The blind leading the blind

It took a while for Vroskar's limbs to come back to life. They moved, but he could barely feel them as he willed his body along. His head swam and his body raged as though it were dying, his flesh shivering and burning all at once. Sweat mingled with the rain that thoroughly soaked him. If he didn't smell of wet-dog before, he most certainly did now. (Though he felt very much like he was dying) he kept pace with his company, whom he made a dwarf of even slumped over as he was. He (she?) marched along as though leading a war charge and Vroskar felt like a more-dumb-witted Orpheus walking so willingly into hell—only Vroskar had no notions of romantic heroics; just an aching fever and a nigh-incorrigible urge to hurl himself from the top of the precipice they now stood atop. He even made a game of identifying his own imaginary organs strewn down there among the rocks. A bit of brains, some guts, some bone... Any questions? Vroskar's ear flicked to the side, remembering his company. Still his eyes explored the dark sticky sand that stretched on in front of him in all directions—so different from the snow-swept reaches of his birth. Though he'd been freed from the unworldly thicket of smoke and shadows and carnivorous eyes he was hardly inspired by the hellish tarpits he now faced. This is more like what he always imagined hell would be like. He was a fool to have expected anything better. "You have a strange definition of forests and mountains," he finally grumbled, a note of humor brightening the deadpan sarcasm of his voice. VROSKAR

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@Valkyrie I'm so sorry for the wait