How could that half-elf be associated with such a strange person?
"Hey, Thurin, are you coming or not?" the black-haired half-elf waved ahead to the dwarf.
"Coming," the dwarf grumbled, and following along.
Behind them, the ogres impaled on the stone spears continued to struggle, and muttering a curses words that only they could understand.
"Don't we care about them?" the dwarf suddenly asked, "Shouldn't we just give them a chop, and end their misery, so their companions won't come to rescue them?"
"No need," the half-elf smiled, "Someone will take care of them for us. The scent of fresh blood will attract the hunters soon enough."
Thurin followed behind the man in the gray cloak, and catching glimpses from the corner of his eye of dark figures gliding ghost-like behind him in the increasingly thin toxic gas.