The clouds and wind that had surrounded Castle Terribel over most of the night were breaking up. Erich noted his lantern had begun to sputter, and so lit another match, quietly vowing to make the Thing reimburse them for them all in the near future. "Who goes there?" came a familiar voice as he fiddled with it.
"Me," said Erich. He gave a nod as the lantern's light blazed bright again, then turned to his fellow. "Now, shall I ask you the same question, Gunther?"
The old Mountain Erl shook his head. "No need to bite my head off, Erich."
"Is that another joke on my Ghoulish heritage?" muttered Erich. "Because I should remind you, I was born here, not in the Waste and..."
Gunther sighed. "Consider it completely unintentional. Brought on by this strange night." He shook his head. "Fires, death, and strange weather. Something is up, even though we'll probably never know the half of it."
Erich shrugged. "You speak as if that's odd. We're involved in a war over the river, allied with people we usually fight, helping them with people that are usually helping them, and I'll be damned if I can keep any of it straight." He glanced at the older man. "Is it Montalban or Monfort that was under siege? I can't keep it clear."
"Bad business," said Gunther. "Bad business. I love Lord Mansemat dearly, but he should recall what happened to his father when he went over the River. Not a Cthonique yet has had it go well fighting over there."
Erich gave a nod. "True, true. Still, it's gone well so far..."
"Has it?" asked Gunther. "This has happened, after all."
The Ghoul raised an eyebrow. "Are you seriously suggesting that this strange weather was somehow connected to the war?"
"Well, it followed it didn't it?" asked Gunther.
Erich considered a reply to that, and decided that it was best to remain silent.