"Hold still, humans." Shifting shadows of shrouded serpents loom in the inferno's wake, "We would hate to make a mess." Axes glint, their fine outlines glorified by the fires.

Krik reaches for the fine blades. Battle position is posted. Yet, as the boy prepares for an uneven brawl, he truly desires for another course. Any...other...course. "Ero." The boy's feet shuffle rearwards while his fingers curl around the cold, leather handles. "You got something or are we gonna just stand here?"

"Keep your calm, Krik." Swift eyes scan the quickly darkening coast. They peruse the sands and seek a route. "Great plans are not born in a flash."

"Great?" Krik watches the villains march towards the incline of the beach, "I am just asking for any plan. Anything works. I am not picky."

Gentle waves vanish beneath expanding plumes of murky mist. Once glorious trees are devoured by creeping aerial spines of growing fog. Ahead, standing above the low-hanging clouds as if hovering are the sloping sides of a mountainous terrain. Their target. Their destination.

"Ok, Krik. I got an idea," he keenly observes the intensifying fog, noticing full well its so-to-be advantage, "we head to the mountain base."

"Ok, how do you plan on doing that?"

"By moving..." Ero speaks above a whisper.

"By what?"

"Run, you ninny!" Ero pivots upon the sand and catapults a limb forward. His voice booms, "Run!"

Krik throws an overwhelmed gaze at Ero, and swiftly sprints after the rather lacking runner. "Run?" He catches the man as they hurry towards the stone wall ahead, "that is the best you could come up with?" Krik shifts to Ero's side, catching the old man's gaze as he passes with ease, "I could have thought of that!"

Ero makes to reply, but his lungs must be preserved. It has been quite some time since he needed to exert such energy. Alas, he knows well of what must be mustered. For as he hurries for the slowly dissappearing boulders, the sounds of grunting orcs and their stampeding hooves boom upon the air. Quite a shame, he thinks to himself, he had not a clue of an orc's speed. Honestly, he has never had the need to run from an orc before. Usually he just went to them, or he waited upon solid legs. But ignorance could not disperse the knowledge of the single option: running was the only way out.

He only hopes now his ignorance doesn't kill him...

But it would seem that his calculated use of the fog was wiser than he could imagine. With every passing second their surroundings seem to fade into a brackish gray. Sands beneath their very feet seem lost to the eye. Rocks they so keenly focus upon diminish in the expanding haze. Even as their metallic soles clank loudly upon the rocky inception of the mountainous plane, their eyes are left wanting.

Tendrils of gray smother the skies. Wafting breezes carry strands of wisping mists across the vast stone wall before them. In a moment's passing, the two lose sight of their goal. Neither can determine the distance now. And as the two barrel onward, the sand fading to heavy boulder, they find their hasty fault.

Skidding, his eyes now alerted, Ero just barely catches himself before a sudden steep rock wall sneaks up on him. Dismayed, he cannot believe the rate of this moving fog. He takes a moment to the eye the brown rock, laden in fine gray particles. Engraved into the surface are slithering patterns of silver that glint in the dull, foggy twilight. Quite a marvelous display of natural...

"Ero!" Krik hurls his distant voice down the slopes, "stop starring at the rocks!"

Taking heed of the already scaling Krik, Ero joins the climb. With all due haste, the man bounds up the first, second, and third naturally carved step. Iron feet scrape loudly against the fine earthen material. Chips clank as solid rain. An array of sounds reverberate through the haze; though, the sounds they used to focus upon are lost amongst the chaos. The orcish grunts have ceased. The enemy has grown silent, but the two know better than to let stillness sway their resolve.

In a minute, Krik scrambles upon the tallest portion of this stony route. He peers down upon the minuscule view his visual empire. Alas, his optical span is naught to the haze. On a normal day he would be able of seeing down to the oricish compound. Today, however, catching glimpse of the mountain's base would be astounding.

Stones wail as Ero scampers to match the boy's elevation, "Krik, give this old man a hand." Grunts and more screeching soles, "I hate heights."

Krik chuckles and throws his reach downwards. His mitt wades through the fog until finally the other's is caught. With a swift jerk and steady legs, Krik gives Ero the final energy needed to scale the peak.

"Man, Ero, age hit you like a kodo." Krik shuffles upon his bastion as Ero pants heavily. "Last time I let you climb something, mister. You might break a hip."

"Shut it, boy." Ero takes a deep breath. "Have you forgotten the orcs? Or do you simply wish for them to...," another breath, "...sneak up on us?"

Krik shakes his head at Ero and peers back upon the cliff. No movement stirs the haze. Krik, wanting to silence Ero fully, keeps still and lets time relay any message willing. A minute passes; their slowly steadying lungs the only sounds on the breeze. Another minute elapses. Not even an insect or gentle breeze stirs within the thick, merciless haze.

And so Krik finally states the obvious."Ero. I don't think they are following us anymore."

Ero hesitates, the truth behind Krik's words overwhelming. After another few seconds he turns around and replies, "Yeah." He pauses, letting his ever forming mind do just that. Upon his heels he pivots, finding a steep incline to his rear. "So much for this marvelous advantage." He sighs, knowing full well the next step. And if anything vexes this man more than ascending than it is descending. "Let's move. This point is worthless to us now."

Krik glances towards Ero, noticing the fine quiver in the old man's legs. "Ero. You just want down."

"Of course I want down. Do you think I really feel like tumbling down this...rock...while inside a metal deathcase?"

"Well, you could look at it this way," Krik smirks, "at least you would move faster."

Ero glares at Krik, "Cute. Very cute." Ero steadies himself before continuing, "Ladies first, Krik." He motions at the rock, signaling his companion.

Krik silently chuckles, his victory complete, and gracefully bounds down the opposite slope, descending with no caution or concern. Ero, however, keeps a timid pace. There is no such thing as swiftness when it comes to Ero and descent. It takes a bit for both to find the flat surface, but Ero is wildly relieved once grounded. Once upon the soft sands, they halt, eying the field of nothingness before them.

Krik, the hesitant creature now, creeps slowly through the fog. Ero, on the other hand, keeps his usual walking pace. His figure sweeps the fog eerily and majestically. it takes a moment for his form to begin to fade, and Krik is far from accepting of such a dilemma, "Ero, hold up. I am sure as hellfire not losing myself in this fog."

Ero grunts and turns a cheek towards Krik, "What happened to your speed, swifty?"

Krik moves to Ero's side and frowns at the overzealous old man, "Just lead the way, grandpa."

Triumphant, Ero turns from the child and begins an analysis of the surroundings. Ero cannot make out much of anything, but he dare try. After a few moments hunt, one item draws his attention. A short distance ahead is a stout, round construct. From its rough edges and straight-line design it can be one thing: a wall. That must be where the Elves are positioned. Or at least it is a grand starting point.

"Krik, there." Ero feebly motions at Krik, barely able to signal the boy just a few feet away, "that way."

The boy squints, yet nothing is revealed, "Ero what is there?"

"One can hope it will be our saviors."

Krik flinches, his casted shadow flinching as Ero begins treading through the briny air. "Our saviors?" His words doubtful, yet curious, "you mean the Elves?"

"Of course, child." Ero vanishes in the haze, his voice all that remains of him. "First time for them to save us. I figured it would eventually happen."

Krik chuckles. Though, the child is not certain he does so out of true humor or nervousness. A fierce ball of tension is rolling upon his innards, riling him into a state of anxiety. It has been quite some time since he has felt this. It has been so long since his soul stirred as such. And he smirks for he knows it's nature is true and pure. Excitement is what courses his veins. Adrenaline is what twines his muscles. Oh how glorious a sensation.

"Boy?" The unseen vocals vibrate upon the vast haze, "are you following?"

His smirk folds into a descended crescent and he sweeps side to side as if someone is actually watching him, "I don't know. Which way did you go?"

Ero's meek sigh barely catches Krik's ear, "Just stay there, Krik. No point in both of us getting lost."

A moment of silence passes as Krik deciphers that daunting idea.

"Ero?"

"What?"

"How do I know that you aren't lost?"

Silence.

"I hate you, boy."

Krik smiles again. He caught that old man in a grand set of questions again. There are few feats of fancy to Krik, and irking that old man tops that list. Women would have to be a close second. Ah yes, a fine maiden upon his arm and...

Something stirs behind the boy. Twisting, he futilely sweeps the haze. He heard something. Though he may not know of its exact location, he does know his ears do not lie.

"Ero? Where are you?"

Silence.

"Ero?"

Silence.

Blood careens carefully through his ever-chilling veins. A profound silence creeps over him. His breathing is deafening. Echoing exhales and reverberating inhales rattle his person. The haze is like a limitless wall. And it is boxing him in. Panic drives motion into his limbs as he takes a swift step forward. Crunching sand booms like shattering glass. Another step taken, another explosion of crackling grain. A third. Screeching particles. A fourth. Alas, this one finds not the ground. Tripping, he snags something with his toe and tumbles forward.

Collapsing into fog, he lands on his hands and keeps his feet. His spine holds at a bent angle, his butt pointing as a fleshy cusp upon the air. Skillfully he pulls his pelvis down, bends his knees and pushes with his arms. Folding backwards, he comes to an odd kneeling position and takes a breath. He takes a moment to collect his persons. Scanning the floor, he angrily desires to find what dare trip him. Alas, what he discovers strikes him numb. Filling his nasal cavities is a foul, unforgettable odor. The stench is weak for its truest form, yet it is clearly described upon his senses. it is the vile fume...of death...

And it takes but a moment for his eyes to find that which pangs him...

Chills snap within his spine. Ice creeps across his veins and a rapid beat is drummed beneath his ribs. Outlined by the fog, just visible to his eye now, are the definite features of the horrific. It is the silhouette of what the boy feared most. It is a night elf.

Snapping rearward, his balance is naught. The Elf's limbs are outstretched, yet bent as if mangled. Blood-coated cloth is torn and tattered. Scars litter his pale-blue flesh, while lifeless eyes stare at nothingness. Maw sundered, lips formed to frowning, the elf appears as screaming in his last moments. As if...strangled...

Once again a sound chimes from nearby and he bounds to his feet. His useless orbs scan the solid gray air. Blind. He is almost completely blind. Yet he knows, beyond his visual comprehension that something lurks. Something...

Suddenly, to his dismay, the boy is dumbstruck by a second aroma that abruptly bathes his person. Sniffing the air, his nostrils feed upon it with disgust. Twisted lips match that of his growing nausea. It wreaks something horrid. Simply put, it is as if someone left moist cabbage out in the sun to rot, and then drenched it in rancid meat fluids.

He doesn't know why he knows of those smells, but he doesn't really care. All he knows is the combination is new to him. It is not quite as stomach-wrenching as a dead body, but it is still grotesque. Whatever or wherever it comes from, it must be found. It must found and snuffed before his stomach fails him.

Krik spins in the haze. As expected, he cannot see a damned thing in the mist. Twisting, he peers one direction and then another. Feet shuffle in the sand while muscles within his chest clench. With every turn, every pivot the smell intensifies, yet he cannot make out anything. And now, as lungs begin to heave and anxiety drenches his mind, he realizes he no longer knows what direction he is facing.

He has no idea where the wall or his aged companion is. But he must remain calm.

"Ero?" A firm tone is radiated from his lips. "Ero? Where are you?" A bit of unease coats the latter, but it is still presently confident. Alas, the silence unnerves him further. "Ero?"

Then, as his voice begins to falter, there is movement in the haze. A darkened outline that resembles a man appears. Relief cools his racing heart and slows his rapidly fluctuating lungs. "Ero, I was getting worried there for a moment."

The figure takes a step forward, with it wafts a greater concoction of the grotesque, rotted cabbage aura. Another step is taken, and oddly the figure appears as if growing. No, it is simply getting closer.

"There is a dead elf here, Ero. The orcs must of taken the beach as well," Krik's eyes land upon the currently still figure. It sways, its head bobbing as if confirming, "we need to get out of here."

Silence.

The man before Krik holds still for a moment longer. Another step is taken, the outline still stretching. The calm found begins to fade.

"Ero?"

Silence.

Closer now, the figure is but a half-dozen yards away. Wildly fumes smother the boy. Uncertainty his weakness, his fear…

"Ero…?"

With the proceeding movement taken Krik's heart all but stops. Muscles tighten and instinctive hands reach for his weapon's handles. It…isn't…Ero…

Before him a figure bears within his hand a weapon never before seen by the child. Its shaft is long, matching that of the child's entire height. Vile, unknown strands dangle from the rod while a gnarled, pointed end protrudes towards the heavens. And it is held by a man beyond the child's own height…

It shifts in his spot, rolling its upper body and leaning back to its most upright position. Now it stands twice that of the boy. A near perfect outline looms in the fog, the distance betwixt them narrow. Heavy air drags the stench to unbearable limits.

Krik's veins freeze at the sound that booms from the haze. It's words appear as inquisitive, but the tone screams of vile delight, "You seem lost, little human." It moves forward, the fog breaking to its gigantic proportions. "You seem very...very...lost..."

Bursting through the fog, the figure of his nightmares emerges. Looming over him, its size dwarves the child. Thick legs are coated with waterlogged coverings. Barnacles stick firmly to clothe. Tangled weeds drift from splices in the seams. A rusted belt buckled rests beneath a shirtless torso. Its very flesh drives Krik's bones to quivering. Dark green and slimy, the skin's very structure matches that of the weeds upon his pants. Muscles are defined, yet lost to the slippery coating that hugs his flesh.

But all is lost to its epicenter of horrors: lost to its gleaming glare.

Tilted downward, its giant human head is cocked towards the ground. Dark-green, almost black, strands of clumped hair dangle from his scalp and hang towards gravity's sway – the sea's foliage upon his head. Growing from his chin runs a beard with same hair matching. It holds to his chest and climbs just beneath its nostrils and its eyes.

They are the same eyes that are nearly shrouded by its unkempt, thick hair. The same eyes that burn as dull, teal embers. The very same orbs that fall upon Krik and form a maniacal display. And from them spew a vile intent that drives the boy to fear.

Krik gawks at the monstrosity before him, his hands frozen upon his blades. And as he does, a second figure appears behind the first. A moment elapses. A third creature emerges. The boy stands locked, the three monsters looming before him. He knows not of what to do. His body is lost in the terror. He cannot move. He doesn't even remember how to. All he can do is gaze, lanced with terror. All he can do...

Suddenly, as he stares with unblinking eyes at the demon, a flash erupts to his side. He makes to turn, but a second illuminating explosion flares before he knows what to do. It ripples through the smog as lightning in the clouds. A marvelous sight unlike anything he has seen before. And as he makes to see what dare produce it, the sounds of slapping feet fill the air. Krik turns in time see a figure dash to his side.

"Run, boy!" Ero grabs krik and pulls him from his once dumbstruck position! "RUN!"

Krik doesn't know what. He doesn't know what to think. He doesn't even bother. Do what the man says. Run. Run like you have never run before. And so he does. Swift legs roll numbly. He cannot even feel them moving. From his haste he knows full well they are, but his entirety is numb.

A second passes. Sounds of slapping water radiates with each step. Sand sticks heavily to his boots. Water grows heavier. It grows deeper. Krik instantly knows what is happening, and the chills from the waves return him to normality.

"Ero, we are headed out to sea." He can only bring himself to state the obvious.

Ero pants heavily. "There is an island just of the coast. I have seen it. A dozen. Times."

"Ero, that is in the fog! They will find us there." Krik knows not of his persuers, but such information is found trivial. What is of importance now is what the beast's want. And what they plan to do. "What if they catch us?"

Without turning, Ero fiercely, angrily, and rather intimidatingly shouts, "We will not let them. We will do what we must, but they will not catch us." A second passes, their feet sloughing forth. "They will not catch us!" His words are firm, yet broken by his panting.

Krik makes not a response. He doesn't know of one suiting. He simply breathes rhythmically. He attempts to maintain the newfound, unbelievable haste, but he struggles. Something deep within the old man drives him unyieldingly. Krik knows not of what it is, but he can barely keep pace. And as the water sticks to his ankles and slaps his shins, Ero continues to yell back to him...

"Keep running, Krik!" Crazed fury coats the old man's words. "I will be damned if I let them drag us into their mist!"

The water crawls to his knees. It grows deeper with every step. Krik can only follow: Ero's unheard, new tone horrifying. Krik can simply follow in his wake, yet as they move further, the water ever growing, his anxiety consumes him. The boy cannot help but feed upon the untamed moment. He cannot help but fester to the chaos. With it all stirs the one truth now: that whatever hunts lets burn the fire of fear. And even that which normally holds steadfast, finds itself faltering to the inferno of terrifying flames...

And Ero's voice is matching. "They will not take us!" His words suiting. "I'll drown us both before that ever comes to be...!"

With Ero's final words drifts an unyielding, unmerciful stillness sweeps the tides. A silence that matches that strangles one's soul and matches the darkness...of the mist...