The wind was a bitter cold kiss, but a relative warm comfort for the three men navigating their way to the coastline. “Are you sure he's good for it? The man's been giddy the closer we get to the ocean. He's one of the most wanted men in Purgareth,” Bernard, the jittery one, said, uneased. The coastal climate began to dampen his clothing as well as his spirits. “I won't hear of this again. He can mumble all the livelong fucking day about bird droppings for all I care, what with the amount he's paid us thus far,” Arnold snapped, disgruntled. “We'll be living like royalty after this job,” he said, licking his lips, fantasizing of the posch life that awaited him. No more hiding. No more monsters. No more sleepless nights.

The coastline was a wasteland of porous rocks, with shapes so shocking and warped, from the years of endless onslaught of the lashing waves.