Asvaldur was a land of towering mountains, their jagged peaks shrouded in an almost perpetual veil of fog. Though not as bitterly cold as the Kingdom of Eira, the air here was crisp and damp, carrying the scent of earth and rain.
"Watch your step. Stay close to the person in front of you," commanded Sir Dusan, his voice firm but quiet. "With this fog, we can barely see a few feet ahead." As the highest-ranking General of the Nightwarden, he led the way with steady confidence, his silhouette barely visible in the thick mist.
The group had little advantage in these conditions—except for the werewolves. Their keen hearing could pierce through the fog's deception, catching the faintest disturbances in the silence. But they only had two among them: Thorin and Puck.
To cover more ground, the two split up—Thorin taking the front, Puck guarding the rear—each tasked with detecting any approaching threat.
