Silvertip Mountain Poslání

He did not have such long legs; he was smaller, and yet he climbed! His steps were those of a mountaineer, a man—small, perhaps—but carved from the very rock that kissed the heavens. The ascent was no gentle undertaking; each hard-won meter stole his breath, drained his strength. It was a duel against the mountain—against its howling winds that struck like open-palmed blows, against its treacherous paths crumbling beneath their feet… But like a warrior in the arena, he would not bend the knee! He would wrestle this peak into submission and let his cry ring from its summit.

Rædwulf’s presence was a lifeline—he was not alone. A comrade stood beside him, one who could rekindle his courage, stoke the fire in his heart. Though breathless from the climb, the ash tree raised his voice in song—battle hymns, chants of conquest, words to keep the embers of defiance alive. They would reach the summit together, as brothers-in-arms.

Bratře, bratře, slyš můj hlas! Slyš, jak má čepel seky, má sekera řezá a má kladivo drtí! Bratře, bratře, kráčím za tebe! Slyš, jak mé srdce bije v rytmu kostí, které drtím!!