He flipped his map over, then over again. Apparently this was the right way... but in these woods, there was no way to be sure.
The hooded man walked through a dense forest, following along a roughly defined dirt path. Though it wasn't nighttime, he had to carry a lantern with him - the dark green canopy of leaves above was dense enough to block out almost all sunlight, and a thick, cold fog hung in the air like a cloud fallen from the sky. Looking at the trees, the man was struck by just how strange they were - unbelievably tall, thick and sturdy but oddly twisted in spots, with peeling, patchy bark as white as a ghost.
Sighing, he looked at his map again. Just a day or two more from reaching Goldport. It was still a while until he would need to show up at the wharf, but he figured he could rent a hotel room and spend the next few weeks sightseeing.
Noise came from above: a crow, flitting from branch to branch. It was one of the few creatures the man had seen so far on his journey. He hadn't been surprised by the lack of wildlife - what animal would want to live in this dark, strange place?
He certainly didn't want to be here. And if he hadn't gotten drunk that day, he wouldn't. It was all so bizarre... not only did he pass out in the bar and miss his qualifying match for the tournament, but some impostor had taken his place and won! He had to rush all the way to another city to make it to another set of matches, and he was just barely able to take that last win and secure his roster spot.
The man reached into his cloak, pulling out the small scroll he had been given upon winning his last fight. It was his official invitation to the tournament, his ticket for the boat to Phoenix Island. He rolled it in his palm, feeling the wrinkled parchment, and ruminated over his hectic last week. Among the fifteen other competitors, that impostor would be there... he wondered how a fight between them would go.
Caw!
Before he could react, something shot down like a blur of black. Pain streaking through his hand, he pulled it to his chest - dropping the scroll to the dirt. Blood trickled down onto it, staining the parchment red. A stinging slice spread across his skin.
The crow? The crow had cut him! The man's eyes fixed on the treeline, scanning up and down on both sides. But the bird was nowhere to be found.
Caw!
From behind! The man was just barely able to duck down as the crow divebombed again. A second too late and it would've ripped through his hood with its talons.
Once again, the crow had vanished as quickly as it had struck. From inside his cloak, he drew a straightsword of polished metal, gleaming even in this dark environment. He wasn't the kind of person who liked fighting with a weapon, but considering the tournament had a rule of "anything goes," it was a tactical advantage to carry one. It also came in handy outside of the ring.
Caw!
The crow flew at him again, but this time, the man was ready. He waited until the last moment, then lashed out with his blade, slicing one of the crow's wings off. It fell to the ground, fluttering its remaining wing as it made its way to its feet. Bringing his sword around, the man stepped back... strange. The blood on the metal wasn't red, but pitch black, almost like oil.
"Ouch."
What the...! The man's eyebrows raised. A shockingly human voice had just come from the crows mouth. Err, beak.
"I was just trying to have fun." with a strange noise, thick black smoke burst out from the crow's wound. It quickly took the shape of a human arm, making for a rather odd sight. "What's with the hood, anyways? Nobody's around. Oh, well, except me I guess."
"What are you?" the man in the hood asked, clutching his sword with both hands and shifting into a defensive stance. The crow seemed to roll its beady eyes, tapping the fingers of its human arm against the ground.
"I'm a crow. What are you, blind?" it said, gesticulating with its human arm. It took a pause. "Oh, wait. Before I was a crow, I was a bunch of other things, too. Something I can do, I can take a lot of forms."
The rest of the bird's body began to twist and deform, feathers sinking into a mass of emerging skin. In a second, the crow had become a human... or at least, the shape of one. From head to toe it was dark black with a sheen, same as coal, and the man couldn't pick out eyes, lips, a nose, or any other feature on its smooth head. Its skin had a strange texture, the man imagined if he touched the thing his fingers would just sink right in.
"Like this one. Person. At least, closest I can get." he said. "I used to be a person, a long time ago, when I was alive. At least, I think I was, I can't remember any of that."
"When you were... alive?" the man in the hood said. "So you're a ghost?"
"Yeah, ghost, that sounds about right." he shrugged.
The man kept his sword drawn, but lowered it down a bit. "Why did you attack me?"
"Told you that already. I was trying to have fun." he pointed a finger downwards. "Say, what's that you've got there?"
The man's eyes flicked to what had drawn the thing's attention: his scroll, which still laid in the dirt.
"It's not important." he said, crouching down to pick it up.
"Oh, that usually means it is."
With a strange gurgling, a long pole formed between the thing's hands, same color and texture as its body. A long, curved blade sprouted out from one end of the pole. A scythe.
"Another thing I can do, I can make things."
The hooded man backed up. He had lost his tournament spot once before. And he wasn't going to lose it again.
With a war cry, he swung his sword forward, right at the thing's neck. But an instant before steel met flesh, the humanoid shape burst into dark smoke. The swirling black cloud dissipated just as the sword's arc ended and the man pulled it back, shifting into his defensive stance once more.
"What the hell?"
Dark trails now mingled with the ghostly white fog that permeated the air. He saw the shadowy vapor fly behind his head, and before he could turn around, the thing had already become human again, scythe tight in its grip. It whirled the weapon forward, blade ripping through the back of the man's cloak and into his flesh.
A gasp of air fled his lungs.
Skin quivering, vision fading, the hooded man looked down. A three foot blade of black metal protruded from his chest, a red stain growing around its base. It was the last thing he'd ever see. Pulling the scythe back, the strange shape finished him off with one more slash. He fell onto his back, his head rolling off.
The ghost flipped his cloak open with the tip of his foot, spotting the scroll sticking out of a pocket stitched inside. He crouched down and drew it out. Unfurling the bloodstained parchment, he read it over.
Hmm. Something about a fighting tournament on some island, and a magic lady called the Phoenix Empress - hey, a fellow bird fan! He read over the details. Goldport, wharf, boat, blah blah blah.
Well, he had never competed in a tournament before, but hey, how hard could hurting people be? Not hard at all, he did it all the time! And it looked like if he won, he got a single wish as a reward. He'd have to be stupid not to try it out!
The black shape shrunk down, body warping. Feathers spread across his skin, his face lengthened into a beak, his legs and feet thinned out into razor talons that clutched the stolen scroll tightly. A crow once more, he took flight, over the trees and off to Goldport.
Rep
Age: ???
Bio: A ghost born from a wandering soul coming into contact with a huge amount of negative energy. After gaining sentience, he wandered around killing people who crossed his path on a whim and stealing anything that piqued his interest. A little bit sadistic.
Abilities: Capable of creating weapons from his body. Mostly creates scythes cause of the inherent coolness factor. He tends to go for sneak attacks. He can take a physical form, but mainly travels in the form of a black crow.
Appearance: While capable of taking several different physical forms, his true appearance is that of a vague shape of dense black smoke.
Thanks for the chapter!
My boy!