<> The thick wall of trees stood like a towering monolith, erupting like a parasite unbidden from the loose ground at the edge of the plain. It stood undisturbed, silent. A sentry keeping watch with assuredness, ruling with fear as its greatest weapon. Fear of the unknown. Fear of death. It was a sea of the darkest green. Almost black- almost a solid onyx wall, polished to a sheen. Beyond it lay the plain. Brown grasses waved in the early morning light as the sun peaked over the top of the black forest. And then, a rustling within. Small ripples in the impermeable wall. ** He came staggering out, throwing vines and tearing thorns from his heavily furred clothing. In his right hand a dagger bled, shedding crimson onto the tall waving reeds into which he waded in a frenzy. His breathing came in rough, ragged gasps as he stumbled through the weeds, running, panicked, almost frozen with terror. In his left hand he clutched a quarterstaff, the head of which was smeared with bloodied black fur. His dull brown hair was matted with dirt and half-dried blood, and his face was streaked with the same. His furs and woolens were blotted with red as well, torn and shredded to let loose the flood of life from within him. From behind, in the forest, a roar exploded into the crisp morning air. He threw himself to the ground, half falling, as a huge black shape rocketed over him, saliva and blood splattering him as he was momentarily encompassed by its shadow, and then it was over him and it landed not ten feet away, throwing up gouts of sand and dirt as its huge clawed feet dug for purchase. He raised himself to his feet in time to watch it slowly turn around to face him. It was covered with blood. Most its own, some of it his. It was huge, bathed in a black fur so course as to look like feathers. Its head was small, and almost all mouth. Large teeth flashed when it roared, rows and rows or large, bloodied teeth. Its small red eyes were nestled on either side of its head, put where its ears should have been. They moved about independantly, looking him over as it slowly approached. It knew he couldn't run now. He dropped the bloodied dagger he held in his right hand, and reached behind him. He detached one of three long javelins he had knotted to a sinew rope on his back. He held it there. He felt dizzy. He'd lost too much blood, and was losing more. If this thing were intelligent, it could outwait him. Just stand there and wait for him to fall over- It lunged, its huge muscled back legs digging deep into the soft earth as it rocketed forward. Its mouth opened into a cavern of shining daggers as it roared, a high pitched squeal; reaching for him, straining toward his neck with a hunger akin to unrestricted, mindless bloodlust- even as the piercing scream turned to a gurgle and he whipped his javelin around and sent it plunging down the thing's throat. It rammed into him with all the inertia its several hundred pound body had gathered, and he was sent plummeting backwards into the outer fringes of the forest. He felt his head slam into something... a tree, probably, before he blacked out. He awoke with sunlight warming his face. He felt dried blood constricting his cheeks. A lock of matted hair was drooping down in front of his left eye, slicing the blue sky in two. It must have been about noon, with the sun shining straight down past the wall of the forest. A miracle he was still alive. That nothing had come to consume him which he was unconscious. He sat for a couple moments more, savoring the warmth of the sun- the absence, for once, of danger. Then he got his feet under him and stood carefully, sliding his back upward against the trunk of the tree which had dealt him a blow earlier. Nothing was broken, fortunately. He seemed to be awfully lucky today. He turned to his left, and saw the creature. It was definitely dead. Flies were already buzzing around its half open mouth, from which protruded his bloodsoaked javelin. He approached the still form of the black monster. The fires had gone out of its red eyes. They seemed to hang now, drooping, from the sides of the thing's head. Deflated. He placed a grimy hand on the javelin, and with a wrenching jerk, ripped it from its mantel place. He slipped it into the harness on his back, where the other two were still firmly nestled. Leaving the creature behind him, he searched for the dagger he had dropped. It didn't take him long to find it. And then the hike was on once again. He hadn't stopped moving for almost six months for fear that they would catch up to him. And apparently his fears had been justified. He had begun to wish he had never crossed their path. Nothing good had come of it. And, no doubt, nothing good WOULD come of it. Leaning heavily on his quarterstaff, he continued his journey westward. He had heard rumors of a city which lay not to far that way. Indeed, he could see it from where he stood. He had overestimated his strength. By the time he hit the road which led into the city, he could almost feel it seeping out of him. Seeping out through the reopening wounds that adorned him like so many service medals. His staff carried most of his weight as he staggered down the road, toward the city gates. Yes... he could almost make them out now. His vision was strangely clouded. As if someone had slipped a thin sheet of wool behind his eyes. He thought he could make out a couple forms standing there, watching him. His legs gave out beneath him, and he was on his knees. He tried to force himself up again, pushing on his staff. He was a mere thirty feet away from safety. Relative safety. He couldn't get up. He looked up again at the gates, saw one of the smeared forms moving cautiously toward him. Several more figures appeared behind him, carrying things. Crossbows... probably. The figure was to him. His voice was very quiet. Very far away. 'Let me help you'. That was what it sounded like. It could just as well have been 'let me kill you' for all he could have done about it. The guard took him by the left arm and half carried him, half guided him, into the city limits. He thought he heard something about hospital... healing. Yes, that was what he needed. Hospital. Healing. Darkness. .............................. Painfully opening his blood encrusted eyes proves to be an ardurous task but voices near and far bring his consciousness from the numb darkness to the painful light. The guards noticed that he had awoken again, this time seemingly more coherent than the last few times, so they let him to his feet, and he is helped with some difficulty through two large swinging doors that arorn thr front of the nondescript building. Many of his wounds were bleeding freely again. Apparently that luck he was so keen on only hours ago was now going to leave him in the hands of complete strangers. He managed to keep his legs underneth him, and to raise his suddenly heavy, bloated head up to look around him. It did little good. Everything was dark, splattered and streaked. He let his head go again. Mumbled voices tumbled out around him, swirling and bubbling in his ears. Healing, he heard that again. Herbs. Spells. Lay him down. He felt the pressure of something on his back, and vaguely realized that he was lying down. Someone was opening his mouth, and then there was wetness in it. instinctively, he swallowed... ............................... He was of medium height, with a rather slight build. His hair was very light brown, bordering on blonde(ish). He stepped up to the cot at which Twysted sat. "How are you?" "Alright, I guess. better than I was before... how long have I been here?" "About seven hours. Can I get you anything? Food?" "No... I'm not hungry. I could do with some information, though. Where am I, for starters." "You're in the Healer's Abode. I type of hospital, really. We care for the needy here, and they pay what they can." "How about a little more... ah... general. Like, the name of this city?" "Oh. Edgekeep." "Alright. Where could I find a place to stay, and a place to eat?" "I would suggest the Falling Tower for food. I've been there once of twice. Excellent stone soup. My tastes in housing, however, are a bit eclectic. You might want to ask the opinion of someone aside from myself. Other than that, I would suggest exploring." "Exploring. Huh, I've done enough of THAT to last me awhile. Well, I guess I'd best be off. Thanks so much for your help- oh, what do I owe you?" "Forty gold-pieces would cover the cost of the potion I used." "Good." Twysted reached into a satchel which he wore at his belt and pulled out approximately that amount. He then cast about for a moment, and noticed that his staff, daggers and javelins were stacked next to the bed. The daggers he put on his belt, the javelins on his back, and, picking up the quarter-staff, he stood. "Thanks again." He said, as he headed toward the door. "You're welcome. May our paths not cross again in this room soon."