Activity stirs upon the rocky coast. Laborers haul the remaining crates and other various supplies upon the sea-faring craft while their keen supervisors watch on. Numerous, armed troops patrol the fringes, scanning the waters as if they can truly pierce through the barrier of haze. Yet, despite all the tilling, lifting, and working it is with the two upon the ridge where Krik and Ero's attention lies.
Heavy, black plate shifts upon the shoulders of the white-haired knight. Sleek brown leather hugs the swaying body of the Mistress. She spends much of her time chatting with the vile, green-skinned abomination. Occasionally, she throws a lone hand upon a hip and shouts, the free hand to wag angrily at her target.
Ero taps a dusty stone with an armored digit, drumming his frustration away. He already despised that vile temptress, but this is beyond comprehension. Loyalty was always key to the woman, yet look at her, standing beside her hated enemy. Fire runs the old man's veins as he fathoms what actions should be taken next.
Alas, as much as he tries he cannot muster a thought beyond impaling her on the rocks where she stands and then gracefully marching back into the fog to await the actual truth found within it. At least he knows death is inevitable in that haze. Of course, he still knows rationale reasoning must be obtained.
Honestly, other than his wild fury restrained he bears bewilderment as a second characteristic. It was nearly impossible to march through that mist let alone make it to this isle, yet here she is. Clearly she has been here for quite some time too – she seems too…comfortable.
It must have been part of her grand scheme: send the fools aloft while she waits for them on this island. When they arrive she ambushes them and takes more heads for her collection. Though, that sort of planning is rather mundane. Childish and petty, to be precise. This spilt-tongue monster is more of a grand strategist – the bigger the picture the better.
As hard as he might, he cannot piece together a reason why she would have sent them off. Ero frowns, his thoughts racing. Faster his fingers dance, a second one now in play. He rubs his chin with the other hand, gazing down at the pair.
Finally, his frustration overwhelming, he speaks to himself out loud, "Why oh why did she send us here?" It is but a whisper. "Why would she send us to where she was headed?" A farrow brow matches his baffled tone, "Did she simply want to end us before she defected? Or…"
Though, as soft as he speaks, Krik is able to hear every puzzled word. And as the boy grips the stone, his thoughts as jumbled as his companion's, he knows there is only one true way of discovering the truth, "Let's ask her, shall we?"
Bounding from the hiding peak, the boy brashly takes to his own plotting.
"Krik!" He shouts with a loud whisper. "You fool! They will see you…"
Alas, Ero knows that is exactly the point. Sighing, all reason thrown to the wind, he takes off after the child. He truly wishes to halt the boy and drag him back into hiding. But he also knows that Krik won't do so without kicking and screaming.
Swiftly, and with heavy, loud stomps, Krik descends, making as much noise as possible. Boulders chip and bounce, rolling and clanking with grand force. It takes but a few moments for Krik to make it down half the slope, Ero at his heels.
It also takes the exact amount of time for the boy to get his desired reaction, "Mistress," the death knight pivots, reaching for his blades, "we have company!"
Dust parts to his twisting feet. Swift hands jerk iron instruments of destruction into play, their blades glistening in the purple glow of the ship's lantern. Death's armor creaks, while shifting soles screech. Lingering in an arch matching that of his twisting body, blue trails mark his path past and present; it is the ever-present taint of death found within his cursed eyes. He is swift and his focus fierce. Krik's legs falter briefly as the orc throws his furious gaze upon him…
"Dare sneak up on a veteran of Northrend…" he pauses, eying the boy fully as he hunches for an attack pose, "…humans? What kind of trickery is this?" He uprights, yet keeps his blades at his sides, "How in the world did…"
"Impossible!" Silencing the death knight, his demonic voice's reverberation still lingering is the rather perplexed and wide-eyed night elf, "This…this is…simply…impossible…" her arms are limp while her gleaming eyes shift back and forth in their sockets, scanning the duo before her. A gentle maw, their maroon lips quivering, forms a frown born from dismay and despair.
A look the two have never witnessed before. She seems…startled. Alas, such a state only holds for so long. And in its wake blooms the piercing orbs they fear so much, and the tongue that draws even the death knight's blade to envy…
"Don't you two idiots know where Zoram'gar is?" Her once calm voice shatters the heavens and forces the orc to alter his gaze upon her – he the one confused now. She hurls an arm to the side, attempting to point at something through the mist, "Over there! Over on the main land! Not here, you kodo stains!"
Though her frustration is wildly evident, the confusion they thought lost still lingers with her rambling. The orc, now clearly more alarmed by his normally not-quite-as-angry counterpart, eyes her as if seeing her for the first time and calmly asks, "Mistress? Do you know these two humans?"
Casting her eyes upon him, she inhales deeply. She attempts to restrain her fury, yet her shaking body and clenched fists hide its might. Her rage slows the duo, yet they continue. They remain determined, her rage common and petty. They move within yards of the other pair, eying both fiercely – a sudden strike would be devastating at this distance.
The Mistress, inhaling and exhaling calmly now, takes a moment to compose herself as she finalizes a response to the orc, "Crok. You said you sent your best men to deal with them."
Interrogating words roll off her tongue and draw a cocked brow from the orc, "Mistress I am not quite sure what you…" his words trail and his eyes drop to the ground as he loses himself in thought. A moment passes and he refocuses. Quite baffled he replies, "Are you telling me these two are the ones you wanted dispatched?"
Angrily she nods, her silence intensifying her fury. Crok, the orc, glimpses over to the now stationary pair of ironclad warriors, examines them head to toe and glances back at the woman, "Apparently they were more capable than you gave them credit for."
She gasps, "Don't you defend them, Crok!" A hand on her hip and the other forming to an arrow of accusation, the woman takes her infamous pose of scolding, "You told me that you sent you best soldiers to make sure these two imbeciles never made it here."
Insulted, the orc returns a gaze matching her anger, "Do not question my reasoning or my soldiers, night elf. I sent four to deal with them, and, if they were unfortunate enough, one was tasked to end them. Make sure if the other three didn't capture them as requested then their knowledge would be washed away with the tides."
His eyes shift in their sockets, landing upon Ero and Krik again, "How in the world these two overcame four of my finest is truly unworldly." He locks eyes with Krik and then Ero. His focus parts from the woman and lands fully upon the two humans now. Quite inquisitively he asks,"By what miracle did you three elude capture and the assassin's blade?"
Dumbfounded, Krik shrugs and swiftly passes his eyes, and the torch, to Ero. Ero, however, simply eyes the orc profusely. The old man is not quite certain what the orc is seeking. Though, as he replays the events in Darkshore, the answers slowly return to him. He recalls the assassin very clearly. Every inch and every breath taken by the fiend is forever burned into the back of his brain. The other three, however, are bit harder to remember; of course, the chase that proceeded made that recollection by no means challenging.
It takes but a moment for Ero to form the proper response, but he must play it properly. He is not certain what kind of counter-response this orc will give – violent or otherwise. Keeping his eyes upon Crok, he displays his own confidence and strength. He must make sure that the orc knows that the man has by no means the cowardice in him.
And after a moments passing, the two egos tested, he narrows his brow and finally answers, "Your pack caught us attempting to flee towards the Ashenvale border." Ero, his eyes never flinching, never blinking, stays fixated, "They were swift yet they could not catch us."
Crok's eyes begin the hunt, searching for the truths behind the man's words. He gnarls his lips and replies firmly and calmly, "Highly unlikely that you outran my elite." He keeps as determined as the human, "What about the assassin?"
Ero, at this point, normally would have lied to discover the orc's wit and resolve. But Ero knows better than to mock a Death Knight, "I faltered to his might, but my companion saved me. Your assassin knows now the judgment he has most likely passed to so many others."
"Be specific, human." Delicate, deciphering plumes of clear, blue smoke rise from his surveying optics. The human before him is truly not that of the Mistress's detail. There is much more power and cunning beneath his sickening, green eyes. Yet, for what he has seen the human knows not of lies and deceit. Though, it is now his turn to begin his own test, "You telling me you willingly admit your failure? That your humanling here prevented your demise?"
Without pausing, Ero replies, "Yes. Krik killed him. One on one. Face to face."
Shifting gaze, the orc eyes Krik with disgust and snorts, "You bested my assassin?"
Krik hesitates, not sure of what the orc is planning. He turns to Ero for advice, the old man nodding despite the fact he looks not at the child. Sighing, Krik turns back to Crok and answers, "That is right. He jumped Ero. Neither of us heard him coming. We tried to stay hidden, but he caught us before any other. The old man here would be dead if it weren't for me."
Crok takes a moment to disgust the words. To Krik's dismay the orc nods, "It would seem that my boy earned his keep. If your words are as truthful as you seem to be, then the rogue disobeyed my orders. And, given the stench of death that wafts from you, it is certain that he dead." A stern frown forms on Crok's face, "Tell me, how did an infant such as yourself gather the strength to overcome a veteran of guile and mobility?"
Krik takes a moment, gathering his thoughts. Puffing his chest, his confidence and pride displayed, the boy responds, "With constant aggression, swift arms, and unyielding onslaughts. Keep the monster to retreating, while you wait to overpower his agility." Krik's eyes land upon the orc's, "Attack until your lungs fail and your body collapses. Or until your foe falters and you drive your sword through his heart."
A wide, eerie grin stretches the orc's face, "Lok'tar Ogar, human. A warrior is in you, that is for certain." His eyes drift back to the Mistress, "It would seem that your jokers here are far more competent than they are credited for."
She snorts, shaking her head in disgust, "They got lucky," her eyes land upon Ero, "though, that streak may end with their misfortune of finding us." Fiery eyes drift back to her compatriot, "Now how do we deal with them now, Crok? They clearly know too much."
"That is true," he sighs, turning back to his ever-working troops. They move as if the shouting is of no importance; the situation of their leaders insignificant. That or they already know the fury of this banshee. "Time is almost up. We don't have resources to send them to Zoram'gar nor the audacity to force them back through the mist alone…"
"They survived once. I am certain they can do it once more." No thought passes with her judgment - it was her clear verdict. Truly evil, that woman is.
Ero, angrily eying the woman, finds this moment suiting for his verbal attack, "Words of a betrayer, through and through."
"Betrayer?" Pivoting, she stares upon Ero. Oddly, she smirks, his words comical, "Human, petty factions play little in what is happening here. Do not confuse my dealing with these orcs as insignificant as your idiotic feuding."
"Then what should we confuse it for?"
She glares at him, this human possessing the ability to aggravate her with ease. Sometimes, she wishes that he wouldn't speak. Sometimes…she almost wants to cut his tongue out. Alas, there is no time for that.
"Nothing of importance to you, old man." She dismisses the human, her focus falling back upon that of which is significant, "Crok, send them to Zoram'gar by whatever means. They have no place being here and they are wasting what little resource of patience I have left."
Crok eyes the back of the woman's head with disdain. He sighs and turns towards the humans and shrugs. "Forgive me, humans, but I do as I must." He motions towards the fog, "it would seem our paths must part here…"
"What do want us to do?" Krik shouts, "Run back through that fog? Pretend we are escaping your team of ruffians again?" Rage consumes the boy, "Oh, do you want us to fight the sinister giants made of seaweed while completely blind too?"
Crok cocks his eyebrows again, "You outran my soldiers in the fog?"
Krik pauses, that not the question he was expecting. "Yes? How did you want us to escape them? Three on two didn't seem quite fair, honestly. Of course, if I knew that giant green men and a demon with fire eyes were waiting in the mist I would have took my chances."
The Death knight shakes his head in disbelief, and oddly, the Mistress casts a cheek back upon the conversation, "That, lad, is impossible. My soldiers are equipped to traverse the haze…they should have surely caught you…"
Krik throws his hands into the air, "What is it with you and your soldiers? They failed, who cares?"
"Because my men don't fail, boy." He angrily thrusts his arm to intensify his command, "Now be gone. Do as the Elf says and find your way back to the main land. May fate be with you."
Krik takes a step forward, "What do you plan to do if we don't leave?"
Standing upright, his power felt, the orc makes for intimidation, "Then you face me, child."
"Ha!" Krik, his arrogance grand, laughs at the Death Knight's response, "I just ran from three giants and escaped the wrath of a monster that terrified me with his voice alone. Scare me. Kill me. It doesn't matter. But since I didn't cower when you spoke then you know nothing of…"
Interrupting him, the night elf turns and speaks with disconcerting fixation, "What did you see in the fog, human?"
Krik remains still, the sudden return of the woman altering his entire course of reasoning. However, the woman has no time for his faltering, "Human, what did you see?" Her voice rises, alarm sparking from her words, "What did you see?"
"Um…a being with red, fiery eyes." Krik flinches, "Red markings on his face…and…."
Swiftly she bounds for him, grabbing his armor, "Was he covered in chains?"
Startled, Krik stumbles on his words, "I…I don't know…"
"Did he speak to you?" She speaks harshly and fiercely, yet her words wreak of distress, "Did he? Tell me!"
Krik blinks, mustering what little voice he can beneath her towering, furious woman, "Yes…"
"What did he say?"
"He…he was looking for someone…"
Her eyes widen. Quivering lips flutter, this time born of some greater anxiety. She makes to speak, but whatever catches her mind strikes her incapable.
Krik, however, thoughts running his mind, blinks and says what she fears most, "Actually…I think he mentioned you…"
Once glorious colored skin turns white. Fires fade from her once commanding orbs and complete fear wafts from her as an overwhelming aura; the trio beside her is smothered in it, drowning in that which they never thought she could produce.
"Get everyone on the boat, Crok." Softly she speaks, "Get them on the boat…"
"Ha…ha..ha!" Booming across the horizon, a laughter unknown to Crok and Ero, horrifying to Krik and the Mistress shatters all and brings stillness to the air. All grows silent in the wake of the call, "Mistress, how flattering! Such a grand display of emotions. Such a marvelous concoction…of fear…" his target trembles, that of which she dreaded upon her. "And all of it for me. How splendid!"
Her eyes drift upon something behind Krik, oscillating frantically. Pivoting, the boy and old man turn to have their foolish fill. Ice encompasses the boy's stomach and numbs his limbs. Before him, on the ridge from whence they came, holds a figure he unwillingly recognizes. Except now…he stands clear from his haze…
Holding tall, his shoulders firmly rolled rearwards and his chin cocked, the monster peers down at his audience. Heavy iron boots smash the rocks beneath them and run half-way to his knee. Whatever material that holds to his person is lost beneath numerous overlapping loops of chain that run from his stompers upwards.
Each interconnected chain link is independent, forming not chainmail as expected. Yet together they form a mesh of armor that converges beneath a circular disk upon each knee before reappearing to reconnect once more at a massive iron buckle. From here, one cannot even see much of the being's legs – if they truly exist at all...
Upon his chest are the same matching links, yet they are sporadic and few. His arms, however, pushing back a heavy cloak that hangs around his torso, are crafted of the same metal chains. Precisely as his legs, the iron strands run from both his upper and lower sections and end at certain focal point – his elbow for his arms. However, upon his massive, hulking metal gauntlets dangle a set chains with hooks attached. Three of which run from his hands and vanish into the fog behind him.
"My, my, what a gathering of persons!"
Navigating upwards, Ero and Crok discover the wide shoulders devoured by the bulky cloak and the head from which the grand bellow rains. A solid black face is intensified by jagged rivulets of pulsing red and orange. All is glorified by a pair of burning, piercing embers that flicker as if burning coal.
"And to think, all of it would have been lost if it weren't for your servants!"
The Mistress tightens her grip upon the poor boy as she hears the words. Rage boils within, the two the clear bringers of this moment. Alas, her fearful state crushes the fiery waves within. The demon, however, feasts upon the woman as if he and she are one,
"Oh, do not hate them so, Mistress. I would have found you eventually." He claps suddenly, the many chains upon his arms shaking and clanking eerily, "And I would have slinked from the fog to ram my hook into your spine, just to see the expression I see now. Ohhhh, so glorious." He groans as if awkwardly satisfied, "Be Thankful! They saved you from such a horrific fate!"
Gentle waves of fire run from his skull, while a lone line of red carves what can only be noted as a diabolical smile, "Of course, that simply means I have to kill them too. Sorry, but you did bring it upon yourself, gentlemen!" Suddenly, and oddly he snaps his finger as if recalling something, "Oh, and Crok, I do believe I overheard you speaking of your men. You spoke so highly of them. But, like all the others, they tapped a dance just for me when I commanded."
As he speaks movement stirs in the fog, the trio of links shaking wildly, "Oh how impressed I was by their willpower, I only found it suiting to return them to you." Black outlines appear at the precipice of darkness, "Think of it as a little departing gift." Humaniod shapes are defined, "I would hate for you and the Mistress to leave without my blessings…"
Emerging from the fog are three stout, leathery figures. Once silhouetted by fires, now encompassed by masking darkness, the trio of orcs stands above and before the ironclad warriors as they had once before. Moving in front of the monster, they form a barrier of flesh and blood. They appear normal, say for their eyes which are white – as if they have rolled into the backs of their heads. And the new addition of a single chain that runs from each of their backs to the demon behind them…
"Mistress, how I have missed you." His words vile and maniacal, "And oh, how I still yearn for you as my greatest prize." The trio of orcs hunch in unison, their unheard command obeyed, "But don't fret. In due time, my lady, you will be mine…"
They ready for an attack, their fury ready. Our pack, lost in the sight before them, are not prepared for the assault to come. Crok and Ero are overtaken by the sight, while Krik and the Mistress yearn for only escape. And all…are overwhelmed by the bay of the monster. All are smothered by the shattering sway of the monster's voice…and all that he spews…
"Oh, my Mistress, at long last…you will…dance for me…"