The morning sun glistened against Luther's bare chest as he started slowing down from his jog around the island, his chest heaving with every breath as he made his way through the market to buy the supplies he would need to bring to the cook as it was his turn this week. After getting the supplies, he made his way back to the Black Towers, eight large, pure black towers named after their geometrical shapes aligned in a large octagon, with a black marble courtyard where he found a few of his brothers and sisters sparring. "Luther!" One of them called out, a man by the name of Erenheel, as he ran towards him moving stray golden strands of hair from his face as he did so. "How good of you to finally come out of your hut, we haven't seen you in ages!" "You've clearly gone blind, Erenheel," Luther smiled. "How is it you haven't seen the only hulking northman in all Sunderland prancing about like he owns the place. Your godly powers of foresight are evidently wasted on you." "The brutish northman has learned a three syllable word!" Erenheel lightly mocked. "Aye, indeed. Keep it up, brother, and you might taste what it feels like to have a cleft skull," he laughed shoving the other member of his order away as he went to deliver the goods to the kitchen.