Spellsword

"Donovan..." He muttered under his breath. It was the first thought that came to mind; in the most literal way possible.

Unfortunately, however, his second thought was something along the lines of "OH SHIT I'M FALLING-" Donovan found himself tens of thousands of feet in the air, with grey, rocky ground stretching to the horizon. To his dismay, he had appeared in what looked like the worst possible place to be stranded several thousand feet in the air.

Donovan barely had the rationality to realize this as he desperately searched for some kind of solution to his unsolvable problem. There wasn't one. The only variation in the landscape was in shades of grey, which fit given there wasn't any black and white magic bullet to un-fall him. Even if there was something that could help him get a grasp over this unusual situation, it's rather difficult to make out any kind of detail while plummeting through the air at 200 kilometers per hour.

Time ran out rather quickly, and Donovan hit the ground with a red, gooey, bloody splat. Thankfully, the blood wasn't his own. Well, most of it at least.
"Fuck..." caked in gore, Donovan sat up from where he had made a rather wet landing into the open ribcage of an animal. It was so large that it was like he had plummeted into a cave. A rather moist one, at that. His only way of light was the sky visible from between massive bones, which even now was getting darker. "It's getting dark... or is that..." Donovan took a deep breath, causing him to breathe in the foul air, regretting it immediately, the sheer stench making him vomit into the ground, exfiltrating his body as a black and viscous liquid.

When he was finished emptying his stomach, he took a moment to look at his situation calmly; at least, calmer than hoping for dear life that you won't fall to your death. He was not only naked, but he wasn't anywhere near... "What was the city called again?" He tried to recall what had happened yesterday, or even before he fell from the sky, but somehow came up blank. Yet, when he thought about things like cities, people... civilization? He understood it fine. "New York...? No, that isn't it..." He could remember some details, like the capital of New York, New York, which he found rather humorous.

Paris. The Eiffel Tower. Baguettes. Insultingly stereotypical images of what a Frenchman looks like. It was almost like he could remember everything but who he was, or even where he was born. All that came of it were fuzzy, uncertain images of a nuclear family that didn't feel right but was the only knowledge he could go off of; A caring Mother. A stern yet understanding Father. An annoying, clingy, yet caring sister. Concepts that felt relatable yet didn't help him that much, like grasping at a low-hanging fruit.

It was only after something red and gooey fell on Donovan that he came out of his stupor. For now, he supposed, getting out of whatever the hell he was in would have to do. Staring up from the pit of rotted blood and fresh bile, into the uncertain motes of light that indicated the sky above, he could only guess what would lie in store for him beyond it. 'Whatever it was', he thought, still covered in blood from head to toe, 'it has to be better than this.'

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OC, all rights reserved. Port that's divergent from the Wattpad version, which will probably just exist as an archive for now.

What to expect from me:
+Ingenuitive wording and concepts, attempting to avoid clichés (like a slave girl saving arc).
+Lack of grammatical errors or improper wording
+Realistic interpretation of magic, souls, sword-fighting; etc. while still remaining rather whimsical.
-Inexperienced author; general feedback is essential