The world outside through the barred window of the orc-blooded man's cell was another place, another time altogether almost, as from his viewpoint he could see past the darkness and into the modest village down the hill. Golden glows radiated from shuttered windows, thin slits of light peaking out into the pitch black. No single one proved strong and even with the number there were, there were not many. The road leading down, while visible in the day and only truly a short ways away, felt quite distant and cold where it vanished beyond his innate ability to see in absolute darkness, and it reappeared only near the low wall near the outskirts where a few torches in the open burned; hopeful, tragic little endeavors set to ward off whatever might dare in the hours of darkness. It was more an attempt than anything else, the [i]Marches[/i] were merciless after all, and if it were not the weather that would get one killed at night, it were those things hunting in it.

People spoke in hushed tones about wolfmen just as much as they did literal wolves, yet in both cases neither were bothered by the flames. Bandits, brigands, thugs, thieves, and all their like feared not fire either - many went so far as to even wield it as a weapon. All these things and others were great reason for the absolute lack of anyone out, even at such an early hour. The village, as it were, was vulnerable in every sense, so much so that the fear they addressed the goliath with was as sincere as it came. It truly was no elaboration of thought to imagine she alone, if she so much escaped, and took up arms could likely raid most the land here by herself. Such was the natures of monstrous blood, Gorosk would be able to reflect. As a whole it spoke leagues about the village and how now and then some lights dimmed for the night but never went out for fear of the cold or fear of those in it.

[@BangoSkank]