The old man, His skin browned and leathered by time, Furrows his brow with a constant worry
"my dear girl where have you gone, I can only miss you…"
His mind gone Not unsound, but somewhere else entirely. A sadness dwells within his eyes, blinded by anger, fear, sadness. Decades of constant sorrow, Dancing across a sea of unfathomable grief.
"and they would take her for committing this blasphemy."
Names unknown, deeds uncertain. Something was done that could not be undone. Someone was taken, not returned. He is now the Wanderer. Only seeking that which was lost to him. Never ceasing his crusade. Every spoken word devoted to his cause. The old man and his words…his memories.
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