Gather round, lads. I've a tale to tell if you will listen.
It begins on a cold winter's day, in a land unnamed.
It had, until this point, gone rather normally.
Sarah had fed the cows. Jacob had milked the chickens.
Old Sjort was drunk in a corner telling wild tales.
Of course, noone would at this point think his tales to be true.
It was in the middle of one of his tales that a young lad decided to point out the fact that there was, inexplicably, a rather angry looking fellow outside the gates, with other less noticable but decidedly still angry fellows arrayed around him.
"State your business." Drawled the gatesman lazily.
His reply was a rather quick arrow to the eye.
His partner had, understandably sounded the alarm. He too met a similar fate.
The first man to respond was a rather odd and not well-liked old man called Skrari.
The people murmured among themselves that he practiced black magic; even that he had communed with the Devil.
When sickness befell the townsfolk, Skrari was to blame.
When rats became prevalent, Skrari was the cause.
None of this was true, but the people of Skorshavaan were a rather superstitious folk.
And this brings us back to the angry fellow and Skrari.
Oh dear, the tallow runs low. I'm afraid you'll have to join me tomorrow. Goodnight.
(In other words. I'm going to write more later. This is..my second post, and my first AAR. Criticism is welcome. Hatred is not preferable but still welcome. Thanks for reading.)