Els Criboth Kinnten. That was what was carved over the tiny wooden door that blended nearly-perfectly into the bark of the twisted oak tree.
You are not welcome here. That was the rough translation.
The minuscule brass doorknob had a twisted symbol on it meant to ward off trespassers, friends and unwanted family members. Plingoth slid his key into the lock with satisfaction. A Crelleth’s home was where he hung his hat, and he hung his hat in a place too inhospitable for anyone to want to visit there. It was as it should be. That’s all he asked for