carny

He was covered from shoulder to toe in a black cloak, slick from the rain that poured down around him. His jet black hair was plastered to his neck, emerald green eyes glowing in the harsh candelight. Across his back was a scabbard covered by a twisted vinework of silver. The sky flashed white and red behind him as he stood in the doorway, chuckling softly to himself and looking over the crowd. Children huddled in their parents' laps, shying away from the stranger's gaze.

Black clouds rolled in from the high mountains outside Karamakah bringing a perpetual twilight that hung over the small town like a funeral shroud. There was an unearthly stillness in the streets, a sense of death lingering in the air. The occupants of this poor farming village whispered amongst themselves of their fears. Legends of old were passed around that spoke of a great evil that would arise in their midst and cut them down with a giant scythe like the crops that withered in their fields.

"Perhaps a man could sit upon a hand, a dusty saddle worn to bone, by lives so small and fragile, that the past and future meet in one. Thank you."
Pytor bowed to the round of goodwilled applause and stepped down from the podium. It was poetry night in the "Genuflecting Judah" tavern in Jerrysalem. The russian apostle's works always went down a treat with the Monday night crowds and tonight's performance was no exception. As he took his seat at the table with all the other Apostals, Seajus clapped him on the back and put a mug of fresh ale into his hand.