Back once again,

Simply writing to let you know that I am not ignoring you. My stupid stomach is fighting everything I eat, and recent allergies have left me...blehed. So the last chapter I posted was amidst an allergy med drug-a-thon, so I was pretty content I got it up. So, just to make sure you know i am not ignoring you, his name WAS supposed to be Eros; however, for some stupid reason I put Ero. Though, once I noticed the error I decided to leave it for later purposes. So, long story short, it was unintentionally intentional.

Hope that solves that. Yeah...

Anywho, here ya go.

Enjoy.

"Ero, quickly." Anxiously the boy beckons the sluggish man, his hand motioning wildly for Ero's haste, "Over here."

Slowly Ero moves to his young companion. It takes some coercing to motivate his legs, but once the internal rust is removed, he darts to Krik. Both hunker behind a large, mold ridden boulder resting upon the coast.

"Krik, what did you see?" Ero, still lost in his own dazed pondering, has left himself numb to his current surroundings. "What is…"

Before the old man dare complete his statement, his revelation bears down upon him. It is as a deep, raspy boom: a voice that is harsh and unfeeling: a bay that is bitter and brash.

"Night Elves! In the name of the High Warchief Hellscream, these forests belong to the Horde!" The vile call ripples upon the heavens, "And by such, your actions have swayed his hand! In the name of the Horde, the Warchief has degreed these lands be cleansed of your filth!"

Its boom echoes upon the charred vale, "He has declared the sun be blotted with smoke from your smoldering value!" His voice amidst the flickering fires is all that beats for one's eardrums. "Not a tree left untouched! Not a shrub left unscathed! All shall be turned to ash! All shall be scorched! There will be nowhere to hide. Nowhere."

Despicable, overconfident ooze drips from his words. Vile, maniacal glee is plastered upon his tone. The roars of the fire snap at his spoken pace, as if one with his speech. "Your gods cannot save you now, Elves! Know your shrinking place in this world! Know…the glory of the Horde!"

Ero peeks over the peak of the stone. Ahead rests the tree line, its once glorious holdings now a silhouette casted by the raving fires. Shadows span the floors creep towards the shore and vanish amidst the grander darkness. Auburn waves of fiery damnation whip towards the heavens, fading into plumes of strangulating black smog.

Amidst the illuminating rays of the rampaging inferno are blackened figures. The same shadows that play with the sands flicker upon these monsters. Bodies are shrouded while gnarled faces are intensified – a maniacal mystery molded upon their person; a dramatic display of the beasts that now march in droves across the burning thicket.

Within the epicenter of the commotion and of the advancing army is a large, gray wolf. The beast trots calmly through the crackling carcass that is this forest. Its black armor quivers with every filthy paw placed, glinting to the sway of the flames. Bright orange eyes secrete a fine aura of hatred, matching only that of the inferno…and the fiend mounted upon its back.

Plated armor hangs from his shoulders and slithers down his entirety. Its color remains skewed - the fires constantly tainting its originality. It, for a few fleeting moments, is bronze in hue. Then, as the flames waft to the breeze's mercy, it fades to black to match that of his heart.

From foot to neck he remains hidden beneath his iron coating. No flesh exposed. None…say for the teal, wrinkly leather that is his face. Thick, unkempt hair resembling that of braided charcoal runs from his chin and scalp. Two oversized fangs protrude from his lower lips and curl towards his hallowed eyes that rest within his hollowed skull.

Those eyes holler intimidation. They scream hatred. Nothing of compassion or sympathy burns from the beady orbs. A blend of all aspects attributed to that of demons radiate from those eyes. And as he bounces to the pace of his pack, those defiling optics stay fixated upon the target ahead, upon the chaos he orchestrates.

An orc…

Ero quickly grows certain of his uncertainty. Casting his gaze back towards his own destination he discovers some comfort in his findings. A short distance down the coast rests the base of a sloping mountain. He knows well of this mountainous' peaks origins and structure.

Spanning from the sands, it runs a near straight line inland – perpendicular to the waters. High and mighty this natural wonder forms the boundary for that which is Ashenvale and Darkshore. It also serves as a marvelous barrier.

There are but two narrow passes forged as merciful crossings by the planet's pity. Those who command said passes would wreak havoc upon those foolish enough to transgress. And, fortunately for these land's denizens, the Nights Elves hold strong upon those chokepoints.

Or, given the advancing orcish Horde, it would be far better suiting to say held.

Drifting from the mountains, Ero focuses back upon the waters. He keenly eyes the allowing coast, and quickly takes notice of his future route. He also feeds upon that which chills his core. Cuddling the coast - like enraged fists to a foe's throat- the fog floats menacingly.

The tides are but a dream now. The heavy haze has shrouded the near entirety of the waters – its hunger unyielding. Wandering strands of the mist roll gently upon the skies. Gentle tendrils creep across the coast. Its reach unrestrained...

"Ero?" Once more pounds Krik's voice, "we need to get moving."

Ero shifts his focus upon the boy briefly. He glances back towards the marauding monsters, then back to the child once again. He takes but a brief passing to form a response and directs his gaze on the coast. "Ok, Krik. When I say move, move fast and keep low. Don't stop for anything. Run as you did during training; when you beat those wimpy, long-eared daisies back at Auberdine. "

As he finishes with Krik, Ero throws his head over the boulder. Fires rage on, their flames birthing rolling shadows. The infernos briefly illuminate the shores. It stays lit for a moment then the shadows creep back in. Ero holds. He waits patiently. The fire's rays light the coast once more. Thirty seconds counted, and then the rays begin to slither away from the shore. Shadows return…the coast darkened a second time.

The cycle is noticed. The rotation calculated. This is it.

"Run."

Snapping like a hare to a cougar's pouncing, the boy leaps from his cover and sprints full throttle. Ero holds close, his shoulder tilted forward, his knees bent. He wants to keep his size minimal. He has no desire for discovery.

The sand slips beneath their boots. Darkness hugs to their persons finely. Five seconds pounded within his mind. Distance is covered swiftly. The beach coming to its end. Ten seconds counted in his head. Krik begins to gain on the old man, but their paces are true to heart.

Fifteen seconds passed.

Beach fades to rock. Light's warmth tickling their ankles. They are near, but the shadows are diminishing.

Twenty seconds.

Illuminating beams are bright upon the corner of Ero's eye – his armor reflecting the fire. Krik loses the man in his haste, the boy upon the rocks.

Twenty five.

Ero must hurry. He is in the full light. His feet pound wildly in his head while his heart races. Though, the beatings seem far too swift. They seem out of unison. As if his own boots are hitting more rapidly then they should be…

Thirty…

Ero nears the rock, but his ears do no deceive him. He hears not his feet alone. There is another set…

He grips the handle of his blade, whips it free and spins. Pulling it to his front in unison to his pivoting person, he has but a second before his truth is told. Slamming against his blade is a jagged axe. Sparks rain upon his brow as the swift strike is deflected. But man is in a poor position: an awkward posture.

Spinning, the enemy's axe heaved towards the heavens, Ero throws his back and shield towards the foe. CLANK, metal upon metal screeches his blocker struck. Ero's body shakes violently, but he falters not. Sand is kicked to his spiraling person. It is thrown upon the air, skewing all visages.

Ero heeds not. Instead he snaps his shield and skillfully grips it. Coming to his feet he makes for a second block. Metal cries once more. Vibrating iron rattles his person. His eyes blind, but his ears feasting upon the shuffling foe's feet – the sand a screeching banshee. It is repositioning.

Lowering his shield, he lets his eyes hunt. It takes a second to find the fiend. A few yards away stands the villain. Solid black leather lines the character's legs and arms. Dark shoulder pads are all but invisible in the twilight. But now they are greatly eclipsed by the fires that conceal the shadows once more.

He takes no notice to the rest of the beast; except for the vile eyes for which his lock upon. Each orb spews hatred. Each eye bays for blood. Their eyes launch mental assaults. Both warriors hold strong, but doubt finds Ero.

He didn't see the monster in the woods. He didn't hear it coming. He didn't even know it existed until it was upon him. Ero's scans the beast, hoping for answers. He sees the axe of the onslaught. He sees the slowly dancing beast. It is then, upon its belt, that he sees an array of short knives. It is a scout. A stealthy rogue.

Of course…

Locking eyes once more, the silent hunters hold still. The two let their gazes brawl. Their bodies shift counter clockwise as if one. Their feet shift upon the sands simultaneously. They hunt for their own strengths. They yearn for the other's weakness. And as they take another step, the warriors readying, the orcish fiend suddenly smirks.

His target's folly discovered…

Reaching at his side he retrieves a dagger by the blade whips it rearward and then hurls it forward. His person is still as if the arm is a separate entity. The blade whips upon the breeze. It tumbles end over end. Ero locks upon it, shifts down and dodges it completely. Yet as he does, the sounds of displaced sand fills his ears.

Eros instantly knows of his foolishness. Once more the man is awkwardly placed. Once more he has left himself exposed. Lifting the shield, his intuition his only guidance, he prepares. CLANK, metal upon metal. Vibrations roll down his arm. Instinctively the man thrusts his sword.

He tilts his head, his eyes free to follow the strike. Slashing the beast's side, it is but a glancing blow. Before he dare retract the sword, the orc reaches for the blade grabs the very metal it itself and fiercely wretches it from the man's grasp. Blood coats the blade as the orc swings the weapon rearward and lets it fly into the thicket.

Ero makes to react, but the orc already has his prey where he wants it. In a blur of a moment, the orc shifts backwards lets a leg catapult forward and catches the man in his chest. Tumbling to the impact, Ero is sent to his back.

Moist sand caresses his cheeks. Waters slaps the top of his head. Heavy armor sinks in the sands. The man is not fazed, but there is no need. As he throws his gaze back towards the orc, the man's weapon dislodged and his shield sunk, he feels his chest tighten.

With axe in his hand and monstrous glint in his eye, the orc strolls towards Ero and lets a sinister smirk form upon his face. For a moment it holds, letting Ero know full well the victor. And then, with a swift jerk of an axe he readies the strike…

Suddenly the orc spins in place, his eye finding something out of Ero's gaze. Sounds of shuffling sand fill the air. Swift poundings roll across the gentle grains. Oddly, the orc repositions itself. In a flash a new figure shoots into view, blades swinging.

A long, elegant sword descends as a slicing blow. The orc bounds backwards. A thrust shot forward. The orc dodges, but has not a moment to spare. Falling once more the first blade makes for the kill. But the orc is swift, dodging again.

The iron-clad figure spins mystically upon the sands, stirring water-soaked pockets upon the air. His arms move perfectly. His body dodges an axe with ease. The boy is a dancer – the battlefield his stage. The orc that so easily defeated Ero is barely capable of matching the boy's movements.

And as the orc moves for an overzealous strike, the boy lunges forth. Sounds of metal against flesh, snapping bones, and muffled grunts fill the air. The orc twitches violently, moving to the blade that mysteriously vanished into his gullet. Yet the beast flinches not. Vile eyes drift towards the lodged blade and then lock to the child before him.

Blood driven and crazed, the orc simply smiles and then lets forth a grand cry. The bellow echoes upon the skies. The holler traverses the heavens. Yet it lasts for but a moment. For as quickly as he opened his maw, the boy throws his second blade straight through the orc's lower jaw, impaling it to the upper.

Left upon his feet, eyes rolling into the back of his head, the orc dies standing. Using this time wisely, the boy retrieves the sword within the torso, wipes it upon the orc's leather, sheathes it and repeats with the latter. Before the orc even make for his peaceful rest, the boy has time to pull from his frozen grip the axe. Falling rearward, the orc slams into the sands, an outline of sand stirred with his final motion.

Krik, however, spins towards Ero, reaches down and smiles. "Poorly played, old man."

Ero reaches upwards, takes the hand and lets the boy pull him to his feet. There he shakes the sand from his person and smiles rather joyfully. "Yeah. That wasn't one of my finest moments."

"Ah well, at least he only beat up your dignity." Krik briefly glances back at the orc and then peers towards Ero once more. "Here." He raises the shaft of the weapon towards Ero. "He took your weapon, so I took his."

Ero chuckles, if not out of overwhelming relief then out of boy's rather bizarre humor. "Thank you, child." He takes the rather finely crafted axe, its weight perfectly balanced, and holds it for a moment. "Not a half-bad weapon."

"Yeah. Not to mention you always struck me as an axe man anyway." A grand smile sweeps Krik's face. It is almost as if the young boy had been waiting to say that for years. Alas, his moment is cut short. For it would seem the short cry of the felled orc did not go unnoticed…

"Filthy human pig-dogs!" Another raspy, grotesque growl radiates from the forest, drawing the duo's eyes back to the tree line. "Your blood will coat these beaches!"

Still amongst the forest, a trio of orcs appears as mere blackened figures; the only definable features noticeable are the orcs' standard wide girth, gentle waddles, and the usual vile crackling voice. The flames of the forest and the shadows skew their armor, their true nature, and all other aspects.

As the two stare upon the black, orange, and ruby horizon, Ero lets his wise mind wander. He calculates the odds and the all the variables. Each outcome considered and all battles drawn. And once all has been determined and laid, a final thought crosses his mind. A notion of the early night and that annoying woman. The ideal behind his advance.

So much for not getting caught...