"E'maie" an Introductory Story
E'maie's gaze swept over a vast expanse of cold, black obsidian. Thankfully his elven eyes allowed him to see in almost pitch darkness; the black of the night couldn't keep him from continuing with his trek. The dark, azure sky was mottled with large clouds of ash, constantly threatening to constrict the little light E'maie was recieving from the reflective lunar body of a full-faced Guthay. Pressing a blood-soaked rag against his left shoulder, E'maie silently cursed himself for letting one of the beasts get so close to him. He had barely escaped his last encounter with a horde of Undead, and knew that he may not be so lucky the next time. Luckily for poor E'maie, the interval between encounters with the fiends had steadily lengthened as he travelled through the night. "Could it be that I am nearly out of this stinking pit?", E'maie wondered aloud. Optimism, a feeling E'maie hadn't felt since entering the Dead Lands, seized him from the icy grasp of despair that had taken grip of his mind. E'maie looked down to his hand, suddenly slipping back into a grim mood. In his fist, a broken, rusted, steel sword stood ready to crumble at the slightest touch. "'Riches,' they said. 'Metal,' they said. 'You'll be famous, you'll be a hero, you'll be rich,' they said." The only thing this middle age Elf had found was a rusted, practically worthless sword and a legion of blood-thirsty monsters. All that
and
the wound he got a few short hours ago which became putrid with infection in seconds. A bit later, the gash turned a mottled black, green and grey. The festering wound seemed to be spreading, E'maie knew he would have to amputate his arm right then, if he wanted to save the rest of his weathered hide. "If only I hadn't killed that blasted Cleric! What a fool won't do for greed!" shouted E'maie. Trembling, E'maie walked over to a large, obsidian coated, building that would provide adequate cover if any Undead decided to show up. He slowly, dreadfully, unsheathed his knife; a large, sharp bone blade he had stolen in Celik. E'maie put the knife to his upper arm, closed his eyes as he turned his head away, and bit his lip as hard as he could. A faint scraping sound forced E'maie to open his eyes. He then realized he needn't cut his arm off....he would have no use for the rest of his body in a few seconds.
"crunch"
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