"Fuck." — After the sound of their shared chamber's door closed, in a thick curse, growling with swallowed frustration, Aslak stomped away rapidly to the empty Falling Lane from which he would drop speedily in the obscure night to land on the ground below his Castle.
Torches of the wild men and their holders waited for the one Leader, the Archduke who would head the crawl through the unpredictable ground the hazardous Sortnafeigr instilled.
"Myrkzver." — Otrur Nolsvun welcomed him prominently with tied hair at low height, wearing the thick fur of strong leather and simple armour they were accustomed to wearing below.
"Everyone's here, right?"
"Yes."
"Alright."
Turning on his feet, many men and women stood ready to listen to the words explaining this dangerous journey that although they had heard the song of their tribe's hand... a goal was needed, a target… a desired hunt, should be conveyed for them to search.