Late is the hour, dark the night. Clouds blanket out the moon and stars. A lone figure is seen slipping out of the forest and onto the main road leading into the village, in search of it's doctor.
Lounging around in the Cantina, Kolburn kept a watchful, yet unassuming eye on those around him as he finished the last morsels of what passed for a meal in this joint. Brushing off the crumbs, he glanced round, careful not to make eye contact with any of the other patrons who might later remember him as he made his way unobserved to the entrance and out into the cold of the port. He would come back and pay off his mounting tab, when he next came across a few credits, or found another odd job. After all, he wasn’t completely without his honour, unlike some people.
"Getting their attention is easy, you just need to hold it. But that doesn't concern you. Just make sure it's quick, then move on. You'll know when I wink."
“Many hungry people in these parts and the roads are dangerous. So you have a choice, you can give us most of your provisions to feed the starving, or all your silver to pass safely. The choice is yours, wanderer.”
In dark times people are willing to do and say anything for their salvation.
"What was i supposed to do it was just lying their!"
After succesfully killing his father in a military coup, for power, the self styled "Lord" Miranor, grabbed the reigns of control from his father, and began his military dictatorship.
"Daddy, daddy, why arent you moving answer me daddy" Kamira wept as she hugged her fathers cold body blood already congealing where the assassins dagger had been thrust.
A culture believes that souls are recycled. One child gets half of a soul, another child gets the other half. However, this means that with each passing generation, the amount of soul in the child will become less and less (Through division)until their culture will die in the future because of their soulless offspring.