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Looking down at his feet, Marlo considered three things:
1) He was sure he was lost, even if he had been on a path
2) A rock was in his shoe
3) The loss of gum was bitterly seething in the back of his mind and he knew it would be a bitter subject no matter the outcome

Landing himself on a rather larger more well worn path, Marlo could take care of only one of his problems right now. Sadly, that meant he had to either sit down on mud, a half rotting log, or lean on a tree that looked like a twisted version of Disney's Grandmother Willow. Thankfully, the tree didn't talk or look like it had the ability to scar his childhood, so it was his best bet.
Soon enough, Marlo discovered that Demonic looking Disney tree relatives were just as reliable as rotting logs. His balance was lost and that sent him hopping up and down in an attempt to keep both get out the rock and not land his sock in mud.

He managed it, just barely. As his dance of the rock-in-shoe was finished, a few ribbits came from the rotten log. Nature was an unforgiving thing. Glaring at the log the ribbits died, until he took his angry teen glare off of it, to which the mocking ribbits resumed. "I am being mocked by a bunch of frogs." The ribbiting got louder. "I officially hate frogs." He kicked the log. The ribbits scattered but didn't die. Instead they scattered and got louder. His pant leg was now covered in rotten wood, moss, dirt, and flecks of brightly colored mushroom. Marlo felt like he'd just had some kind of fight with the wildlife.

And the wildlife won.

No sound had come from the man's shoes, his cape, or the rather ornate trinkets scattered on his person. The first sound Marlo heard had distinctly come from the other wayward traveler was his voice. The man was actually more a teen his own age, looking like he'd either swallowed bile, forgot to sleep for the past few nights, or was just beyond any sort of assistance Marlo could provide. Not that Marlo was eager to provide assistance to someone who he did not know, and was wearing perhaps the most unique knight costume in the history of forever to him.

So, the two teen looked at each other, and Marlo didn't say a word for a few seconds, just taking his time to analyze the fact a freaking knight in some outlandish fashion was only a few feet away.

Soon enough though, Marlo got up and brushed himself off as best he could. "If by 'all right' you mean I am uninjured and fully aware I have no idea where I am or how I got here, then I'm 'all right'. If you mean to ask if I'm okay with my current situation-" he looked at the log. The frogs were starting to die down but not quite fading, "then no, not all right. That said, I think in comparison to you I'm a little better off." He didn't look like death warmed over. This was a slight plus for him.

"Marlo Xanis." He was finally introducing himself. It should have been the first thing he did. "No offense but you look worse then I am. So for the sake of understanding, are you all right?"

A wet droplet plunked right into Hector's open mouth as he shouted. It had a slightly saline taste. Another hit his nose, then his forehead.

It was only a light rain, but it was rain.

Hector had been looking up at the raindrops, arms outstretched, looking as though this were the last sign that God had abandoned him to a careless universe. Raindrops spattered down his face, wet his hair a little. His eyes closed. Apropos of nothing he started to laugh, but it was shaky and had the shining tin edge of hysteria.

The laughter got bit off before Marlo had a crazy man on his hands, and he took the handkerchief to mop his face a little. "Okay," he said. "Shelter. Rain." The tree really was shitty covering now that he'd stumped forward to join him. "Wasn't anything back there. You want to keep on walking, Xanis?" For the first time he seemed to really notice the handkerchief. "Marlo Xanis who carries a hanky -- though I'm not gonna be a hater."

It wasn't long before they came across a cabin in the woods, down one of the paths they both agreed they hadn't tried yet. A cabin.

It was badly cobbled together, the cabin, looking as though it had been assembled by less-than-dextrous hands, and it was leaning far forward as though it were lurching in to swallow them both, but on the whole it looked like it was architecturally sound enough not to fall on them in the next few minutes. There were windows -- holes in the walls with sticks propped in them to make window-like shapes -- but no glass windowpanes, not that they might've expected them.

It was a slightly large cabin, with a slightly large door. The latch was at eye level.

"Marlo." He sighed at Hector as if they had this same conversation a million times before. "Not 'M'. I don't refer to myself by a letter. I refer to myself by my name. Please use it." Walking to the window he didn't hear anything in particular, as for seeing..."Looks like we can. I might be able to jump it if I get a running start. Not enough to get in but enough to catch a glimpse." Mud squelched under his shoes. "Provided I don't fall on my a**. But, rather try and fail then not try at all."

So, backing up, he lined up with the window. "Just as a point, a good chunk of fantasies games feature dragons. Or wizards who turn into dragons. So, I'm personally hoping we don't encounter any wizards." Marlo ran at the window, trying to keep a good balance as his fingers found the ledge. It was slippery with rain and moss, but enough that he could just lift his head over to peer in.

Hector had not been able to smother an amused look instead of no, yes, Marlo at Marlo's insistence on a full name, as though he had had this conversation a million times before. But as the other boy went to go and peer in the window of the hut, he was approaching the door and the latch as the rain kept coming down.

"You see anything?" he said. "Or is this some kind of reject love shack?"

Impatient with the whole process, Hector reached up to the door to recklessly lift the latch. He knew better. It was Tartaros. But the thought of Alexandros lying anywhere, in any puddle of mud on any floor, removed his fear and fuelled his hands.

Despite the failing light, the rain-darkened skies and the shade from the trees, somehow when Hector opened the door, the room within was thrown into stark relief.

It was a home with three occupants, judging by the arrangements of furniture -- or what passed for furniture. Currently, none of the occupants was in residence -- unless the dead body mounted like a trophy on one of the walls was to be believed as having lived there. Something that looked like a dead animal was on the floor beneath it.

One of the chairs was broken, and the smallest bed was covered with blood. Something frightful had happened here.