His mind was swimming in exhaustion and sorrow. His always determined vision not really focused on the now, but off in some far away place; a blurred place deeply tucked away in memory. His stout balance faltered, and his knees buckled, meeting the ground beside Garron heavily. Torgrin was devastated at what lay before him, and the powerless feeling that he had been moments too late. “If only...,” he told himself in a whisper. His chin hung low, and weary eyelids fell over misting ebon eyes.

It was a promise he swore long ago. A silent vow to protect a boy; a boy that had grown into a young man--a boy he loved as if he was bore of his own flesh. Torgrin was a man that prided himself on honor...and that a man is only as good as his word. What set before him was in fact a failure on his part to him, and his heart was heavy. Blood and corruption clung to Garron like a heady incense: sickly sweet and nauseating.

He failed Garron... He failed Medeia... He failed Nuana...

He failed.

The dwarf grabbed hold of Garron’s weakened wrist, and he felt the cold slip of death in the young man’s flesh, the shadowed silhouette galloping up on his dark steed to reap away ‘his boy’. Torgrin let loose a rumbling growl as if to ward away the darkness a little longer when he felt a small hand on his wide shoulder, kindly pulling him out of his tormented prison. “Sorry,” he said in a small voice directed towards them all. “We’ll get ye to ye mum soon, me boy.”

“Shut your mead hole, old man,” Medeia snapped, and popped him swiftly in the back of the head with the strength and fury of a woman worried deeply about her love. “Stop with the self loathing and help me, damn you! We need to get going now!”

“Right, lass,” he pleaded, shaking away the ringing in his head. A muffled chuckle split through thick twists of matted crimson beard. For a tiny woman, Medeia sure packed a wallop behind her fury. “Quite a backhand, woman! ‘Nuff to rattle a mountain out ‘er place.”

Torgrin let loose Garron’s wrist and found his feet again with a slight stumble back. Manipulation of metals was always a straining deed, but it was a dull scraping sound under a boot that snagged his attention. He picked up the dagger, and felt a warm, vibrating wave travel up his thick arm. He turned the foreign blade in the sunlight, captivated by its craftsmanship and the way it seemed almost alive in his hand. Something was indeed sinister about this weapon, and with the way the ripples in the black blade danced with veins of red, startled him to the bones. He shoved the dagger in his belt, knowing Garron would want it later. Garron did enjoy keeping a trinket after a battle he knew; especially when it came to weapons. Plus Nuana may have need of it for her son’s sake.

Lofty voices carried down on the sea breeze like a Lords procession over the shoreline. Villagers were starting to gather a bit of courage when they realized the worse had passed, and they began filtering out of hiding to survey what had just happened. The chatter didn’t sound friendly among their flaring and pointing expressions. Destruction and lifeless bodies met them, and it was clear... time had come for the three to make their exit.

Medeia grew tired of the dwarf, cursed and yanked him back by the collar towards the collection of broken wood shafts, fabrics and leathers she’d been collecting while he was lost in his depression. “Get your head out of your stumpy bum and get moving”, she exclaimed with a booming voice that reminded him of a too much of a Queen belting orders from her dias. Torgrin blinked his eyes and finally got the hint.

Together they worked quickly to fabricate a make-shift skid out of what was available. It looked a ragged little contraption, but it would have to do. Time was running out, and already Medeia was trying to heave Garron atop their skid, but the large man hardly budged. Her boots dug deeply into sand and rock, yanking and strained, worrying her man’s arm; her cheeks flushed and tight. Mid her final pull, she put all of her strength behind it. Her grip slipped from Garron’s arm and she landed flat on her butt. “Grrrahhhh!!! Why must you be difficult!!,” blasted from her mouth, while her palms pounded angrily at the ground.

Torgrin chuckled watching her, figuring lending a hand would be a smart move. The dwarf slid the blade of his battleaxe under Garron’s back, putting the strength of both arms under the haft and lifted. Medeia seen what he was doing, and slid the skid under her beloved's lifted side, starring daggers at the dwarf for laughing at her plight. Torgrin grabbed hold of the extended skid handles while cursing the large man's size, teasing Medeia about putting him on a damnable diet. She presented him another slap to the back of the head, urging him on down the shoreline like a draft horse. As soon as the dwarf was plowing forward, she snagged the opportunity, hopping light as the summer breeze on the skid with Garron as if it were her chariot. Torgrin cursed aloud.