The dark, frothy clouds thundered in rage, showering the dense foliage with a thick blanket of bone-chilling water. The stinging rain completely obstructed the view of the man tearing through the thick branches and vines, running on pure instinct. The blade in his hand, a long one-handed sword, had none of the gleam it may have once possessed, with its dull blade covered with dark crimson blood. the lone man shot through the forest, showing no signs of slowing his run, despite the numerous injuries clearly visible on his body.
“Don’t stop” he told himself “the pain comes later.”
The man’s panic was obvious, with his shaven face pale with fear, and his deep magenta eyes bloodshot and dilated.
A rustle in the dark, and the man stiffened. In a flash, something flew at him. With the rain cursing him with poor visibility, he could not see what it was, and his panic drove out any thought of identification. All he new that it was an Unknown, something that wanted to end him, and he also knew that he would probably not be able to escape from its grasp.
He brandished his sword wildly, with any indication of skill trivial.His instinct, however seemed to succeed where his rational mind failed; he felt his sword, now shining with a pale, flickering red light, hit something leathery. A reedy cry of pain, and the Unknown retreated.
The man halted. He was visibly relieved that, whatever it was, he had hurt it, if only a little. He held his sword in a stance, with his confidence restored and resolve to fight alight.
Then, he heard one, two, three shrill cries, loud, despite the thundering rain. He spun around frantically, to face the source of the sound. Suddenly, a flurry of movement, then, Darkness.
Emel’s eyes shot open, and he looked to his right where his irritating Mickey Mouse alarm clock rang enthusiastically, drilling the piercing sound into his head. He hit the sooze button with all the strength he could muster, and dropped his head back onto his pillow. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to will himself to sleep, but it was to no avail.
Letting loose a deep sigh, he then shook his clenched fist, frustrated.”Damn, that was bad,” he complained,”This was my first death in ages!”. Quickly irritated by the warmth of his blanket, he shook it off of him, and after a brief moment of hesitation, climbed out his bed.
Emel began to pace back and forth in his large, well lit but sparsely decorated room. “Have to come up with a counter measure for that stealth function…torches wont work with all that rain…maybe a scroll?…”, like this, he muttered to himself, his dark hazel eyes wandering underneath his slightly overgrown black hair.
Emel’s expressions changed constantly, making his face convulse. As he continued to think, he heard a voice calling out his name. It was his mother, calling him down for breakfast.
He sighed, and his face suddenly changed to a ice-cold,intimidating gaze, or, as Emel liked to think of it, his ‘public profile”. He would need that to make it through the day, so that he could go back.
“Back,” he thought, as he walked down the stairs, “to my real world.”