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Emma blinks with some concern. Her eyes move back to the patrol leader. Did he expect them to converse with the general in Dwarven? Surely, the leader of the Dwarven army also spoke Common?

She looks back at the general after his words are translated, but rather than speak on behalf of Rinder's Six, she defers to Storm to answer for them at this point. "It's better if we allow the son of Thorn to speak our case," she says to the others, and looks encouragingly at their Dwarven ally.

Crayne nods at the dwarf Korg who seems a little more sociable than the dwarf they had just spoken to. At the moment however, Crayne seems a little irritable as he stands there not understanding a word that the dwarf is speaking. He looks around the vast cavern where he sees dwarves everywhere. Far too many for Crayne's liking - not that he was xenophobic, it was just that seeing so many of these dwarfs, the fact that they saw Storm as a traitor and the fact that he was enclosed in this weird cave was beginning to take effect. He hadn't after all seen or spoken to many of the dwarves before his acquaintance with Storm. He saw and made friends more often than not with the elven race but to him he was still very much in the dark as to what constituted the dwarven culture. Perhaps this was a time to find out. Although, Crayne would have preferred to have been standing on more of a neutral territory on first acquaintance.

Gripping his staff tightly Crayne remains silent and keeps a close eye on the dwarves surrounding him. 'What was it', Crayne wondered, 'that provoked this strange race into blocking off the mountain passes?'

Naeron stands, eyes flashing with violet outrage. He made no attempt to hide his disdain for these self-centered fools. He couldn't believe Storm would even allow them to talk down to him. Storm had shown himself to be noble at heart, even in the short time Naeron had known him. These were taunting cowards who were brave in their numbers. Naeron itched for a fight, his courtly and diplomatic training far from his mind. Still, he kept himself under control for the sake of the greater cause, of which these dwarves must surely be sadly ignorant.

Storm grinds his teeth as he looks to his fellow party members. 'Me be givin' me beard fer Cy ta be here to answer,' Storm thinks to himself. His eyes settle on Emma, and she stares back at him with a look that says "This one's all yours." Storm crinkles the side of his mouth and scratches his head, and he turns back to the dwarven general.

"[Ehhh.... er....We be Rinder's Six. We wanna know why me's dwarven kin be blockin' these here mountains, what with the war a commin' and all... Me be Storm Strongblade, by me right o' birth I be. Me father mighten think me dead, but me and him's left on, er...bad terms. But I do be Storm. That there neckchain ain't be stolen. Why ye been blockin' the passes? What be ye fer?]"

Storm throws a glance toward Naeron. "Aye elf," he says in common, "Me wish ye can give me yer talkin' skills."

Naeron smiles through his anger at the compliment from the gruff dwarf. "Just tell them the way it is, Storm, that's all..."

Korg looks around the party as he listens to Storm address him in their native language. He snorts and, turning his head aside, spits at the ground. ('Did all dwarves do that?' Canter wondered.) He then looks to the patrol leader and back to Storm.

"[So...]" Korg begins, drawing out the word while running a dirty finger through his beard. "[You are Storm, son of Thorn. I'm not so sure he will be eager to learn of your return--and the way you've surrounded yourself with so many humans. And with that one,]" he motions toward Naeron, who stands there seething, though isn't really aware of the quip at his expense.

"[And you want to know why the great Dwarven warriors have stationed themselves in the mountain passes. I see. Why don't we discuss it over dinner.]" With that, the general spins around, barking orders to his assistants, including instructions to set the prisoners at his own table for dinner.

Upon returning to the cavern entrance, Hannibal finds a good perch and gets comfortable. There was no telling how long they would be in there...or worse, whether they would come out at all.

Looking to Cy, he thumbs his bowstring in thought. "What if we create a distraction and see what happens? If the guards leave their post to investigate we could get in." Giving it more thought, he didn't really care for the idea but was unable to come up with better.

"On second thought, let's wait it out till nightfall and see what happens. At least that way we will have an idea of shift changes and hopefully the others will have talked their way out by then."

"Fine then," Cy says, settling in for the long haul. "I just hope they're okay in there. I worry about Storm--he's not exactly the most talkative of Rinder's Six." He sits down, cracking his knuckles quietly. Then he rests his hand on the hilt of his sword, in his lap. "This sword is of dwarven make. Let us hope there won't be a need to shed any dwarven blood upon it."

After a few minutes, they are led to a short table and with grunts and gestures told to sit down on the dwarven-sized benches. There are torches nearby, on stands, providing a shifting orange light over the table. Two large jugs of drink sit at either end of the long table, and a large carcass of some animal--it's been cooked so thoroughly it's hard to tell exactly what it was--sits in the center.

As the general sits, he reaches for some meat, tearing it off with his hands. His other officers follow. Emma looks to her (slightly yellowed) plate, frantically searching with her eyes for the proper eating utensils. But they are nowhere to be found. She casts a glance to Naeron, her eyes wide and almost in a panic. He nods to her, rolling his eyes and swallowing hard. Crayne and his uncle Karelth do their best to mimic the dwarven manners while trying to keep their fingers clean; Canter does the same.

Storm, however, seems right at home, reaching into the center of the table and tearing off a limb of burned meat. He also fills his goblet with the drink--some strong Dwarven Ale and downs a full glass, slamming it down on the table with an "ahh."

One of the officers, sitting to the left of Korg, then speaks to Storm and his comrades: "I am Captain Delk of the Warhammer Brigade, and I can speak your common tongue. I will translate the great general's words."

"[On behalf of the Warhammer Clan and the Warhammer Brigade, welcome to the dwarven lands,]" Korg begins, with Delk translating just after. "[I have heard of you...Rinder's Six...and know of the respect your reputation demands among the human peoples. I will offer you a modicum of that respect, but will not forget your error of trespassing on our land."

"Trespassing?!" Crayne objects as soon as the word clears Delk's lips.

Korg turns to Crayne, not understanding the word the mage blurted out but understanding clear enough its meaning. "[Yes, trespassing. You are obviously not familiar with the ancient agreement, between the great dwarf Peltec and King Japeth I of Raimead.]"

"Ancient agreement?" Emma questions, almost whispering. She looks first to Crayne and Karelth, wondering with her eyes whether either of them could remember any such agreement. "King Japeth I of Raimead ruled many generations ago, hundreds of years have passed since his reign..." she says aloud.

"Yes," Naeron says, "during the great early years of our kingdom, when a Raimead sat upon the throne," he smiles, reminiscing as if he were actually there.

"[The Great Dwarven Pact, I believe it was called,]" the general explains, with Delk continuing to translate. "The humans agreed to allow the dwarves to rule themselves and remain upon their ancient and rightful land in the Raimead Mountains. The dwarves pleged to respect the humans' claims to the lowlands on either side. Each party agreed to aid in the others' defense...]"

"A military treaty..." Naeron says, listening closely.

"[Yes, but it was more than that. The humans depended on ore from mines in the dwarven territory. We demanded that they not send humans into the mines--]"

"That explains," Canter whispers, as if having an epiphany, "why the team of miners we traveled with to the Raimead Mine months ago was made completely of dwarves!"

"[--but agreed to supply the humans with a share of ore at a reasonable price.]"

"Storm," Crayne asks, "do you know of this pact?"

"Ya," Storm replies. "I heard of it before...dunno much about thems details, though. Or what it's got ta do with that blockade," he then turns to face Korg. "[What's this got ta do with that blockade?]"

"[You see, Storm--if indeed you are Storm--things have changed in the many generations since the Great Dwarven Pact. And many have changed only recently. We are not isolated here. There is a great amount of travel across our mountains and we learn a lot of what happens elsewhere in the realm. We know of the war the humans are facing, and that it is only a matter of time until the Knights of Rinder demand dwarven soldiers to aid in the fighting. But we have also learned of the great losses the Kingdom of Rinder has suffered in this war, despite the victory you seem to have claimed at some fort.

"[In light of the tide of the war, the generals of the Dwarven Clans have met and agreed: we no longer have confidence in the ability of the humans to defend us, that is, to hold up their side of the agreement.]"

"But," Canter begins, only to be silenced by Korg, who strongly raises a hand.

"[There is more. The recent discover of adamantine in these mountains changes things as well. As you well know adamantine is a much more valuable metal than mere iron or copper ore. Valuable not only for its sheer strength, but because it is so rare, and so badly needed at this moment in history. The Clans therefore feel that the dwarves deserve a better price per shipment.

"[The human authorities in Parton, however, refuse to negotiate. We have sent emissaries to Parton, to the Duke's--]"

"King's." Storm corrects the general, even before Delk can translate.

Korg cocks his head, continuing, "[...King's castle, but his official will not raise the level of payment. In the meantime, we have received another offer. This matters not to the humans, it seems, who wave the ancient script of the Pact in our faces and demand their precious metal. They threaten us and claim we are in violation of the treaty, when it is only just for the humans to renegotiate. But they refuse.]" The general turns to the side and spits upon the floor in disgust.

Then he leans forward over the table, lowering the half-chewed bone to his plate for the first time. "[The Dwarven Clans will not be cheated. And the Dwarven Clans will not be threatened. We control the mountains, as it is written in the Pact, and until the humans at Parton cooperate--until his majesty's officer agrees to our new demands--we will defend ourselves and our land. And we will honor our other bidder, whose price is much more to our liking.]"

Korg leans back in his seat, raising his goblet to his lips and chomping on his meat as Delk finishes the translation. With a loud exhale, Storm turns his head to Emma. Emma then turns to looks to Naeron--this did, after all, concern his lord.

"Please ask the general," Naeron says to Delk politely, "with whom his emissary has dealt in Castle Raimead."

Delk translates, and Korg nods as he listens. He then responds quickly in dwarven. Storm drops his meat as he hears the name, his eyes wide, looking to Crayne.

The name needs no translation, yet Delk repeats it after Korg: "The man is Paros."

The sun is almost finished setting as Hannibal and Cy continue to sit and wait outside the Warhammer Brigade's headquarters. Hannibal is beginning to become impatient, and Cy more concerned. Their eyes are trained on the guards, who haven't moved from their position just outside the cave entrance. But as the sun sets, four new dwarves emerge and begin to chat with them.

"The changing of the guard," Cy whispers. "If we're going to go in, this is our chance."

"Ok, let's just--"

But Hannibal doesn't get a chance to finish the though, for he hears movement behind him. He spins around at the sound, causing Cy to do the same.

There stands a short, leather-like skinned, humanoid figure. It growls at Hannibal, it's short sword held out in front, drool dripping from its open mouth. Three more peek around the rocks behind.

"Curses!" Cy says, snapping Hannibal out of his trance. "Of all the times..." He grips his sword more tightly and pulls the straps on his armor tight. "I loathe goblins."

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