A young man strode through a semi-barren forest, a certain experience in his steps, contrasting his physically young appearance. Although this wasn't the only oddity about this particular man. The islanders of this area knew about a people called the Vikings, a powerful tribe of one time raiders and pillagers, and their rocky relationship with equally powerful creatures- Dragons. What went from bitter hostility spanning generations turned into an unseen alliance, and then a bloody schism when the dragons were driven away from their newfound allies for reasons unknown, though rumors existed. This particular would have probably been pegged as a Viking, albeit not quite matching their usual towering stature and "wall of muscle" physique. No, this boy was characterized by a rather slim, lean build, one that would be acquired if a person subsisted on fish and vegetation for several years.
But it was not merely his body that was strange and maybe even unfitting, but his clothing as well. Tight fitting cloth jeans that were a patchwork of mismatched fabrics, though green predominantly. Lengthened to the point where nothing beneath the ankles retained the otherwise dominating color. His shirt as well was quite the patchwork, fitting too tight across the chest and shoulders, noticeable wear stressing it in several places along the seams. The only thing that didn't seem to be a rather amateur stitch-job was an ornate skin vest that seemed to have outgrown him some time ago. In another place, such a fancy article would have been a sign of status, importance, but such was not the case out in the wild.
However, all of this was not the oddest facts about this particular person. No, what would have drawn your average passerby's eye first, was a metal appendage, affixed to the stump end of his left leg, seemingly severed in some past event. The metal had lost any luster and sheen it once had, a gray and mottled color had overtaken it, giving way to a creeping brown rust that had just began to form at the bottom of it. In spite of this apparent handicap, the young man maneuvered his way about the forest floor with surprising grace, as if he had tread this path many times, to the point where he could even let his mind wander and never so much as snag the unnatural addition on many of the various gnarled roots protruding from the ground. No, this particular person was as much a part of the forest as the trees themselves, looking right at home among this scenic landscape.
But even the artificial leg upon which he walked wasn't the most curious things about him. Above all, what stood out most, was a massive, crimson scar that adorned his left breast. It looked as though the wound could barely be more than a couple weeks old, the way it gleamed through his open shirt. But the way the boy walked with little care begged to differ. All of this painted a very odd picture, a rather meek and carefree young man casually trapsing the grounds of a forest known to play home to a very, very dangerous creature.
Scar, was what they called it. A spectre, who took the form of a tall thin man, who terrorized villages riding atop a beast black as the night itself. The only real identifying thing about it was where they derived its name- A large scar upon its chest. This monster was known to live somewhere deep in this forest, and not even the bravest of warriors dared to set foot more than a few steps within its bounds, even during the light of day. Old men spoke of how they had seen this creature reduce buildings to rubble, and children shook during thunderstorms, fearful that Scar may be prowling among the lightning. If one was to tell these people, that the boy who walked these woods was the demon Scar, they would be laughed out in an instant.
The young man paused briefly, bending down to pick up a stray stick that had fallen from a bundle he was carrying, and then continued on his way, bound for an unknown destination. He paused, peering around him, his previous carefree demeanor broken, replaced by attentive and narrowed eyes. He stayed like this for a little while, but hesitantly picked up the wayward branch, and continued on, after a few steps, his carefree attitude beginning to return. It did not remain, as he heard a faint rustling behind him, this time he stiffened, senses on alert, looking for anything out of the ordinary, head on the swivel, nostrils flared and hands gripping the bundle tightly. With extreme caution, he took a step backwards, then another, carefully selecting his every move. His ears caught the rustle again, and then a snapping twig- With that, he bolted, darting off into the forest, casting aside the bundle he carried.
The rustle was replaced by the distinctive sound of pursuing feet, heavily pounding against the forest floor, tearing up grass and dirt as they went. The boy barely dared a glance backward, taking in the blurred scenery, catching brief glimpses of a black smudge in his periphery. That was all the motivation he needed, with renewed vigor, he pushed himself as fast as he could, but the pounding and padding of his pursuer grew even louder, despite his haste. He daren't look back, he didn't need to, from how loud the thumping and pounding was, he could tell that his chaser was almost upon him. But even in this dire situation, curiosity got the best of him, and he cast a glance backwards- And paid dearly. At that moment, his prosthetic leg had caught on one of the many protruding roots. He fell, hard, flat on his front, wind knocked from his body with an almighty "whump," his vision going black for a brief moment. He began to inch his way forward with his arms when something heavy pinned him to the ground, he was caught. His heart hammered, whether from exertion or fear. Hot, musty breath filled his senses, as he could tell something was so close behind him.
"Gotcha, my little Hiccup."