Man's sorrow. Man's destroyer. That which propels one to fight, to flee, or freeze... It is the soul's shadow. To overcome it is one step into finding the light. To let it gain hold only leads into darkness.
This is the story of the Twilight Guard, those who would hold darkness at bay whilst the world slumbers...
Tendrils of cloud grasped at the midday sun whilst Brun gathered the brush and branches near old man Oryn's. Brun's silver eyes brightened. Oryn was probably off at the Oak's Heart, Whetveld's only tavern, inn, and all around gathering place. No doubt playing upon the mental gears of Whetveld's youth. Odd sort Oryn... Quick to smile, but just as quick to cast images of shadow, steel, and grim acts. Many a villager flocks to the Heart's hearth to hear his stories, a daily ray of sunlight in a mostly dull day.
A drop of rain fell upon Brun's brow, wetting his dark brown unkempt strands. A change is coming. A storm's approaching.
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