Supplies. Those were the first thing he needed, that was clear enough. There had been little enough time to train, to get used to the entirely new surroundings and find his friends; but he was somewhat prepared. (And if not that, then at least willing to accept the stranger things.)

As soon as the countdown ended he was off, fumbling through the fog for a bag or a satchel or even a weapon, though it was extremely doubtful he would be lucky enough to find a musket here. All he had to do was stay calm, this was no worse than a blizzard back at his childhood home. All of a sudden there was pain, a quick knife to his shoulder given by someone unseen, and he bit back a curse. Nothing for it but to continue (and apply pressure to that wound, he would check on it when he could see better) -- so he did, keeping to the edges of the sound and fury up ahead of him, hoping someone would leave at least a few things behind.