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

Hannibal's attention is quickly on the new stranger. "That voice sounds familiar," he mutters to himself as he peers through the night to get a better look at the source. Then, he discovers just who it is.

Hannibal is tired. He is tired of the demons that haunted his sleep, he is tired of the aches that invaded his heart when he pictured Melinda's face, and most of all he is tired of knowing that this man still enjoyed the luxury of life when Hannibal owed him the death he deserved!

With a determined look to him Hannibal unsheathes his sword slowly while walking towards Bernigan. He doesn't carry the look of a man filled with rage, nor does he carry himself like a man bent on revenge, he is simply determined. As he approaches Bernigan, he speaks slowly and softly so as not to reveal the anger he feels.

"How did it feel coward, when you saw her lifeless body hit the muddy streets? Did it please you to shoot her in the back, like the spineless dog you are? I'm not going to just kill you, I'm going to make you suffer, make you beg me to end it." As he grows near, Hannibal draws his dagger as well, as if prepared to fight flourentine. "One more thing before I paint this road with your intestines," he spits, the rage beginning to show in him now. "You're not just responsible for one death...you killed two people that night. The reason she was so slow is that she was carrying my child!"

Watching the thief approach Bernigan and hearing his words of accusation, Emma begins to understand a little more about Hannibal's hatred for the man. And, having gained some insight into Bernigan's character through her god-given sight, she doesn't doubt there's some truth behind them. And, now Hannibal's words from the ride to Dillend so long ago, about a girl named Melinda and his regrets, come rushing back to her. But, as she sees him draw his weapons and announce his intentions to slay the diplomat here and now, she rushes forward.

"Hannibal! No!" she says, grabbing one arm to discourage him from making such a mistake in front of Captain Delk and ruining their chances for convincing the dwarves to help Rinder again. She presses herself close to him, almost in an embrace. "Don't," she says simply, and quietly for his ears alone, "Not like this...Melinda wouldn't want it this way." She looks into the thief's eyes with a pleading look, hoping that she can help to calm the raging anger within him, but knowing it will be a tough battle.

It seemed odd to Hannibal that Emma would choose such a tactic to stop him, and again Hannibal found his resolve fading as confusion washed over him. He still feels the rage burning in his belly like a roaring fire, but on the other side he hears Emma's words. His vision blurs slightly as everything but Emma and Bernigan beyond faded away into a grey cloud.

Despite Emma's valiant effort, though, Hannibal's hatred is too severe and he presses on. Gently but firmly he pushes past the warrior maiden, surprised by her strength but undaunted in his efforts. Realizing her efforts are still quite strong to stop him, he feels compelled to add fuel to an already roaring fire.

"And what if I told you he was Blood Clan Emma?" he says plainly, the pain of revealing another tormenting demon from his closet evident on his face. "What would you think then? Would you feel that your god would then justify this man's death, after all the souls he alone has sent to Anhur's doorstep?!!" His last statement was spit, almost out of disgust and it pained him that Emma had to be on the receiving end of it.

Allowing his face to turn from rage to desperation, he pleads with the shield maiden: "Please Emma, let me kill this man now, so that he will no longer torment my dreams and that I can finally let Melinda go. Please." With this he only waits, chest heaving in great breaths as he anticipates fighting a battle he may quite possibly lose, but one he was nonetheless prepared to face.

As Crayne sees Hannibal's lunge for Bernigan he grows angry. The situation was getting out of hand and Crayne was beginning to succumb to the words and thoughts of Naeron the half elf who obviously held a deep dislike of the dwarfs - one probably associated with his elven blood. Okay, he had agreed to be a prisoner, but these negotiations were getting worse all the time with this slime ball Bernigan being present when discussing the possibility of Paros being involved? And now the dwarves wanted the Six to escort this Bernigan to the Castle of Parton? Unlikely!

Crayne storms back toward the entrance to the cave, but finds his path blocked by dwarven guards. He can see over the shorter (but stronger) dwarves, and General Korg stands just a few yards beyond, conversing in his native tongue with some of his officers and soldiers.

The mage is angry, yelling at the dwarven leader Korg in his stern way, "There is one more point that I wish to bring to your attention! The group has decided that it is an impossibility for this man Bernagan to travel with us to Parton. For we feel he will disrupt our route to Parton to present your demands to our King. We wish these negotiations to run as smoothly as possible and appreciate it if you would let this man Bernigan make his own way to Parton if that's where he insists he must go! Please Korg we have cooperated with all your demands thus far and we wish very much that the Dwarven Treaty remain intact. We would appreciate it very much if you would grant us this one wish." Crayne nods and then awaits the Dwarf's response.

Korg's attention is captured by the raving and yelling human at the cave's entrance. He turns to one of his officers, who translates Crayne's speech. Then he speaks in Dwarven to the officer and walks away into the cave. Crayne shifts on his feet as the officer walks toward him, remaining on the other side of the guards.

"The general wants you to know, human, that Alec's business in Parton is not to represent the Dwarven Clans in these negotiations. His business in Parton is as liege to his own Duke. But if you are not strong or honorable enough to see the diplomat to Parton safely, then perhaps you are not worthy of representing the Dwarven Clans at the bargaining table!"

With this, the officer barks orders ("Kut-ya!") to the guards, who snap up in a strong posture. And he turns slowly, walking away from the entrance, leaving Crayne and his comrades to deal with Bernigan.

After the discussion--if you could call it that--Crayne makes his way back to the group. He looks to Emma and Naeron and then to Hannibal, "I think it wise that I go on ahead along with Hannibal here and make great speed to Parton. For I do believe that Hannibal can not bare this man to be in his sight. Upon arrival we can use the time to learn more of this Paros. Also, I would like very much to speak with the man and listen to what he has to say. Hopefully our arrival will act as a distraction, whereby hopefully you can take advantage and speak with the King directly without any interference from Paros. What do you all say?" Crayne says with a raised eyebrow.

"No," Hannibal says, his blood still boiling. "This will end TONIGHT!" he shouts pointedly at Bernigan.

Canter's eyes flicker between the scene with Emma, Hannibal, and Crayne, and the diplomat Bernigan. How many sides this one man appeared to have. An ancient vendetta held against him, an association with the Blood Clan, representation of a Duke, one of the Great Houses of Rinder? And what of this 'private venture?' If the Duke of Marlond was not involved, could it be the Blood Clan? Is that why he wouldn't talk about it?

This was the moment, Canter decided. For years he had played along, allowed life to happen to him. Sometimes he had been lucky, he joined this group, and that was probably the best thing to happen to him. His father, even his brother Markson would be proud. Sometimes he wasn't so lucky, like losing at that high-stakes card and dice game. But things had always happened to him.

Not anymore. Canter Tarp had decided. He didn't care the consequences, they could be dealt with later. Hannibal Smith was a trusted friend. They had shed blood together at the Battle of Dillend, and watched each others' backs under cover in the labyrinth below the City of Seden. It was time to do something, to make something happen.

Canter unsheathes his sword in a dramatic fashion, the ring of metal on leather as the blade slides out of the sheath. (As they left the cave, their weapons were returned to them.) He holds it out in front of his body toward Bernigan, who stands there next to the dwarven officer, Captain Delk. When he speaks, he addresses not Delk but Emmalya Serralund, Shield Maiden of Anhur.

"Emma, let Hannibal do what must be done. You know deep in your heart that this is just. The consequences may not be favorable, but this man does not deserve to see the sun rise with another day. If I were faced with the murderer of my woman and child, I would demand my just revenge. And so I will stand by Hannibal and see to it he gets his," Canter breathes deeply, his eyes darting to the side to see how the priestess reacts.

Bernigan smiles, drawing his own sword and holding it out in front of his body. He steps forward, away from Delk, whose eyes narrow as he judges the precarious situation.

"Ooo," Bernigan sneers, "isn't this a predicament? So the villain's chequered past is uncovered!" He laughs, a sinister laughter which echoes off the cliffs and mountain-faces. "But the irony! For of course, his is not the only past marred with misfortune...perhaps? Injustice?" He emphasizes the last word, goading Emma whose strong sense of right and wrong he can sense (if not guess).

"And aren't the stakes higher now?" He continues, beginning to circle the scene. His every step is matched by Canter, and followed by Crayne's eyes. But no overtly offensive moves are taken. "For what if I don't make it to Parton? Would that be the coup of the year: High-ranking diplomat slain by special forces of the Knights of Rinder? Mmm?" he teases. "How do you think you'd be received by the royal family then, huh? And how would they view the accusations you will sure make?"

Emma swallows hard, concentrating on Hannibal. Bernigan's gloating didn't help the situation, and he no doubt knew that well. She keeps her eyes on her friend, saying to him, "Anhur is a god of justice, Hannibal, and sometimes that includes revenge. But it's a level-headed kind of revenge...a methodical, well-planned, and legally-supported form of justice.

"I know you might be doing all the world a favor if you simply ran Bernigan through right here or somewhere down the road," she continues, "I've looked into his soul and found it to be evil, and, I'm sure he's done many bad things in his life. But, killing him outright won't give us the chance to undo those evil works...and in death, he would still be laughing at us from the grave. He has stolen away much of the adamantine that our army needs in the coming conflict. I know he's probably done much more, and much worse, than that...including the murder of your beloved. Help me to prove those things and I will assure you of his punishment...and it will last much longer than a simple, killing blow. As a Shield-Maiden of Anhur, I make that vow to you..."

Hannibal's veins bulge in his neck with fury, but Emma keeps her hand on the thief's upper arm, holding him--for now. Did he even hear her? She could only hold him back for so long. And Crayne, for all his wisdom and magical powers, couldn't stop him if he wanted to. Naeron didn't say anything, not holding Hannibal back but not promoting the fight, either. Was he simply sitting this one out so as not to implicate himself (and his liege, the new King?) in the possible murder of another high-level diplomat? And Canter, with his support of Hannibal, the scales could be tipped.

The choice remained with the thief, wronged so dealy in the past and faced the chance of revenge in the present.

"Like I said," Bernigan says, cocking his head, "isn't this a predicament?"

Storm's eyes grow wide. He stares at his father from across the room as their eyes lock for the first time in over a decade. Suddenly Storm is very aware of just how long a time that is--normally to dwarves, a decade isn't quite that long. But Storm now realizes that that is only true from a biological standpoint. He now knew that a decade, for whichever race, was certainly a long time to go without one's family.

He is surprised at his father's condition. He knew his father was venerable, but for some reason it never quite occured to Storm that his father was even capable of aging. Thorn was the master swordsman of his clan, perhaps one of the most important, strong, and well-known dwarves in the area, possibly the Dwarven Nation. The Strongblades, after all, were singled out from the rest of the Clans due to their preference in swords as opposed to axes or other heavier weapons usually associated with dwarves. Thus, as the master forger of the one clan who prefers swords, Thorn's reputation reached wide.

But he looked so small now. Could this dwarf really be the one who could pound huge metal sheets to perfect shape with the effortless flick of his wrist?

Storm could only stare agape. He manages somehow to rise to his feet, though his legs are shaky and seem like they'll give out at any moment. He wants to go over to the dwarf and stand defiantly and proud before him, showing that he is not sorry for his actions. But he cannot move; his legs refuse to obey his wishes. The best he can do is humbly wait, wait for his father to approach and make the first bit of conversation. Even if he truly wanted to, he doubted he could even move to begin with.

"[So,]" Thorn begins, his voiced weakened, quiet, and crackly.

"[So,]" Storm answers, looking to his feet. He couldn't bear to look his father in the eye.

"[You have returned, yes?]" Thorn asks, raising a bushy eyebrow but keeping his distance from his own son.

"[Yes--]"

"[But you will go again.]"

"[Yes.]" Storm new he was hurting his father deeply with that answer. But it would hurt him more to lie.

"[You were with the humans? And the elf?]"

"[Yes.]"

"[And they are your...friends.]"

Storm nods, ashamed.

Thorn sniffles, keeping his chin up. He runs his eyes over his son, taking in Storm's short beard and the scars he has collected over the past decade. "[They are honorable?]"

"[They are honorable,]" Storm assures his father. The words come out slowly, definitively. He knew this was important. "[How be Wynd?]" he asks tentatively, thinking of his sister and that fateful day when she handed him two swords and helped him run away.

At first Thorn's eyes narrow as if he is about to become angry. Then, like a balloon slowly leaking air, he appears to deflate. Finally, he answers stiffly, "[Wynd is fine. She just had her second son, and he is strong.]"

Storm smiles, an uneasy smile. He knew his father must be very proud.

"[You took my two best swords,]" Thorn says sternly, changing the subject and lowering his gaze to stare directly at Storm. "[I hope it was worth it.]"

Storm doesn't know what to say. How could he possibly explain all that had happened to him?

Thorn continues, "[Those swords were never meant for terror. They should be burned in the fires of the nine hells for evil deeds I have heard.]"

Storm flinches. Flashes of Alam, Slint, and Nightshade appear before his eyes. There was so much more to the past ten years! Why did he have to talk about them?

"[Father...]" Storm pleads, looking up into his father's eyes with a sorrowful look.

"[I AM NOT YOUR FATHER!!]" Thorn screams, his entire body shaking with each word. "[My son DIED the day he walked away. That boy did nothing in his life worthy of the honorable Strongblade name! NOTHING!]" He is furious. His face is beet red, the veins on his forehead bulge and pulse with anger. "[Nothing,]" he repeats, his words but a whisper.

With that, he turns and slowly, painfully walks away.

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