《Chronicles of Emanon》


 Chapter 1: Memory Loss

    "Who am I?"


    Confusion. That was the first thing he felt when he woke up with a throbbing headache. Words, sentences, grammar, common facts, he could remember. Names of people and their faces, he could not recall. Even his own name and face.


    With more effort than he desired to exert, he strained to raise his head to survey his surroundings. He found himself on a beach composed of nothing but coarse sand and rotting wood. To the west was a forest that stretched along the coast as far as his eyes could see, and the boundless sea to the right, with no other island and country in sight.


    With what seemed to consume all his effort, he propped himself up, finding himself donned in a tattered grey pants reaching to his ankles with numerous pockets all over, a long sword sheathed in a plain undecorated wooden scabbard and a white sleeveless shirt, revealing his muscular arms, with various scars and cuts all over.


    Injuries from a fight, he assumed. With every slight movement, saltwater on his soaked body would seep onto the cuts, causing them to itch even more. Without the need to deliberate on his actions further, he immediately tore off a piece of clothing from the hem of his shirt to patch over the cuts that he deemed to be potentially life-threatening, if left untreated. Infested wounds were troublesome to deal with, he remembered. Pointing his index and middle finger towards the deepest cut he could find, he muttered.


    "Sui."


    A slight feeling of fatigue washed over him as emerald-green mist converged from around his fingers and into the wound, causing a slight sense of relief within him. Whether it was from proving that a portion of what remained of his memory was not a figment of his imagination, or the comfort of treating his wound, he couldn''t be sure. He maintained that posture for a dozen breaths of time, with the blood rapidly hardening at a visible rate. In a minute''s time, in the wound''s place was a scab that would have probably taken a week to form, without the aid of the most rudimentary form of healing magic.


    After treating the most serious of his wounds, his mind started to wander, brooding about the situation he was in. He knew and understood what it meant to have amnesia, to not remember his name and identity, but the very notion of having them seemed so out-of-place that he wondered who and what he was like before he lost his memory.


    "Is it normal to not feel a sense of loss, after having lost my identity?" He tried to focus on his memories, searching for the most recent vestige of his memory. It took less effort than he thought it would take, but he managed to recall that he was on a mission to deliver a message to a certain person in the capital of Auros. Whoever that person was and what the message was, he could not remember.


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    "Priorities."


    It was only now that he realized that he was thirsty, hungry, and exhausted after consuming most of his ekra to heal his wounds. "Drinkable water, food and shelter? Praise the gods if I can find them in a deserted beach. Sure, I could get fish from the sea, but you''d need tools for that, much less the energy to swim out to the sea. Wait, the sword." Remembering his sword, he looked down on his waist, gazing upon his metre-long sword that was tied to the left side of his waist with a black sash over the hem of his pants. Unsheathing it, he held it in full view under the blazing hot sun. With the feeling of having repeated the action over a thousand times, he brandished the sword with his right hand, with a sense of familiarity of being one with the sword. He raised his left hand, his fingers caressing the blade of the sword. It was a double edged sword made of damascus steel, with the tip of the blade curving upwards. The grip was fashioned out of pig leather. "Good sword," he praised. He tried to look for possible clues that could identify himself, but to no avail. There wasn''t even a brand on the sword, one that every blacksmith would imprint around the pommel.


    "There could be something in my pockets." He fumbled around his pockets but could only find wet sand. "Fuck!"


    With a growl escaping his stomach, he remembered his current plight. Lack of food, water and shelter. He did not have the sufficient tools and skills to hunt for food in the sea. His remaining choice was to search the forest for food, and hope he would chance upon a river or a stream in the forest. It was near the sea after all.


    Somehow, he knew that he could fast for a week without food and water, but that''s only in the best possible scenario. There were too many variables. What lies within the forest was unknown, and he disliked the unknown the most. However, while he still had energy to spare, the smartest choice to make was to scout around the forest and raise his chances of survival.


    "I have a bad feeling about this," he sighed before patting the sand off his pants and trudged into the woods.


    Author''s Note: Chapter''s pretty short, I know. Tis'' only the first chapter, so I hope to write double the length in the next chapter. Anyways, all constructive criticisms are welcome.

 Chapter 2: Direction

    For hours he had been walking in the humid shade of the forest, with no edible food in sight, other than some wild berries he found on some trees. Along the way, he scratched arrows on the tree trunks he passed by so that he could find the way back to the beach. Sometimes he passed by logs with several mushrooms growing on them, but he couldn''t be sure whether they were safe to eat. Taking his chances was not something he wanted to do, especially when there was no contingency measure. If he accidentally poisoned himself, he could possibly incapacitate himself for days, and that would be no laughing matter.


    Marching through knee-high foliage, the ever present sensation of tree branches brushing against his bare arms and the constant chirping of cicadas was starting to get on his nerves. The humidity in the forest caused by the hot weather wasn''t exactly helping either. Worse still, he could sometimes hear animalistic growls from the deeper parts of the forest.


    There were no visible tracks of potential preys, with most of the tracks he found being too risky to even attempt pursuing. It was only after a four hour march from the beach when he found a trail of footprints that resembled those of humans.


    At last.


    After following along the trail for an hour, he realized that the forest was not as bright as it was hours ago. "It''s getting dark soon, I''d better hurry," he thought, hastening his pace. It was only a couple breaths later that he heard bestial snarls, followed by the sound of crunching bones and the squelching of soft matter. The source of the sounds came from roughly thirty metres away, but the dense forestation blocked the view of whatever was making the sounds.


    He decided to remove his straw sandals so that his foot would make as little sound as possible, and made slow, deliberate tiptoes towards the source of the sounds. He rested his right arm on the hilt of his sword, mentally preparing to defend himself against anything that could pose a threat to his life. It never hurts to be cautious.


    As he brushed several leaves of a bush apart, what would have been the result of a lack of caution and stealth was laid before him. Flesh and intestines were strewn all over the forest soil, with green creatures that seemed to be a humanoid form of a crocodile, most of them being almost two metres tall, feasting upon the insides of a party of humans donning steel armor and uniforms with the crest of a green gryphon on the chest.


    "One-Shard Lizardmen..." His grip around the hilt of his sword tightened. He wasn''t even surprised at his lack of discomfort upon witnessing the bloody scene.


    A common sight in most forests and swamps, these lanky creatures have learnt to imitate human behaviors over countless eras and wields shabbily crafted weapons of their own, armed with deadly skills and knowledge of the jungle. They could be often identified by their scaly humanoid figures and the bone necklaces hanging around their necks. The number of bone shards on their necklaces was an indication of their rank, with one-shard necklaces for infantrymen and five-shard necklaces for chieftains.


    Their intelligence are not as complex as a human, nor do they possess the ability to manipulate ekra, but they make up for them with their superior constitution and numbers. A united Lizardmen tribe is often a deadly force to be reckoned with, even more so when they have a capable and charismatic leader.


    The unfortunate party of humans being gnawed on by the Lizardmen were all but alive, and were probably a patrol team of a nearby village that were careless enough to be ambushed by a squad of Lizardmen.


    Tensing his right shoulder muscle, he pulled the sword guard with his left hand and the hilt with his right hand, just like you would when getting ready to flick a finger, with the tension of a fully drawn bow and arrow.


    One strike, one head.


    His instincts kicked in, all unnecessary trains of thought were halted, and all his focus was centered on his unaware enemies and his form. He was getting ready to swoop in for the kill. It was as if he had done this many times before, with the artful grace of an experienced veteran.


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    "Gigiaa?" The Lizardmen nearest to him raised its scaly green head, flesh dripping from the fangs of its half-opened jaws, sniffing the air as if it had sensed the danger. It took a brief look around the surroundings, careful making sure that another predator wasn''t around to steal their snack before resuming its meal.


    Now!


    Kicking off the ground, he leapt towards the Lizardmen that had sensed him earlier, closing the distance of five metres between them in an instant, and a bright flash of light reflected off the shiny edge of his blade, illuminating the scene of slaughter for an instant. The moment the blade left the other side of the head, he pushed the body aside with his left hand, leaping towards his next victim.


    "Kiyaa!" The Lizardmen cried with anger from having their dinner being interrupted. They clambered to their feet and grabbed their weapons, some of them stolen from the dead patrol team. The Lizardman that was being attacked raised its steel spear to defend. Its'' assailant''s sword deftly changed its direction. As the Lizardman realized the impending danger, it was far too slow to react, as the blade was approaching from a seemingly impossible direction, with the assailant moving at a speed faster than it could blink.


    Splurt!


    Another thunk of head meeting earth was heard. There was now just one Lizardman remaining. Needless to say, it too had neither the skills nor agility to contend itself against the superior technique and merciless blows of its predator.


    With a long exhale and mist emitting from his mouth, he closed his eyes reveling in the incredible sense of pleasure of releasing his tension. It was as if all his worries and fear were discarded along with that one breath. "Not enough," he muttered. The sensation of his blade cutting through flesh and bone was the best he had felt ever since he woke up at the beach, one that was extremely addicting. He was tempted to venture deeper into the forest. However, his rationality brought him back to reality. It was too dangerous. Who knows what else was lurking in the depths of the forest.


    Swish.


    He slashed once at the air, removing the blood on his sword before placing it back into the scabbard.


    "Too late," he sighed. He had hoped that there would at least be a survivor, but there was none to point him out the direction to civilization. Sympathy for the dead men laying before him? He felt none, even for himself, one with barely any memories remaining.


    Taking a closer look at their bodies, he found that they had, to some extent, a different constitution that he had. All of them had short blond hair, with a much stockier build than he had, with much hairier arms and legs than he had. His hair was black and tied into a ponytail, reaching down to his back, and his build was muscular but lean, one that was highly preferred when specializing in the sword. He felt that having extremely large muscles will result in having less flexibility, causing some sword maneuvers to be slower and less efficient.


    "Am I a foreigner?" On top of his long list of hunger, thirst, memory loss, and several other stuff, he now had to add ''possibly in a foreign land'' to it. He was starting to feel worried. After searching the corpses of the Lizardmen and humans, the only useful thing he found was a map of the region. According to the positions and patrol routes indicated on the map, he found that it was safe to assume that he was an hour walk away from where the dead patrol team had set camp, and there was a river stream along the way to boot. From the camp, it was a three day march to the nearest village. Finally, he could scratch ''no source of water'' and ''having no set destination'' off the list.


    The sun was starting to set, painting the skies an eerie red. Hair-raising howls could be heard from the distance. It was time for the nocturnal beasts to hunt.


    It''s going to be a long night.


    Author''s Note: Hey guys, it''d be really awesome if you guys comment on what y''all think of what I''ve written so far. Don''t hold back, I can take it.