I ran down the hallways, through doors, and down stairs, trying to escape. The man followed slowly, casually, as if there was nothing I could do to prevent him from killing me. And I knew he was right. I had been running for what felt like hours, my breath coming in short gasps, my heart beating painfully in my chest. My body slowed as I tried to continue, knowing that it was futile, that he was in my head; he knew what I would do. He knew me. I glanced over my shoulder, a dangerous move on my part, and he drew nearer still. Because I wasn't paying attention I almost ran into the wall, slowing me down further still. Luckily I turned in time. But what I saw had been the most frightening of all. The man was tall, with long slender fingers, pianist like mine. Unlike me however, his were a pale, pale white, in contrast to my glowing tan. In those pale fingers he delicately held a smooth piece of wood, thin and tapering like a wand. The sign of a warlock.
I ran harder than ever, sprinting despite my failing breath. I ran down the main staircase, not noticing the shadows that stepped in to surround me. Soon I was falling to the ground, my feet still running, trying to make it out the door. My momentum carried me around, forced by the hand that suddenly grasped the top of my arm. I landed on my back, still scrambling to get back to my feet, as the man raised his arm, pointing the wand at me. I realized then that his eyes were a dark glowing red. A necromancer. I began to scream as the dead came pouring forth to claim me.