((Alright, this is my second try at this so please if you reply... don't poof very disgruntling to a new member of the site...))

He was back, crashing again down that same path, this time something was with him, crashing down the trail he made with ease... Those glowering eyes watching Nildalten's retreating figure... What in the gods' names was the matter with these lands... He had been lost for weeks now, and every day ran into something new and bigger, and more and more hungry... One he had evaded, one he had killed, and now this one... this wolven thing stalked him even in his dreams... "Easy old man... easy..." he told himself as he collapsed against a tree, the same tree... He went in circles, but the thing had stopped chasing him... Nothing of their sort seemed to come into this part of this strange and cruel forest where the air alone could kill him if he didn't pace himself... Here was one of the rogues of lines long lasting... and still he was feeling the effects of pressure like never before.

He pushed though the dense jungle. His arms snagging on branches, cloths torn and skin broken. Why was he here? he ask himself. No reason ... there never was. Walking kept his mind away from thoughts and questions that were two painful to even ask. He stumbled along as much from the uneven surface of the ground as the legs that he found himself using. The heat and humidity was not helping his construct. His body was probably rotting faster than before. To much time here and he would destroy himself. He had encountered a few creatures on the way but most didn't even bother with him. The smell of rotting flesh was not appetising to almost all predators.

Although the heat was probably damaging his body no end he didn't even feel it ... he didn't feel anything. It was a form of torture to him. Never feeling anything all that was, was his mind and soul trapped in a rotting vessel. As he pushed onward he reached a cleared track of forest. Someone had cleared out a pathway of sorts. He decided to carry on down it, it might speed his journey. Before long something appeared in the distance. The shape of a man a gainced a tree. Stepping slowly he advanced with caution. Then he realised he was not wearing his cloak ... the man would see him... See the rotted skin... See the miss matched arms ... see the eyes... See the monstrosity.

Conan strolled along a path which he had found, winding through this seemingly endless forest. He had entered it, thinking that he would just be passing through quickly but it seemed that the forest was much more vast than he had anticipated. Walking along, he heard the crunching of leaves and twigs ahead so he quickly darted off the road, and into the cover of the forest, drawing his blade and waiting to see who this person was.

As the figure came closer, Conan could tell that something was wrong. The smell of rotting flesh filled his nostrils and the creature walked unevenly, on legs that seemed different from each other. One of its arms was very large and toned while the other was thin and wirey. Its head seeemed to be rotting yet it was still alive and walking towards him. Walking towards me? mullet, it must have seen me. What type of monstrosity is this?

Sensing he had been spotted, Conan came out from his cover, sword in hand and slightly crouched, waiting for any sudden movements.