A New Horizon

~Chapter 1~

Etsuo Mizoka sighed and slowly ran his hand through his long golden hair as he warily watched the grinning monk strut towards him. Monks were known and renowned for their strong physical attacks and short cooldowns, and were often not very intellectual people. Usually they judged matters by who could punch harder and faster, and the cocky dwarf monk before him seemed to be no exception. Judging from the way he waddled towards him and the profane calls that his dwarven friends cheered, he clearly expected Mizoka to beg for mercy rather than put up a fight.

Instead, Mizoka fingered a small dagger from a sleeve that he concealed inside his long cloak, and raised his voice in a bored warning. "I really don't have time for you, Monk." Mizoka decided to refer to the dwarf as monk, since he felt that it was an easy way to try to overlook the fact that he was dealing with a dwarf. "If you need gold, I can spare some, but leave me be. I'm tired and not in the mood for nonsense. I'm just on my way to Larul, so walk away and I swear I won't harm you."

The monk stopped in his tracks, clearly stunned by the lack of grovelling in Mizoka's calm statement. "What do you mean, you'll let me go?" The dwarf questioned, shaking his head incredulously. Evidently, he was unable to comprehend anyone stronger than himself, especially an Elf. This was why Mizoka, along with most all elves, chose to avoid the dwarves. They were rude, haughty, and ignorant. Realizing that he would not be able to simply turn the monk away with words, Mizoka shrugged. He was outside the city limits, so PKing was allowed. Glancing upwards, Mizoka saw that the sun was setting and dusk was rapidly spreading upon the clearing outside the Dwarvish trade city. Perfect, just the appropriate amount of time to teach the dwarf to think twice before bullying strangers. A thin smile crept onto the assassins face as he slowly drew a razor sharp dagger from his waist, and discretely tossed the smaller dagger behind his back and into his other hand.

Not wanting to seem outdone, the monk sneered at the dagger and said, " I don't care what you think you're doing near Larul, but if you think that any respectable dwarf would let an Elf anywhere near our city, you're greatly mistaken lad. You scum ain't worth the mud on my boots, and I'll be damned if I take threats from the likes of you." With that final piece of poetry, the dwarf drew his warhammer from his back, and yelled a battle cry. Mizoka concentrated, and felt everything fall away. He drew in upon himself, and struck.

Blink. Mizoka planted one foot behind him, drew his magic, and willed himself forward. Instantly, he flew towards the monk at a blinding speed, silent as the rapidly increasing night.

Push. The assassin stopped inches short of the monk, slamming wind into the dwarf's chest. As the monk began to yell in surprise, Mizoka pushed his right foot downward, enhancing the movement with a sizable burst of magic. He shot upward, his frame outlined in the now rising moon as he ascended five, then ten feet above the dwarf.

Stealth. As quickly as the assassin appeared before the monk, his slim body simply.. disappeared from out of the air, leaving the dwarf looking wildly from side to side.

Strike. Directly in front of the Dwarf, Mizoka flew towards the ground, a shooting star of death and steel. As he fell he spun, twisting the two daggers expertly in his hands. He landed and rolled directly beneath the dwarf's right hand and with a slight flourish of the wrist threw the dagger upward, then launched himself out from under the dwarfs arm to a place some two paces behind the dwarf. Just as Mizoka's feet touched the ground, the dagger met it's mark, and cleanly cut the dwarf's right hand off.

Kill. Before the Dwarf had time to scream in pain, Mizoka again blinked forward and flipped the other, smaller dagger upwards into his palm. As his body collided with the dwarf's smaller frame, he palmed the blade perfectly upright and slammed his arm into the back of the dwarf's neck. The force of his arm drove the dagger straight through the monk's neck, and Mizoka used the momentum from the collision to flip the dwarf's body over and behind him. He leapt skyward once more, kicking the still descending hand onto the dwarf's still warm body, before launching himself atop the warhammer as it slammed into the ground. He stood poised atop the handle of the warhammer, and struck fear into the awe and horror-struck dwarvish onlookers. With the faint light of the dwarf's dying body behind him, standing atop the warhammer with his frame silhouetted in the moon, cloak fluttering behind him, he was, to them, an Angel of Death.

The very next morning, Mizoka made his way into the dwarven trade city of Larul. As he walked down the pathway, he noticed several times that dwarves would often point to him or give him sidelong glances. Dammit, he thought to himself. Word spreads too quickly here. Better get what I need and disappear, before I cause any more trouble.

While Mizoka did not regret his decision to kill the Dwarven monk, he knew similar conflicts had only made already tense relationships between the two races stressed to the breaking point. The hatred between Elves and Dwarves had grown so much over the past few months in Amerika that almost all trade between the two had dried up. At first the bitter resentment of the two races had surprised him. Before he had transferred to the Amerikan server, he had been primarily based in Susukino.

As he proceeded through the city, he purchased some tasteless food and proceeded on towards the metalworking district of the city. However much of a bitter taste the thought of dwarves may have left in the Elf's mouth, he had to give credit where it was due. The dwarves were, by nature, brilliant with all form of metalsmithing and engineering, and every dwarven city was sure to have a metalworking district.

Ignoring glares from all around him, Mizoka ducked beneath a small overhang and into a weapons shop. "Hello," he called out as he entered the tiny shop space. "I don't mean to trouble you, but-

"No! I run a respectable establishment, thank you very much!" A squat, old dwarf ran from around the counter. "I will not have you spoiling my wares with your elvish filth, shadow-clinger!" The dwarf waved his hands frantically, shooing the much taller elf backwards and halfway out the door. "I don't care who you may have been back in America, before the Apocalypse, but I know that right here, right now you're a no good elf! And every one of you pretentious freaks causes more problems than you're ever worth! Why, my cousin Jim said-"

The dwarf's increasingly loud and passionate rating was drowned out in Mizoka's mind as a searing hot pain shot through him and his vision into burst radiant white light. Grabbing onto the doorframe, words that the shopkeeper had said boomed in his mind and he was frozen with terror, sinking to the ground.

A... Amer...America...AMERICA

Ea...Earth...EARTH

The dwarf spoke of places outside Elder Tale, places that all players knew and would recognize. Places he should recognize, places he should remember. But panic overcame Mizoka as he realized he could not remember. Nothing. Everything that had happened since the Apocalypse, was crystal clear; but all life before that was a distant haze. Everytime he tried to recall anything about his previous life, his real life, the searing fire returned to his mind. As fresh waves of agony washed over him, Mizoka thought, Oh God, what's happening?! Why can't I remember? Why the hell can't I remember?! Mizoka was dimly aware of hands around him as he was carried up and out of the store, and he heard harsh voices that struck loudly against his throbbing head. Unable to bear the pain and horror anymore, Mizoka succumbed to the darkness and slipped into a restless sleep, filled with nightmares from which he could not awake.

"My Lord, he's waking up.."

"Good."