Skaldi dropped out of the opening, and for one so heavy and solid, he made very little noise on his landing. Cyrdic was constantly amazed at Dwarfs. The Elves of Ulthuan were often the ones that were given awe and reverence for their innate skills and abilities, but somehow even after all of this running and lack of food or water, Skaldi still seemed as if he could take more without complaint. He drew himself up, and glanced at what Camilla was pointing at. 

As Cyrdic dropped down next, Skaldi spoke in a hushed tone. "The writing is bastardized." He said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, though with obvious distaste. "But it reads 'sacrificial offering' by my reckoning." Behind the two, Cyrdic caught Dietrichia, helping her down to the floor, having been lowered by Yantz. Then Yantz followed, and behind him Konrad. "What do they sacrifice?" Cyrdic asked no one in particular. Briefly he had the fear it was people, but there was too little opportunity actually gather people to cut up. His thoughts were probably darker than the reality. 

Skaldi opened the barrel in question, and suddenly an overwhelming smell washed over him. He cringed, and the odor reached Camilla. It smelled like old game, having been chopped up days ago and left to its own devices. That was a bit odd. "I've heard tale they'll sacrifice sentient creatures like you or I, but that must be on special occasions." The Dwarf muttered, and without hesitation he reached into the barrel and pulled out a slab of meat, still somewhat bloodied and smelling like an open wound. 

Dietrichia vomited at the smell and sight of Skaldi taking a bit out of it. Meanwhile, Ivan seemed nearly stuck from the top entrance, being the last one above after Boris had descended. It took Cyrdic and Boris to pull him through. Despite his belt being a few notches tighter from their journey, he was still the largest member of the party. "It seems Dwaf tunnels do not suit me, eh?" Ivan exclaimed as quietly as one could exclaim something, trying to be boisterous for the rest. 

"Och, stop yer whining, witch!" Skaldi said. "It's better than dust and bone. Now..." 

He tossed a few pounds of cut game on the ground. Cyrdic was curious at what exactly the Dwarf was planning. "Be useful and hit them with yer lightning to burn 'em. You, lad," he said to Konrad. The Greatsword had knelt down already, even the four foot fall making him wish to sit. "Aye, good Dwarf?" 

"Look around for something to drink. I doubt we'll find Bugman's here. And take a care not to take a drink of whatever you see. They could have barrels of blood. Or worse." The Dwarf tossed some more meat onto the ground. The Witch had regained her dignity, and glared at the slabs of flesh with distaste, though her stomach growled loudly as if on cue. It was with great reluctance that she tried her best to summon her powers. 

"What's worse than a barrel of blood?" Cyrdic asked. 

Skaldi looked his way. "Dawi Zharr Ale! They get the formula all wrong. Tainted bastards." 

Ozone filled the air as Dietrichia shocked the flesh on the ground with as controlled of a blast as possible, though the effort visibly strained her. She suddenly collapsed, Yantz catching her before she fell onto the ground. Steam rose into the air, and though any reiklander would say it was still beyond rare...meat was meat. Cyrdic had already (secretly) felt an intense hunger from the raw meat, but now? He grabbed up a slab and began to gulp down in great bites what looked to be a five pound piece. 

"Water!" Konrad whispered excitedly to the group, having uncovered five barrels. One held an odd wine, the others had more meat, though they still had hair and hooves attached. But the fifth had actual water. "It's dirty as Sigmar's balls, but it's water, by the Hammer!"
 
"Wazakrok!" A cry echoed down the hall, and the clip clop of what sounded like hooves in the distance. An unintelligable exchange was transpiring not 12 paces away down another curve of the hall, but the group couldn't help themselves. They ate and drank at least a bit, as quitely as they could. It was filled with dirt and blood, but it would keep them going for the moment. Cyrdic reluctantly tossed aside what was left of his slab, knowing to fill himself too quickly, even starving, would hamper him more than he would want. 

"Dahzah, fur kol naltorkag," one of the gravely voices barked, and soon a slow approach by one of the Dawi Zharr was evident. 
[@Penny]