Opening

Night falls upon the Crimson Moor. The final rays of sunlight bathe the grass and heather in a red-orange light, before fading out as the sun scatters beneath the horizon. Here, on one of the many hillsides lies the town of Mannarc - a safe outpost of civilization amidst the vast moorlands. Its hardworking inhabitants are finishing what daily work they have left, making haste for their home or the inn to get some rest for the next day of labor. Life in Mannarc was defined by a dedication to work - it was a secure, albeit dull existence that put food on the table and a roof over your head.
The main street bustled with people seated at the food and drink stalls, patiently waiting for their order. Scents of roasted meat with herbs, fresh bread and light alcohol wafted through the air enticing any passerby with an empty stomach to sit down and eat. Amidst the people around the stalls, a young man, almost indistinguishable from anyone else had it not been for his missing right arm, scrambled through the street.
	The young man stopped. He had reached his destination - in front of him were the black iron gates of the city’s entrance.
	“Leaving, are we?” spoke a guard leaned against the stone wall.
	Igrey nodded silently, only briefly looking at him.
	“Y’know, even normal folk perish quickly out there. I’d stay here if I were you, with that missin’ arm and all.”
	“I think I’ll manage.”
	“Ah well. Your choice.”
	The guard motioned towards one of the towers and the gate began to open. Metal groaned and chains clanked as it was lifted, and soon enough the open road stood before Igrey. The first steps felt like they lasted minutes each. His fingers were cold from anticipation - there it was, at long last - freedom from the clutches of a mediocre life.
	“Good luck. You’ll need it, I reckon.” uttered the guard.
	Night had now completely set in. A tranquil quiet, only interrupted by the chirping of crickets and the odd cicada set the atmosphere. Moonlight dimly lit the road ahead, and the warm summer air breezed lightly. Mannarc was now only a few dots of light in the distance. But as calming as this scenery was, Igrey began to feel uneasy in the dark - a markedly different setting than the well-lit streets. Shadows danced in the corners of his sight, and even though he knew they were just illusions of his mind, he found himself glancing at them more than once. Suddenly, his focus on the surroundings was broken by a whizzing sound that caught him off guard. A sharp, burning sensation in the left part of his torso shocked him, staggering him for a moment. His shirt stuck to his skin, wet and oddly warm. He looked down and saw a knife sticking out of his lower ribs. Dreadful panic mounted as a pair of shadowy silhouettes emerged from the side of the road, mockingly laughing. He stumbled backwards and fell, desperately clutching the wound with his hand. The silhouettes began to approach, and another knife landed, this time narrowly missing his head. Igrey’s heart felt as if it could burst from his ribcage any moment while he tried to compose himself. A hole on the side of a large, rocky hill caught his attention. He stormed off towards it, with the attackers giving chase like bloodhounds. The shirt stuck even more to his skin and the wound grew cold. He cared not for what could hide inside the cave and entered, tripping on one of the many jagged stones. After the painful downward tumble, he could only discern amidst the pitch black darkness another entrance and headed towards it, leaving a trail of blood. Behind him, the silhouettes entered - their mocking laugh echoing throughout the damp, cold air. Igrey passed through the entrance into a small room. A chunk of stone on its roof was missing from which moonlight entered, revealing a metallic figure inside. He took a few careful steps towards it. Before him laid a suit of armor suspended by rusted chains. It was dark-gray, almost black and with an odd, uncharacteristic design - sharp edges, broad shoulders and a detailed helmet defined its outline. Perhaps this was his chance to evade the pursuers. Tensing up his body in anticipation beforehand, he grasped the handle of the blade and pulled it out, stirring the wound to bleed profusely. He managed to unfasten the back plate’s leather straps and hid inside the armor. As body and mind began to succumb to the loss of blood, Igrey drifed off to unconsciousness, exhaustion surpassing agony. The attackers approached.