He woke up with a start. Suddenly, his eyes darted around, alert. He couldn't tell if there was a threat or not. The dagger in his hand was firmly held, in case of any attack. There was a rustle in a tree, and he tossed a poisoned dagger at it. Nothing else moved for the next minute or so. Losing all interest, he got up and yawned. His name was Murakami Tadayoshi. He lived in Japan, during the days of samurais, and ninjas, and kings. Federal japan, they might have called it. He was on a journey to save his friend, who was taken by the evil demon Gonguron. It was known for kidnapping humans, and devouring their souls.
Murakami yawned, and looking in his sack. There was a few loaves of bread, some vegetables, and cheese. Good thing he packed enough food to last him a while. He didn't think he'd be gone this long. Murakami left his home about a month ago. Imagining how sick with worry his parents were, he decided to eat now. Taking the loaf of bread from his sack, he nibbled on it. He nibbled for about thirty minutes, and decided to move on. He didn't like to dwell in the same place for a long time. Taking in the scenery, he noticed he was in the middle of the forest. Checking his map, he remembered where he was. Not too long of a walk to civilization, maybe half a mile. If he was lucky, he might stumble upon a traveler leaving town.
Walking towards town, he did see some food. Deer, some squirrels, not much. Though he was good with a bow, he didn't want to kill an innocent animal. They didn't deserve to die, not just because he was hungry. He could get more food at the market in town, if there was a market. Suddenly, the wind blew behind him quicker than normal. He noticed a thin strip of black zoom straight past him, and into the tree. Taking out his daggers, Murakami focused on the tree. To the right, he noticed a gleam of silver, and then suddenly a throwing knife shot straight through the air to his left. Dodging it, he took in the details. These weren't your ordinary villagers. Either they were assasains, or they were some cult. Twisted cult, if that was the case.
He stood there, dagger firmly held, waiting for the right time to strike. The thin strip of black zoomed straight past him again, and he leaped toward the tree it landed in. Entering melee combat with the assassain, he was cut up a few times. Murakami was knocked back, and he felt a sharp sting in his left shoulder. He felt his conciousness fade away. He didn't want to die. Not now, not when he was so close to completing his journey. He took the time left in his life to sever the asassain's hand, and blood began to pour out of what was left of it. He heard a scream from his murderer, but that was it. The darkness of unconciousness took over. He felt nothing, heard nothing. Was this what happened when you died? Just float there in the darkness for eternity? It wasn't fair. Not to him. He vowed to save his friend, and to rid the land of the evil demon that took it over. Now, everything he had done was nothing but a waste...
{ I've posted more, so yeah.... If you want to read more, just tell me. }
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