~ The Dwarven Blockade: [Archive] [Home] [Previous Turn] [Next Turn] ~

It was the waiting that Hannibal hated most. Especially in times before combat, when you knew that shortly you would be fighting for your very life, it always seemed like torture to have to wait. He could still remember standing in the muddy fields at Bigamore's Dredge, a light rain soaking the earth underfoot as he stared in awe at the ranks of Orcs in the army beyond. How the sky had darkened as their arrows rained down upon him. Quickly Hannibal shook the thoughts from his mind as Emma and Storm were reaching the Dwarves.

Storm stares the company leader right in the eye, strangely feeling no anger. Perhaps he realizes where the dwarf opposite him stands. A memory flickers into his mind and leaves just as quickly; a memory of chatting loudly with a dwarf down in an inn in Jilten while searching for Dire. Storm pays it no heed, and is actually surprised that the memory even entered his mind. He returns to the scene at hand, though, as the dwarven soldier commands them to drop their weapons.

Naeron sneers, his dander up in spite of their predicament. Dwarves! War on the front and here they are killing their only chance by dividing the kingdom only recently reunited. Fools, all of them... He speaks up:

"Certainly, oh wise one," He makes little attempt to disguise his disdain. "So like you to carry your selfish issues to the forefront in a time of war! Do you really think the scourge of the South will stop with the surface dwellers? Do you truly think that you can stand against the united might of the South, the Orcs, the Goblins and their ilk? Go ahead! Take us prisoner! If you do, your entire race, all the dwarves of Rinder will look back on this day, look back on YOU, and remember that in the face of all wisdom you chose the broad path to destruction and continued this insane course of action."

In disgust, Naeron tosses his bow to the ground, raising a small cloud of dust. "Go ahead, lose this war. The surface dwellers have already taken their share of wounds. Of all the dwarves, the only one who has felt the bite of the blade defending your sorry tunnels is this 'traitor' right here! Go ahead! Take us prisoner, waste the precious minutes that may mean the difference between victory and defeat. You could be fortifying against the coming invasion, strengthening the North, thereby safeguarding your domain! Instead you take prisoner the messengers of the Knights and

slow the war effort down. You take prisoner your allies, your friends!" He walks up to the General, careful to keep his hands in a defensive posture so as not to alarm them. "Go ahead!"

Crayne nods in a manner of appreciation for Naeron's words. He is however, a little suprised by his outburst, Crayne having thought Naeron to be more laid back in his approach. Nevertheless, this definite display of spirit and agression from Naeron intrigued Crayne. It proved to him that this recently inducted member of Rinder's Six was not afraid to speak his mind. And in Crayne's mind Rinder's Six needed more of that sort of personality. Still, perhaps his words were a little too agressive at this stage.

Emma steps forward and puts a hand on Naeron's shoulder urging him to take a step back from the burly Dwarf. "They hold the cards, Diplomat," she whispers so that only he can hear, "But we still have an ace or two should things go badly."

She looks back to the Dwarf and says, "As a priestess of Anhur, I understand that you're only doing your duty...as any good soldier would. The orders of your general are clear. But we assure you, we are not your enemy. Thank you for hearing our words and allowing us to parley. If you think that such a discussion should continue before your general, we would be happy to accompany you."

She draws forth her broadsword in a ring of steel and spins it a half-turn so that the hilt faces him. "In good faith," she says, "I give you my weapon to assure you that our words are true. Storm is truly the son of Thorn, but he is not a traitor to you or your people. We will defend him before your general with our sworn statements, if need be."

She completes her statements by removing the horseman's flail from the belt at her waist and turning it over as well. Then she looks around at the rest of 'Rinder's Six' and nods for them to do the same. Her eyes settle on Storm, realizing that of them all, he's the most likely to snap. "We need to talk to the general anyway," she assures him, stepping close and whispering, "This is for the best. Besides, Anhur gives me more than physical weapons. And Crayne has his spells as well."

Crayne nodds in agreement whispering to the rest of the Six, "You speak wisely Emma. Although I must make myself clear that I am not at all happy with that dwarf at the moment." Crayne looks to the angry dwarf who addressed them, "If we do make the dwarves listen to us I will primarily make sure that this poor excuse for a dwarf be dealt with. I do have my pride you know!" Crayne says. "Maybe he won't be so intimidating after I cast a few of my spells!" He shakes his head, muttering under

his breath.

He then looks to Storm, the warrior who had fought along side him in many a battle. Little did Storm know at this stage, but Crayne himself was under the opinion that the two of them so different in there approach to battle had worked together on numerous occasions complementing each others' skills well. On countless occasions when Crayne was backing off after casting his reservour of spells Storm had been there fending off any of the enemies who had attempted to attack Crayne at his most vulnerable. It was Storm who helped Crayne defeat the mage Gaven at the Battle of Dillend. He owed a lot to the dwarf he knew that. It had deeply embittered Crayne to hear Storm spoken to like that and he himself would make sure that Storm would be seen in the eyes of his fellow dwarfs as a hero that he was, not some traitor who could be spoken to in the fashion he had been earlier.

Crayne taps his friend on the shoulder and mutters, "They are misguided Storm! For whatever has happened you are no traitor that is certain. They will learn that! And now you will show how strong you are when you speak your mind to the General and ignore the words of this ignorant dwarf!"

Then Crayne marches up to the leader. His height at six foot towers over the dwarf that stands facing him. His cloak blows in the eerie wind that bounces off the various rock arrangements that scatter the cliff top. A piercing wind whistle announces its presence as Crayne begins to speak, whether through magic or just a sheer charismatic approach Crayne seems intimidating for a moment standing there facing the armed dwarfs. His long wiry fingers clutch his tall staff. After a few seconds pass Craynes deep voice bounces around the rocks before him: "Here are my weapons Dwarf!" Crayne reaches inside his heavy cloak and pulls out two daggers, he then unsheathes his short sword which he obtained just before the commencement of the Battle of Dillend. He then hands them over. A vulture circles high above searching for any scent of carrion.

Crayne then looks long at his staff and as he starts to hand it over he speaks up again, "No I will not do this to you dwarf! For though you have offended my friends so far I cannot let you suffer at the hands of my staff. For you are brave, strong and proud which I admire. Were you take this staff horrible, despicable things would happen to you for the staff must and can only be carried by its true owner. You see it is bound to its owner through ancient magic that has lived as long as the dwarfs have in these mountain ranges. Were any of you to take it, it would twist your mind into routes and pathways so dark that you would never ever recover. No, I think it wise for all our sakes that I carry this staff myself."

Crayne mutters a few words and through cantrips a sparkle of magical red light runs up and down the full length of the staff. He stands back for a moment awaiting the dwarves' responses. Knowing that dwarves have a fear of magic, Crayne hopes that his words frighten them away from having anything to do with the mysterious looking staff.

The dwarven leader narrows his eyes as he listens to Crayne's words, but takes a step back as he sees the red light run up the length of the staff. Still, the look of determination in his eyes proves that he will not stand down, though he allows Crayne to keep the staff.

As the rest of the group complies, Emma sharing words as well as Naeron complying angrily, Storm is a little surprised at the half elf's directness and anger, and would have shot him a glare if he weren't in an eye-lock with the lead dwarf. Storm shows no sign of moving, and doesn't until everything else is settled. Then, as everyone else is waiting, he finally moves. He slowly reaches a hand to a pouch at his side, slowly removing a small necklace, all without breaking eye contact. He tosses the necklace at the feet of the captain, and all can see the emblem engraved in the metal: A thick-bladed sword over the silhouette of a large rock--the standard of Clan Strongblade. He says quietly in dwarven to the lead dwarf, "I do be Storm. And me ain't no traitor. Take me to me father."

The patrol leader picks up the necklace, examining it closely. He then matches Storm's glare. "This," he growls, "could be stolen. Have you murdered a Strongblade only to impersonate one?"

Storm is so close to bolting forward and giving this dwarf the beating he deserved. But Emma's firm grasp on his arm keeps him at bay. Instead he just growls in defiance. "In good faith, I do be Storm. I throw down me weapons in good will. Take me to me father," he repeats.

Already Hannibal didn't like the way this had turned out. He had been a warrior once and that time was long ago. He was a man of stealth now and had to think like one, but what to do? Turning back to Cy, he spoke quickly as he knew he would soon be moving.

"Ok, if our guys go with them I will follow on foot...better to stay concealed that way. You follow shortly behind with the horses and stay out of sight. Chances are at worst these Dwarves will be on Mule's and I should be able to keep up with them easily. Once they get to where they are going I will double back and lead you in. Deal?"

Not waiting for an answer, Hannibal quickly shed anything that would weigh him down and tied it securely to his horse. All he brought was waterskin, spikes and a short length of rope plus weapons. Smiling up to Cy, "Wish me luck."

Cy smiles in return, wanting to oppose Hannibal's plan. Surely these horses were in no condition to climb these narrow slopes. They would have to be left behind. Cy scans the area, his eyes landing on a nearby tree. He could use a bit of rope to secure the horses to that tree, but they would still be out in the open, easy fodder for roadside thieves, mountain hobgoblins, or even another dwarven patrol party. Still, given the choice between his mount and his friends, the correct one was clear.

The patrol leader motions to one of the other dwarves, who walks through and collects the weapons. The leader himself steps up to Emma, taking her sword. "I will turn you over to the general and he will decide when you get this back." He then looks to Storm, standing very close. "And he will decide if Thorn should be summoned."

Soon, all the weapons, save the two daggers in Storm's boots and Crayne's staff, are collected. The leader motions for the group to follow, which they do. Storm, Naeron, Emma, Crayne, Canter, and Karelth are surrounded by members of the dwarven patrol, led by the leader, flanked by other members, and still others bringing up the rear.

'We will be paraded as prisoners. How then can we ever be taken seriously by these people?' Emma wonders, sending a concerned glance toward Canter.

Hannibal soon reaches the landing, where he observes a criss-cross of footprints. "They must have been taken prisoner here," he murmurs to himself, "and led away there..." he glances ahead, where the tracks lead up a path through the stone of the mountain face. He follows on, staying close to the walls as best he can and moving as quietly as possible. He can hear the footsteps of the dwarves and their prisoners ahead, but stays far enough behind so as not to be prematurely discovered.

After about half an hour of marching, they approach a cave, high up in the mountain. Standing outside the cave's narrow entrance are four more dwarves: guards. 'This must be where the general is,' Crayne thinks as he uses his staff to steady his footing on the difficult terrain.

"In there," the patrol leader points, indicating the cave. He nods to the guards just outside, and then gives Karelth a little push on the back, sending him stumbling forward into Crayne, as if to say he is still in charge.

Hannibal stops behind a large rock formation on the path, peering around it at the scene in front of him. He can see the cave entrance, and the guards outside, and he can see the last of the dwarven patrol heading into the cave. But to try to sneak inside would be suicide. 'Better to get Cy,' he thinks as he starts to retrace his steps back toward the cliff and his warrior friend.

As he enters the cave, Canter's eyes widen. For such a small and narrow entrance, it quickly opens up to an expansive cavern. The ceiling is glowing amber with the light of fires inside, and there are easily a hundred dwarves, if not more, at various locations inside. Some are practicing swordplay with short swords, others are eating or sleeping (and snoring!). Still others appear to be gathered around a wooden table in the center of the subterranean camp. It is toward this table that the incomplete Rinder's Six are led.

At first, they are kept at a distance, under close watch and guard. Though unbound, it is clearly unwise to resist, seeing as they would immediately be trampled under an army of dwarves. They can see the patrol leader approach an older dwarf with a hardened face and a long gray beard. The patrol leader whispers a few words to the older dwarf, who then nods and rises from his seat at the head of the table, leaving his goblet behind, and approaching the party.

"This is General Korg," the patrol leader says in common tongue, following just behind the general. "You are in his hands now."

"[Greetings. I am General Korg of the Warhammer Brigade. Let me be the first to welcome you to our corner of this land--ha!]" His voice is loud and gruff. He stands tall and proud, a little shorter than Storm. He is definitely strong, his toned muscles evident beneath his armor. He carries in his hand a simple wooden club, which he methodically pounds into his other palm as he speaks.

"[I am told that you,]" he looks directly at Storm, "[have produced this,]" he holds up the Strongblade necklace, "[and claim to be Storm, son of Thorn. We shall see about that. But first! What is your business here in Warhammer territory?]"

Naeron whispers to Storm as the general concludes, "Storm? What is he saying?"

Storm replies, without turning his head, "He be the general. Name be 'Korg.' He be wantin' to know why we here."

Hannibal emerges from the mountains a little out of breath, but glad to see Cy. "A friendly face!" he says as he approaches the warrior, who is himself returning from tying up the horses to the nearby tree.

"Where are the others?" Cy asks, concerned.

"They were taken prisoner--"

"What?!?!" Cy demands.

Hannibal places a hand on Cy's shoulder, in part to steady himself and in part to calm the soldier. "They're okay. They've got no weapons, that's for sure, but they're okay. Even Crayne's frail old uncle. They've been taken to this cave. I think that's where the dwarven army, or the Warhammer Brigade, or whatever it is is headquartered. They've got some guards around the entrance, but I'm sure the place is crawling with them inside. What do you want to do?"

Cy thinks for a moment, one hand stroking his chin while the other rests solidly on the hilt of his dwarven-made sword. "Take me there," he says to Hannibal, looking up at the looming mountain above.

"But the horses!" Hannibal objects.

"They will have to wait here. We have no other choice. I will not leave the others behind--and certainly not as prisoners."

"Okay, then. Follow me."

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