The crackling streamers of fading embers rose towards the open sky. The old man sat warming his bones by the flickering fire. The lines on his face were worn with the trials of a hardened life. With each flaring ember, his faded eyes briefly came to life. In those brief moments three small faces peered through the campfire eagerly waiting, staring at him with wonder in their hearts.
One of them, with dark matted hair and a sooty chin, pried again “Pleeze, you promised.”
The old man’s lips curled back in a half toothless grin, and he nearly whistled with each syllable “Fine fine, but be warry you. Barking at a knot with a leaky mouth will leave no tales told. So pay’s attention for when your jaw is a wobblin, what comes out be truth.” He brushed his long leather duster back revealing a black eyed susan on his hip. With a flick of his wrist, too quick for his age, he removed the gun from his holster and laid it on the log next to him. He pried his worn boots off and stretched his legs toward the fire, warming his beetle crushers with a sigh. His feet thanked him as he wiggled his toes indulgently.
Raising his head toward the inky sky “It all started when the forever star fell from the sky. A fire on high, streaking through the night, making its way to the mighty Rimwelds. With the fury of the sun, the the ball of fire struck and with it the whole bag o nails. Thunder and rumbling roared. Tree and stone torn asunder. Ataros went all catawampus. The stars dimmed and then the waters came. Mountains fell into the sea. Sevenday did the land crumble and sink. What followed was devastation. Many were lost, and the folk that remained had to come together. The sun grew hot and after the river was swallowed, much of it dried up into sand and badlands. Life became hard and much was lost.
The old secrets of the lost ones lay buried”, the old man noded towards his pistol and then took a long pull from his skin of scamper juice. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve “Some say we angered the gods because we didn’t believe in them anymore. Others say a mighty machine was the cause for all our woes. Remnants of the ancients still lay hidden beneath a land that swallowed them.
Maybe they’re right. Maybe they’re both right. Maybe they’re both wrong and it’s just their way of acceptin the hardships before them. Whose to say?
The wastes are the wastes. Things get crazy when they are all hoping for a toad strangler of a downpour. So they paint their nose and go raise’n sand. You best keep your sights on and don’t be honey fuggled by any four-flushing blatherskite.
And that’s all old Dunker’s gotta say” he holstered his big iron, squinted as he sparked a smoke, and grabbed his boots. With that he stood slightly hunched, turned and walked off into the night.
