Post by An Bo on Jul 9, 2008 19:08:07 GMT -5
Above the ocean waters the moon was full and bright. The air was thick with the smell of salt and brine. All was silent. Along the beach a old man sat on a large rock, smoking a pipe. The sky was clear and the stars were bright.
The old man stretched his legs, sighing loudly.
"Ahhh....lovely dark ocean, your serenity comforts these old bones." The old man said. He looked around for a moment and reached into his pocket and pulled a small clay bottle and opened it. He sipped the contents a few times.
Across the shady waves a silent menace glided across the waves. Nature seemed to respond to this movement, and a thick fog rolled in onto the coast. The old man did not seem to notice at first, for he questioned his vision. He looked at his bottle and at the approaching mist.
"What witchery is this? Or are you telling my eyes stories again?" He said to the clay bottle.
As if to answer the man, a large shadow drifted on the waves and became beached in the grayish sand. For a long moment the old man just stared in awe at this shape, frozen with fear. More shadowy shapes followed. The first shadowy shape split off into several smaller shapes and they moved. At this the old man gasped rather sharply. There was a flicker of shimmering light for a moment, and a dull whistle.
"I must be dreaming...." the old man whispered, his right hand moving to the prayer bead around his neck. As his shaking, brittle hand grasped the trinket he felt wetness. He wondered if he had spilled his wine. He must have he thought, for he felt light headed and dizzy. He thought it would best to not fight it and just rest here for a while.
The old man slowly slumped back over the rock, his face looking at the sky. The heaven's lights cast down on him dimly, and then there were more shadows.
His eyes closed.
And hundreds of shadows came onto the land....
The wanderer's followers have arrived....
The old man stretched his legs, sighing loudly.
"Ahhh....lovely dark ocean, your serenity comforts these old bones." The old man said. He looked around for a moment and reached into his pocket and pulled a small clay bottle and opened it. He sipped the contents a few times.
Across the shady waves a silent menace glided across the waves. Nature seemed to respond to this movement, and a thick fog rolled in onto the coast. The old man did not seem to notice at first, for he questioned his vision. He looked at his bottle and at the approaching mist.
"What witchery is this? Or are you telling my eyes stories again?" He said to the clay bottle.
As if to answer the man, a large shadow drifted on the waves and became beached in the grayish sand. For a long moment the old man just stared in awe at this shape, frozen with fear. More shadowy shapes followed. The first shadowy shape split off into several smaller shapes and they moved. At this the old man gasped rather sharply. There was a flicker of shimmering light for a moment, and a dull whistle.
"I must be dreaming...." the old man whispered, his right hand moving to the prayer bead around his neck. As his shaking, brittle hand grasped the trinket he felt wetness. He wondered if he had spilled his wine. He must have he thought, for he felt light headed and dizzy. He thought it would best to not fight it and just rest here for a while.
The old man slowly slumped back over the rock, his face looking at the sky. The heaven's lights cast down on him dimly, and then there were more shadows.
His eyes closed.
And hundreds of shadows came onto the land....
The wanderer's followers have arrived....