Introduction

A Chapter by Neamous

The wind blew across the viridian plains, pushing along a light mist that was falling from the clouds above. The few, old, scattered and scared trees remaining were swaying in the gentle breeze. The cloaked figure turned his head slowly, taking in the sight before him. The grass was waist high and the most intriguing shade of green, with small violet flowers atop them, as apposed to the brunt and trampled brown sludge it had been when he was last here. As he took a step forward, his shoe caught on an old arrow head, partially sticking out of the ground. Carefully, he crouched down and picked the now well worn piece of metal from the ground and brushed the damp dirt off of it. Underneath the grime was a small, simple engraving of the letters A.S. As if waiting for the arrow head to be found, the wind carried the cloud cover away to reveal a sky the color of a blood orange with two shattered moons, a silent testament to the violence that had happened, so long ago.

The man stood slowly, his hand clasped tight around the arrow head as he looked into the marred sky, remembering the roll he had played in the cataclysmic events of that awful day. A gust of wind swept across the glistening field, whipping the hood of the cloak from the man, to reveal a wild head of unkept, short hair, with the exception of a braid that hung from his bangs to his chin on the right side of his face. Holding the braid together was a turquoise bear charm, that bounced against a small but strong jaw line. The man's face was clean shaven, with a pronounced but flattened nose, high cheekbones and heavy eyebrows. His eyes were a light lavender color that looked gray in most lights. A lack of sleep had produced heavy set bags under his eyes.

Sighing to himself he turned away, and began walking east, towards the luscious green woods that ran along side the field, determination in his eyes. There would be time for honoring the dead later. For now he had work to do, there was still time to fix things, to put things right. He flipped the cloak over his left shoulder, revealing his worn and battered scale armor with chips of white paint still visible on the armor. The pommel of the sword at his side was much in the same condition, the leather wrapping dark and tattered, and the sheath was no better. He looked at the arrowhead again, hoping that he wasn't too late...

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© 2013 Neamous

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AMLambert

Interesting piece, intrigued to know what happens next
a few comments though would be that I feel you described him with too much detail. I kind of felt like I had stepped out of the story for a second, it felt too much like a list of his attributes. Maybe you could reveal different bits of his appearance later on when needed.