Those were the best two descriptors that the redhead could think of, currently. After all, they were pretty accurate. First he was just kind of...dropped off outside of a forest (not one that looked like any in South Park), then a huge storm came out of no where and forced him to take shelter until it subsided with (or without?) strangers that he was told were his partners. 

Now that the heavy rain was gone--as well as the shadowy figures that had seemed to haunt the area with it--he was able to venture out, though in small increments. Even with the extreme weather gone, there seemed to be another forecast coming into play. A phenomena of clouds settling on the surface of the Earth obscured the better parts of his sight and made it difficult to understand as little as the mere direction he was headed in.

What was the reason he had split off from the only human contact he had been in immediate contact with? Why had he thought this would be a good idea? 

A cry from the haze startled him out of his thoughts, making his body jolt in reflex and tense, striking out towards a sudden, imposing figure on his right. His fist collided with fabric, skin, warmth, and he noticed immediately that he had ... just ... punched someone in the stomach. 

　　The rain starts suddenly. It is simply there when earlier it was not, hard and angry upon the ground, upon the trees, upon the bare skin of those unfortunate enough to be caught in it.

　　Sinbad is among them.

　　His attempts at escape are none too graceful. The slippery ground impedes him half as much as the every-changing winds, sending him sprawling almost as often. Both rain and darkness cloud his vision even when the skies come alive with lightning, illuminating his surroundings for naught but a second before plunging them into the shadows once more.

　　Or perhaps shadows is a more adequate term not for this place, but for the creatures within it. Lightning reveals their forms in the distance, clawing at anything within reach as if to gain purchase in the storm. They are not figments of his imagination, he thinks, as he can feel the vibrations of their ghostly moans even now, with such a distance between them. They are not friendly, no - they are an enemy, an impedance, and must be dealt with swiftly and immediately.

　　It is upon making that decision that he falls to the ground and tumbles backwards into what he can only assume is another human being. It is not, at least, one of those ominous creatures in the distance.

　　"Sorry, sorry." Sinbad struggles to his feet and, upon doing so, extends a hand to the person who stopped him in his path, albeit unwillingly. "You alright?"

　　The humming around them seems to grow louder--or is that his imagination?