The wizard finishes! Now that 10 minutes has passed, surely they are talking about the same thing. They must be!
Actually the conversation has died down quite a bit. You can't make out much through the echos, but an occasional loudly spoken word or two gets through. You hear "Food," you hear "Hungry," you hear "Time." You get the feeling they are hungry, and talking about what to do about it, and when.
Dustfinger contemplates for a moment. "I could scout ahead in my own darkness. We could lay a trap of your spike growth, druid, just at the bend in the far side of the cave. I'll leave my darkness there, and then we lure them out with the lighthearted sounds of gnomish adolescents in the throes of ecstasy. They will enter the darkness and cut themselves to ribbons on your brambles."
Dustfinger nods at Fjolnir. He grabs Az's arm while fishing for a ball bearing out of his pouch, and whispers. "Just trust me, Az, and hold on to my cloak if you don't want me dragging you around like a whelp." Dustfinger gives Az a moment to decide how he'll be tailing before doing the voodoo on the ball bearing that brings darkness down on everyone. "We'll head out when you're ready."
Dustfinger peeks around the corner with Az Emberi in tow. He sees a few orcs that were milling about, but for the last few seconds are staring at the giant sphere of darkness that has been slowly moving into their cave. They pull out javelins and roar at it, the echo making it sound like more orcs than you see.
Dustfinger lets go of Az and pulls his double-bladed scimitar. Whispers to Az, pressing the darkened bearing into his hand, "Looks like they made us, bud. Close your hand on the bearing if you want to hide the darkness, or just chuck it up ahead of you." Dust then murmurs a new incantation and duplicates himself, a spell that requires surprisingly little mental effort compared to the darkness.
Absinthe, upon hearing the orc roar, let's out a loud bellowing roar of his own in response. Intimidate: 1 then runs in to join his party members in the darkness. "I'm going to need some light if you want me to go any further or be much use at all." Planting my self in a decent spot to attack the first one that rounds the corner.
Fjolnir continues to creep stealthily and stays in tow, about 25'-30' back, just at the edge of Dustfingers' palpable darkness- when they hesitate a moment, he continues to re-ready himself, with one arrow nocked and ready for any hostilities, and another pinched in his bowhand.
He stops a moment to keep a huge pork-laden fart pinched and contorts his face in effort.