STampsboss

The rattle of bones as they spoke to the old man crumbled with every step he took. The breeze blew bare threads of grey from his head and lapped them over his red eyes. He groaned with each step he took. He was looking for something. He had very little reason to do this, but he denied every logical thought he once cherished to be allowed a spot in his mind. The warped half-staff wore thin around handle and heel. The tattered rags that were once a magnificent cloak hung by a few strings and buttons. Wandering toward an uncertain objective, he gave up his career for one of the most powerful weapons in the world. Yet, the weapon was outside his grasp. The location of the trinket remained secret to all who breathed and blinked. The old man pulled out a faded parchment. The dirty edges held the faded image in a crusty vignette. A depiction in black, a redwood box and seven obsidian darts. The image was getting difficult to see. The man sighed and dropped the parchment and soon followed