Cy, Crayne, Emma, and Naeron set off for the Ducal Court at Duke Elgar's castle in the center of Seden. The castle is fairly elegantly decorated, they observe as they are led in by the herald. The old man peers at the badge on Cy's breast, but doesn't say anything. The mood is fairly mute in the great hall, with many of the ladies wearing black, apparently in mourning for the King.

The great hall is a large rectangular room with a high ceiling, easily two stories tall. Along the second story is a walkway, where other people are standing and observing the goings on below. The room is filled with various people: there are military officials in their formal uniforms, businessmen in fancy dress, there is a group of musicians on stringed instruments playing lightly, there are a number of ladies in waiting, as well as various official figures, officers of the court, and lesser advisors to the Duke.

Cy, Crayne, Emma, and Naeron are shown into the hall. As the doors open, all eyes turn to see who has entered, even those watching from the gallery above. The high ceilings and tall tapestries catch Emma's attention, whereas Naeron immediately scans the crowd looking to see if he recognizes any faces. Before anyone can say anything, the herald clears his throat and announces loudly:

"Your Grace! An unannounced addition to the agenda today, if you will: Representatives from Rinder's Six!"

Crayne is startled by the large announcement, which causes quite a stir throughout the crowd. "Well our presence is definitely known!" he whispers to his companions.

"Send them in!" a voice calls from the other end of the hall. The group continues walking forward along a narrow, dark red carpet. The crowd parts to reveal a raised platford with a tall-backed wooden chair in the center, lavishly padded and decorated. Sitting in the chair is a man of middle age in aristocratic dress. To his right is a woman of about the same age, the Duke's wife, Duchess Elizabeth of Seden. And to his left is a younger girl.

"His daughter Hannah?" Emma whispers to Naeron.

Naeron shakes his head ever so slightly. "Younger daughter, Lady Katherine." And younger she looks; she cannot be more than twenty years old, her young innocent features seeming to brighten up the room.

"Representatives from Rinder's Six," Duke Elgar begins slowly, "what a pleasant surprise on a day of great..." he pauses,"...mourning. We have heard of your successes at the front in this nacent war against the southern kingdom. Many in Rinder are pleased." The Duke nods, and many in the crowd nod in reply.

"I will have my minstrels stike up a tune in your honor, perhaps?" He raises his eyebrows and smiles. "But first, do tell me: what is your business here in Seden? Would not your skills and abilities be put to better use in the war effort?"

Naeron notices that one of the Duke's advisors, standing off to the side of the action, is peering at him. "Could he know me?" Naeron asks himself.

Meanwhile, Crayne's eyes scan the room, looking for exits to the more private confines of the caste. He locates, in addition to the large main doors to the hall, one door on either side behind the Duke's seating area, as well as two more doors farther away along the walls in the corners of the room. These doors seem to be used more frequently; a couple of military-looking officials have come and gone through these, but they are not nearly as close to the Duke's chair as the two just behind his position. "It will be easier to get through one of the corner doors, but perhaps I'd be better off trying to get back behind the Duke's chair..." Crayne thinks to himself.

In the meantime, Canter, Storm, and Hannibal leave the tavern and start heading where their guts tell them to go: the marketplace. As the sun rises in the morning the smell of baking bread wafts through the air and merchants begin to open their shops and offer their wares. One of the central squares of the city, a large gathering of merchants comences with numerous street vendors selling everything from swords to fruits to fish to pottery.

For a short while, Canter, Storm and Hannibal merely walk about the place to get a feel for it. Near the center of the market are the finer goods, nice pots, jewelry, and fancy weapons and clothing. But to the northern side there appears to be a seedier section.

Hannibal can quickly recognize that the real action is going down in the alleys behind the market. With a quick whistle, he gets Canter--who feels completely lost in these surroundings!--and Storm's attention. "This way," he says quietly, sidestepping through some of the vendors' carts and into the morning shadows.

As they round the corner, Hannibal is nearly knocked over by a tall, round man. "What you doin' here?" the man says in a gravelly voice. "The fancy stuff's back that way."

Storm peers beyond the man in question to see three other men further in the shadows. He cannot hear exactly what is being said, but it appears they're talking about something serious. Serious enough for one man to pass a small sack--which immediately gets Storm's attention, as he suspects it's filled with money--to one of the others.

"Eh? What you doin' here?" the man in front says again, looking down directly at Hannibal. Canter flexes his fists, but remains steadfast; determined not to move in the hopes that Hannibal can talk his way out of this one...or into it, as the case may be.

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