's been a while, boys. This is unfinished, honestly, but it's been sitting around for a long time. There's other parts, but eh. Enjoy, I guess.
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The loch was quiet, silent ripples cutting smoothly across the stilled water, disappearing as fast as they had showed up. A small frog leaped up suddenly from a shelter of grass and weeds, rustling the delicate arrangement of greenery, disappearing into the light brush.
A single fish darted below the surface of the water, sending a tiny surge of water behind it. It disappeared from sight, swimming deep down into the dark blue, almost black, depths of the loch.
A man stumbled out of the tall grass and bushes, tall and wearing dark clothing, a light set of armour clanking against itself as he fought to keep himself upright. He carried a sword in one hand, and held his shoulder with his other. From his shoulder protruded an arrow, and the man donned a pained and angry - yet tired - expression.
He pulled the arrow out from his shoulder with a grunt and a violent flinch, and hurled it towards the body of water, yelling. The arrow landed in the water with a heavy splash, and sank immediately, leaving almost no trace after the water's scars diminished away to nothing.
"How the hell was I supposed to know..." he muttered, pressing his hand firmly to his shoulder and grimacing.
To his left lay the ruins of a castle, caught in his sight, which he stared at, eyes wide.
"They didn't let up for so long... Christ," he continued on mumbling to himself, forcing himself past grass and shrubs attempting to fight him back. He knew there was no chance of getting back to where he started now. Somewhere near Kirkaldy. Truthfully, he wasn't too sure. Some guy told him to hop on a boat and hope for the best, and that's exactly what he did. He needed to get to Inverness. 150 miles from where he started.
He had no clue where he was going from here on.
There was a small signpost near the edge of the land. Urquhart, the scratching within the wood read. Urquhart castle, on the Loch Ness. His pained expression gave way to a weak grin. He might not know exactly where to go, but he was, however... near where he had hoped to be.
He was searching. Searching for a group of people like him, who had been cast out by their own clans, left to survive on their own, or die. Mindcrack, they'd called themselves. Based in the Highlands of Scotland, requiring strength and effort to contact. He knew that he could prove himself worthy of them if he tried hard enough.
The man removed the bone mask he wore, continuing walking along the side of the loch, still clutching his shoulder. Urquhart had been destroyed recently, he could tell. Pieces of crumbling stone and singed materials, ash-dusted rocks and remnants of a once healthy, functioning castle... Gone.
He continued walking, pain blossoming through his shoulder. He felt the warm, somewhat sticky presence of blood underneath his clothing, but couldn't stop. He was so close.
Well, he hoped.
Honestly? He didn't know where these guys were. Yeah, he'd heard of them. Did they even really exist? He'd find out.
He was surviving off very little. Relying on brute strength alone to get food, or one kind, blessed soul, seeing his struggle and giving to him a loaf of bread from a village, or a few coins for his trouble.
He'd been stopping by in towns. Finding the cheapest places to stay, he'd found some true ratholes in his journey. Rotting walls, prison cell windows, cold enough to freeze the damp roofing. Maybe finding a job that needed doing over a day or two, giving himself that extra bit of money to support himself. It was hard, yeah, but his journey had to be worth it in the end, surely. Either way, he wasn't going to let it be a waste.
A few miles back, a passing tribe had attacked him. A group of maybe four men had emerged suddenly from the darkness of trees. Arrows flew, and his sword pitted well for only a couple of minutes. He was overwhelmed, and his yells to leave him to get on his way did nothing, as these men had easily overpowered him. He was a scrawny, thin guy, really, with only a certain amount of muscle to him. These guys were built like bulls, voices alone enough to make you shiver.
"What did I do to you?" He yelled.
"This is our territory!" One yelled. His accent was almost impossible for him to understand properly. Scottish. Really, truly Scottish.
"I'm not from here! How was I supposed to know?!"
"Get back to where you came from! We don't want you running round our woods, our villages, taking our resources, our animals," the men were beginning to lay off as their presumed leader spoke, yet they still held their swords and bows in attacking position. "You're no Scot, either! You're lucky we didn't kill you on the spot!"
Another arrow flew, and he started running, with no acknowledgement to the man's words. Ducking for cover, he practically threw himself into the bushes, and kept going. One single arrow caught him in the shoulder, and he fought all will to yell out in pain. A strained yelp escaped instead - not quite the manly, to-be-feared attitude he had wished to put out there. But, dear god, it was painful. It burned, but his weak armour had stopped the severity of the attack. He kept running, clutching at his shoulder while he hacked at leaves getting in the way with his sword. He swore he could hear footsteps behind him, trailing him...
He emerged when the trees suddenly stopped - when a huge body of water spread out across his vision. He couldn't see all of it. But this was no sea, for the waters too calm and still. This was one of Scotland's beauties, hidden away by hills and trees. A loch, he had heard it be called. He could not remember the name, but he knew the tales of a sea monster hidden deep below the surface of the water. Fairy tales, he knew, but the image painted in front of him felt so surreal - it could well be real.
He did not allow himself to stop and take it in fully, however. He was tired, in pain, and these emotions tackled his ones of amazement, at least for now.
This is where he was now. How he got here. He almost laughed. It'd admittedly taken him a few more weeks than he had expected to find this place. He wasn't quite there. But he was in the Highlands. The Highlands! The Mindcrack clan was around these parts. Where? He didn't know. He'd be searching high and low, from the base of the towering giants they called hills, to the very tops, looking out over miles and miles of villages and towns. Asking, no doubt, the townsfolk. If he knew about them way down where he came from, they had to have some kind of status around here.
He's been through a lot, sure. Run down houses to stay in, attacks from locals, but that had been the easy part. Now he had to get to Inverness, and locate the Mindcrackers. He sighed. He was in for a long few weeks. Months, even. He sat down by the lochside, and looked out over the water. He dipped his hand in the water and drew circles in it. He brought his hand to his face and let the water run down it. The water felt cool, somewhat relaxing. The sun had broken free from the clouds, and shone where he sat. He let himself fall onto his back, dropping his sword by his side and looking up at the sky. He closed his eyes. It was nice. He could forget all his worries here. Drop them in the lake and watch them sink. But he knew they'd eventually resurface, all together in one great monster of a problem.
Oh well. For at least a few minutes, nothing had to matter. He was going to lie in the sun, by the water, and enjoy it.
"Because after all I've endured over the past few weeks, I deserve it."
