Stones are kicked and thrown to the might of the assaulting orcish pack. Metal plates shuffle against another, screeching a symphony of rage. Heavy leather soles slap against dry, loosely placed boulders; their gentle smacks radiating as a muffled chime of chaos. A trio of chains, one strung from the spine of a single leathery hide, clank and clack – the many links shuffling to their victims sway.
Ero and Krik snap into position, their blades drawn and daring the foe's ahead. A death knight and his companion hold loosely as they prepare for a full retreat. Both pairs determined upon alternate courses – one set born of ignorance, the other cowardice. But as time grows short, the foe descending upon them, the Night Elf lets full clear her knowledge.
"You idiots can fight if you want," her voice trails to her back-peddling feet. "But…someone…somewhere will miss you."
Ero braces his shield. "Woman, you think we are going to run from some orcs?" He shouts as he takes a quick glimpse at the elf. But what he finds draws him fully. Dismayed, he throws a stern glance at fleeing Mistress and her dark knight. "You cannot be serious!"
Despair grips his heart, yet this situation allows no such notion. Facing the ever-encroaching monsters, he does the only thing he can dare think of: stand his ground. Fortunately for him his companion is not one for such cowardly flight. And so the two stand alone, facing that which they thought evaded hours past. Furious roars rain from the trio. Remorselessness is caked upon the blank, pearly eyes. Hatred glints upon rotten, yellowed fangs. Strength and power exerted upon bounding legs. Seconds are spent, the moment of collision upon them…
Then, snapping at the chains as if reins to a chariot, their master makes his command. Throwing his hands upwards, his fingers dangling towards the ground as if spider's legs, he swiftly halts them. Cackles radiate from the demon as he sweeps his foes.
"Mistress, I am so very disappointed," his voice booms with comical overture. "Your servants will have their turn, but where do you think you are running to, missy?" A single hand is lifted higher, two of the chains shivering as he does. Responding, the orcs snap to their feet, bounding headlong towards the young boy.
Krik prepares himself, yet he knows full well the outcome. These beasts are swift; empowered by not only their own will. His hands lock, knees bent. And as they come within yards, he makes his amends and says his prays.
To his dismay, expecting an impact of earth-shattering proportions, he simply is greeted by the gusts of passing winds. Rattling chains shake ominously to his sides, yet their threat is destined for another. Blinking three times he takes the time to compose himself. That…was…close…
"Boy!" Ero hollers. "Do something…!"
His voice trails as Krik twists. Dumbstruck, Krik watches as his age, rather heavy, companion is lifted firmly over his enemy's head. Held upon the air as if a weightless sack of rice, the old finds himself upon misfortune's wings. And thrown as such, the old man is sent flying, tumbling backwards upon the stony ground.
Reacting fast, Krik snaps to his feet. Rocks stir beneath his iron stompers. The space between the enemies narrows, his target drawing near. Distracted, his enemy knows not of the incoming assault. Swords are drawn. Finely sharpened edges sparkle. One arm is raised. The other lowered.
But before the boy dare release his fury the monster spins. A gnarled, disgusting smirk coats the equally as vile face. Swiftly, with haste unmatched, the orc shoots a leg outward. It catches the boy in the chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. Such force is exerted that poor Krik is lifted clear from his feet, sent flying like his companion.
A tidal wave of pain erupts upon the impact spot, rolling as an expanding shockwave across his chest. It fades fast, numbing as he careens upon the air. The agony reemerges upon his back as a dense object halts his flight. His rear bounces upon the rocks while he holds limply at his sides.
The world becomes a blur. Barely is he able to keep himself upright as he slumps against the boulder – though other forces than his own assist him here. A firm numbness creeps across his person. All senses, all thought remains shaken, his body overwhelmed by the strike.
And as he sits, swaying to his muscle's spastic commands he sweeps the terrain haphazardly - bemused, dumbstruck eyes feasting upon the field. Straight ahead, Ero rams his shield upon the orc's skull, yet the monster is unfazed. The old man is batted away as if a fly – once again he lands upon his back. Ero bonds to his feet ready to strike, but the monster's agility is remarkable…
Unable to hold his head, the boy finds himself drifting uncontrollably towards the coast. Teetering to and fro, he discovers the struggling death knight, his foe bearing down upon him. The Mistress, however, hops and leaps, dodging blows with ease. Tired and worn, Krik tilts his head rearwards. He rests the top of his skull against the rock and sighs. A brief moment is taken to collect his jumbled thoughts, and to realign his actions. His strength trickles back into his veins, but he is beaten. Unlike his companion ahead…
"Come on, ugly," the old man shouts. "You're just too thick-headed to know I already beat your head in!" Ero lunges forward, slamming his shield once more into the orc's face. "Ha! That will…"
Horrified, the old man is sent on the defensive. Axes slam as if tree trunks upon his shield. Stumbling, his might is naught to his foes. Yet as the beast beats down upon him, the old man finds a weakness – a clear folly.
Holding strong, another barrage of blades unleashed, the old man waits. He plans for the moment. He plots for the second. And then, as an instance of tranquility encompasses the two, Ero thrusts. Catching the beast in the thigh, dug straight to the bone, the blow is perfect. Ripping the axe's curved blade from the flesh, he knows the strike was mortal. Blood gushes from the wound, yet the orc makes not a sound. He flinches not…
Ero gazes haphazardly upwards at the enemy, feeding upon his emotionless face. He doesn't express pain. Agony is lost in his flat lips. Anguish is naught upon his piercing, hollowed eyes.
"Do I have to decapitate you, fool?" Ero's words bounce meaninglessly upon his enemy.
To his dismay, a distant voice retorts. "No, you idiot!" The Mistress shouts, her long-ears for more than just show. "The chains! Hack the chains!" She pants heavily between her words. Her strength waning. "Break its bond!"
Snapping his eyes upon the orc's back, Ero finds his target. It arches downwards to the slack of the chain. Dangling feet from the ground, it sways gently. As the old man stares upon the links, the sight of his devotion, he finds an odd sense of peace within it – a demonic display of sanctity upon the metal loops.
Plans and stratagem are crafted. An old man ready for the finale. Leaping to his feet, bounding for the side of the tattered orc leg, he makes to flank the beast. His eyes never part from the chain. His orbs stay fixated as he turns for the assault. Axe lifted. Power exerted…
Unexpectedly, a green limb shoots into view. It slams into the man's arm, and another collides into his back. His eyes shoot to the side, landing upon the impossible. Gripping the man, its position fully altered, is the orc. Wide eyes land upon another void of color.
Ero's maw sunders, the impracticality overwhelming. There is no way this orc could move with that wound. There is simply no way. Yet, as the poor fool is found floating upon the air once more, he knows his supposed truths are facades. He soars as the orc heaves him, and he bounces as the slope and gravity meet.
Ero stares at the sky, feeding upon the gray abyss. He is not sure which is more disconcerting: the pain or the disbelief. A torrent of ideas rolls across his mind. A sea of crashing riddles is born within his mind, yet he ignores it all. Rolling to his stomach and feebly coming to his feet, he lets his instincts guide him.
Of course, at this point in time, he is not sure if he is standing to fight…or flee.
"Fight on, mighty heroes!" Bays the monster upon the hill. "Skip and hop! Dodge and parry! Swing and chop! Ha! Dance your dances, champions! Dance upon my stage, little heroes!" He cackles, tilting his head rearwards with overwhelming joy and arrogance. "Dance…my little puppets!"
His laughter rains maniacally. It wafts upon the field, drowning all in despair. For with it comes the certainty of the disheartening. With it the revelation of impossibility and impending defeat. And as Ero turns, feasting upon the staggering, worn Death Knight and the wheezing woman, he knows the truth: they cannot win this…
Yet as hope wanes for the old man, a sign differing from his current notions appears. A high-pitched scream pierces the air, forcing the man's eye. The death knight's foe swings its arms side to side while its head snaps rearward horrifyingly. It moves blindly, tripping over its own feet. And then, after a second of screaming and hollering it falls forward. Motionless.
A second passes and the enemy upon the Mistress releases the same exact screech of agony. It writhes in overwhelming anguish before promptly departing for the soil below. Ero doesn't know what just occurred. He is unsure if the beast's faltered at their own accord or if their master is planning something darker; though, the shout that follows draws Ero's attention back upon the hilltop.
"You FOOL!" Hatred and frustration slither upon the demon's words. "You have ruined it!" Ero locks upon the embers of chaos. They lead down the slope. Following them, Ero runs the chains resting on the ground. And he finds, standing beside two, snapped strands, a boy. "I will take your heart as a trophy!" Enraged, the demon jerks at the final chain running from him.
The orc turns, facing the child. A twisted frown forms, matching that of its master's. Gnarled fangs quiver, the hatred of it master's born with each spine. Yet as the beast readies, its focus diverted, the old man finds his target. And as the monster makes to strike, Ero assaults.
In a flash the two lunge from their victims. In a blur an orc aims for the kill. In an instant an aged man does the same. Alas it is upon Krik whom the hammer falls. And as the boy draws his weapons to the ready, his teetering body still worn, a high-pitched scream fills the air. Dismayed, Krik braces his weapons as the hollering orc raises its blades.
Yet, as the monster bears down upon the boy it falters, stumbling upon its feet and flopping lifelessly upon the ground. Standing in its wake is the shadow of an aged old man. At his feet rests a severed chain.
A lingering second of overwhelming stillness sweeps the land…
"Well played, humans," disdain and disgust smother the otherwise complimenting words. "It would seem the Mistress and I truly do underestimate you." Overwhelming hatred strangulates every syllable. Gnashing teeth intensifies every rage-filled letter announced.
Ero and Krik twist, feeding upon the monster on the ridge. Chains slither upon the ground, recollecting upon their master. A downward tilted brow and a set of beaming eyes radiate hatred beyond comprehension.
And as the two gawk at the fiend, a soft voice rolls from behind. "Ok, gentlemen. You had your fight," she pauses, allowing the two to turn and observe the fleeing pair's suggestive actions, "now run! Run, you imbeciles!"
Heeding the words without hesitation, the two speed down the slope. Dashing across the unstable terrain, they make for their escape. Adrenaline fills their veins, all other aspects lost. With full speed exerted the two find flat ground and follow the other pair making for the wooden ramp…
"You will not escape me…AGAIN!" A thunderous roar crackles upon the air. Air parts and a blurred image falls into play. Slamming into the ground, sending a shockwave of shattered boulders, is a creature of unparalleled power. All four of the heroes are sent flying, the impact grand.
All four heroes are sent reeling, his booming voice tremendous, "You will be mine, Mistress!"
A cloud of dust rolls upon the air, yet the shadowy figure is clearly visible. Bent knees, hunched shoulders, all scream horrifying intimidation. And as Ero and Krik stumble, their wide eyes feasting upon the being, their hairs stand on end and their blood turns as cold as their iron carapaces.
"You. Will. Be. MINE!"
Throwing a hand forward, he makes for the strike. Snapping upon the air, yearning for the target, a lone chain soars. Startled, the elf makes to evade. She crawls against the stone, yet her speed is naught. Wrapping around her ankle, jerking her violently to the stone, is a vile iron tendril.
Her body slams against the rocks, her lips splicing against the jagged edges. She gnashes at the stone, her finger tips grinding futilely. Dragging against the rocks, her strength useless, a sense of overwhelming anxiety creeps across her spine. As she watches the ship draw into the distance, a death knight helpless before her, a horrifying feeling fills her soul. A drowning sensation of…fear…
She continues to struggle, praying that something will snag upon her; whether it be her hand or a jagged rock that impales her, it doesn't matter. But prays are a fool's hope upon these waters. And as the one dreaded notion of her finale fills her mind, she finds tears boiling upon her eye's edges. Yet it is not fear that drives her to state. It is regret.
Then, as if some unseen angel of Elune hears her pleas, she halts; though she knows what awaits her. It is not a winged being of beauty, but a demon. And though she has played this moment in her head over and over, she cannot bear to face him. She cannot muster the strength she always thought she would have when this end would be upon her…
"Be gone, you insects!" He shouts, to her dismay. "You shall not prevent the inevitable!" She blinks as the words rain not for her. "Fools! I will crush the life from your bodies!"
Disbelief fills her soul. Footsteps echo near her head and roll down to her feet. Rolling onto her back, she cannot resist the urge within. She must see. She must see what is happening. Unbelievable, she thinks to herself. This is simply…unbelievable…
Standing to the monster's side, a loose chain wrapped upon his blades is the young moron. The boy tugs at the links, drawing an arm to his strength; outstretched, the entangled mitt is useless. Before her, darting down her chain's path is the second imbecile. He takes a moment to halt, slams his shield into the ground as if some pre-battle ritual, and then he bounds forward.
Yet Ero knows that he has no such likings for traditions or foolish warrior luck performances. All actions he exerts are well calculated and thought out. Say for maybe this; his outright unplanned frontal assault. There is no reason behind this man's attack. There is no logic. Only attack…
And as he nears the villain, both its arms lost in combat, he finds his opportunity. An axe is drawn to the ready. This is it, Ero. Bring this monster justice! Heave the blade strong and true. In a flash he is upon the rather tall, towering monster. Axe thrown rearwards, and…
"ENOUGH!" A swift hand shoots to the side, slamming into the man's skull. "Do you think this is a game? DO YOU!" Jerking at the other arm, whipping the boy as if weightless, the monster draws him. He snatches the boy out of the air, dragging both humans to him. "Death is naught to my fury! An eternity lasting tenfold in my shadow!"
Both humans' eyes land upon the monster's. Raging plumes of auburn hell ripple from a pair of infuriated suns. Rapidly pulsing rivulets of lava glow with profound hatred. All light is intensified, gloried by the darkness of his flesh.
As the monster has them in his twisted clutches, the two heroes find themselves lost in the iniquity. Overwhelming, distraught notions fill their minds. Fear strangulates them. They wish to scream, but such anxiety strike them silent. They make to fight, but such strength makes them as if infants. So they dangle in the mercy of the monster.
"Once I am through with this Mistress, I will…"
"Through with me?" Rains the voice that is as an angel to the pair. "Through with me?" The monster's eyes break from the humans. They land upon the woman upon her feet. They land upon the sundered, broken chain – of a shield's doings. And they land upon a set of hands that glow a bright green color. "Monster, you may have taken half my heart, but you will full well the wrath of its entirety!"
She hurls her hands to the sky, drawing strength from her goddess. "It shall be YOU that suffers, monster!" Earthquakes rumble and roll. Tremors radiate from the ground beneath the monster. "May the planet have as little mercy as you so well know!"
On command, a surge of brown spikes rip from the earth. Entangling brambles wrap around the monster's legs, snap at his torso, and bound for his head. In a moments passing, the once raging beast is consumed, yet his raging fury still radiates from his clutched mitts. The hatred holds as the roots devour his entirety. The malice lingers as his arms are coated in nature's wrath. And then, once the planet itself demands, the two are released.
And without a moment's hesitation, the two set off running. The mistress bounds after them, taking a moment to allow her vengeance to be momentarily satiated. It takes but a few fleeting moments for the trio to leap up the ramp, scale the incline, and bound upon the ship's deck. As if the crew knew that their escape was inevitable, it is already in motion – or they already planned this departure regardless.
Rolling forward, the sails snagging the wind and the rudder plotted, the ship moves slowly. Creeping forward, it takes a minute to gain the strength needed all while the pack stares back upon the monster. The roots hold firmly, yet writhe to the beast within. And as the seconds pass, the ship taking to the sea, the fog rolls in upon the isle. A mist consumes the once visible terrain. A fog devours all.
Yet, as they stare at the shroud, the darkness ever-encompassing, one can almost make out a set of burning lights. As they gaze into the abyss, the settling calm a fool's notion, one can feast a pair of burning embers…that pierce even the darkness…
"Ero, that was…" the boy makes to talk, but he is suddenly interrupted by a slight commotion and a dull thump. Seconds later planks quiver and a loud thud draws Ero's attention. He turns, baffled by the slumped figure on the floor.
The old man peers upward, the Mistress's disdain beaming. He makes for his axe, but a swift gust of wind and a sharp pain ripples from the back of his neck. Energy fades from his person and a thick black haze rolls in upon his sight.
As he stumbles, the betrayal continued once their common foe is thwarted, he glares at the woman. And as the let bit of energy seeps from his body and his strength wanes, the woman speaks as if displeased.
"Fool." Her face is all he can see. Hatred all he can feel. Darkness creeping as he collapses. And her words echo within his mind and haunt his coming dreams, "You have no idea what you have gotten yourself into…"
