"WHAT LIES WITHIN?!" He slammed his chest and spat out a tremendous fit of wheezing laughter, barely being able to hold the reigns of his stocky brown mare; The sound of his voice heaved across the camp like a rumbling thunder, streaking with aberrant gasps for air as Yullar desperately struggled to contain himself.

     ". . .LO. . .LOok around you boy - what caverns could possibly lie up here? When they said that warriors were put under atop Krolm's Anvil, they rarely meant it in the literal sense!"

     Finally managing to catch his breath, the red-cheeked captain gave a weary pat of his scaled belly and slid off of the beast, wiping a few renegade tears from his eyes as they shot out over the collective motley of brightly-colored tents, cindering fires and dreary-faced fighters. Here and there in the forefront he caught the shifting attention of some nosy busy-body, and he was suddenly keenly aware of the daft presence adjacent him; his gaze returned to that of the ghoulishly pale youth.

     "Come here you...", he began, tucking the spear into his left before strapping a beefy right arm around the shorter warrior's shoulders, dragging him a further few yards out from the tents with his head nodding affirmatively towards the distance. "...See those dots just a little ways off? No doubt you did, they arrived around the same time as the rest of our camp-builders; Now, count them - one...two...six in total, right? With us that makes seven, yes - the seven most powerful clans in all Ulgothe all come together for a regular little party, yes? And what party would that be, that requires the likes of civilization's fiercest arms, and the warriors who use them? Honor, boy - an honor unattainable through the use of talk or arguing, of the kind that rings true between even the basest ant and the proudest lion. Honor through Battle, where lots are drawn and settled by the spear and axe..."

     His speech slowed, then went silent for a while, and his gaze stretched over the dusk's edge...then he latched an eye back onto his companion's frail form and continued:

     "...I've been here thrice in my lifetime, lad - I still recall the days when we sat near the head of the council in the longhouse of the Grey Wyrms; But maybe you're just too young to remember...yes...- still, you ought to know better of the world by now, especially seeing as you're wielding the tools of an adult. And speaking of which..."

     The portly warrior unhooked his grasp on the younger man, instead shoving spear and shield into the boy's stomach with a hearty nudge.

     "Do me a favor and head for the camp-center to ask about my tent; If it's up, find Hertla there and tell her and her boy to get these nice and polished for me before we settle in for the night - the party'll start early in the morning, and we don't want to miss it on account of a few unfinished formalities. Don't worry about any introductions, they'll know its from me - and as for you, well...here today, gone tomorrow, yes? For myself, I've got a few old friends to do some catching up with."

     He nodded towards a haphazardly strewn pile of bones laying just in sight of the camp, erected around the aged and rotting husk of an undoubtedly ancient oak. Then with a parting slap on the boy's back, the stout figure turned and strode off towards them, whistling merrily all the way.