Strange enough, though through the hall walked an endless amount of spirits, the whole place was silent. Only voice that ever rang in those hall's was the voice of their ruler; Chemosh, Lord of the dead. But he wasn't there now and Svartnir felt himself quite relieved. The god had tiesed him, persueded him for a time that felt like eternity. Chemosh made him promises if Svartnir would be willing to be His servant. Never. Svartnir wasn't the only one in the hall who didn't move on. Most of the spirits kept on walking to another places, they didn't stay in the hall. But Svartnir couldn't leave. He was waiting for.. for something.. He nearly forgot, but then he always remembered Lunalaths face. That his beloved would bring him back. He couldn't go along with the other ones, the dead ones. Some of those who lingered on like he did had almost faded away from sight. They were forgetting why they stayed and didn't move on. From time to time Svartnir managed to drag his soul, spirit, what ever was left of him, back to the world of the living. But only when Chemosh wasn't around. He had even managed to contact his brother. It was getting harder everytime though. Now he could only watch anymore. And listen. And wait. And hope that the Lord of the dead would stay away for a little bit longer. Just enough so that Lunalath could summon him back without trouble. Chemosh didn't give up on any soul he had in his halls. Not willingly.