Part 1
The dew dazzled and shone, sparkling like royal crystal in the early morning sun. A crisp breeze blew across the land, carrying the quiet sounds of nature upon its wings. There was a freshness, a quickening, a veritable joy that flooded the entire vale. Everywhere one would turn, one could witness the miracle of nature’s rebirth.
Everywhere, that is, except for where he stood.
Clasping his cloak more tightly around him, he kept his lonely vigil atop the tor. Shunning the company of man or beast over the long winter days, and even longer winter nights, he was a solitary fixture on the horizon to the few travelers that passed along the road.
He had arrived in the late autumn; when the trees were in their red-golden glory and the smell of roasting meats filled the air. On foot, he carried naught but a large sack and, a stout staff. Whether he carried more under his shapeless cloak remained a mystery. From beneath his hooded head, two eyes of steel grey peered outwards, always seeking, always searching with a keen intelligence apparent to all. When he looked at you, it appeared that he could look right through you; beyond flesh, beyond blood, beyond bone, and into your very spirit. The townsfolk thought that unnerving, but even more unnerving was his complete lack of speech. He must have understood the local patois, for he had no problem comprehending the town shop keeps and their prices. It was odd, though, that no one even thought to charge anything but a fair price, and his gold was real and solid enough for even the most miserly of merchants. How he fit his provisions into that sack remained a mystery to this very day.
The man in grey did not remain in the village long enough for answers, for the day after he arrived, he left, and made his way to the tor-a flat topped hill with a commanding view of the vale, the road, and the forest beyond. Although a rough lean-to could be spotted against some trees, and thin tendrils of smoke that rose from a campfire were oftimes visible from some ways off, the man in grey could scarcely be seen. Late, late at night, a silhouette was sometimes spotted against the moon, but the grey watcher, as he was dubbed by the village, had effectively vanished.
TBC
The Grey Watcher
The Grey Watcher, Part 2
Fall lingered, but it too soon departed. First came the winds, then the rains, and finally the snow. The grey watcher had disappeared; from the tor and from the village conscious. It was like he had never existed–at least to them.
But, on that early spring morn, his silhouette was seen once again. Whispers spread quickly through the village, and furtive glances were cast by those who had gone to the fields, but naught was said to the lonely man in the distance.
He preferred it that way, obviously. He cast a brief glance at the figures in the distance—more like ants than men, and quickly put them out of his mind. He had not camped alone for the bleak winter to be bothered by the likes of them.
He had waited long, but waiting was something that he had mastered. The impatience of the young and the restless was a distant memory. The fires and impetuosity of youth had long burned out, leaving only the smoldering coals of purpose, stoked gently by the iron rod of will. His path was one that began years, nay decades, before—another few months was a small price to pay.
Finishing his survey, he retreated back into the woods atop the tor. Muttering fluidly under his breath, he glided his way into the woods with naught but his shadow to confirm his passing. Finally, he reached a small copse, and stopped for a moment. His muttering took on a more guttural tone, and the very air in front of him seemed to shimmer and fold into a shining lens-shaped aperture. Contorting his body, he gingerly stepped through the rift. The lens glowed brightly for a moment, and then collapsed on itself with a small sound, rather like a child’s soap bubble.
He had disappeared.
TBC
But, on that early spring morn, his silhouette was seen once again. Whispers spread quickly through the village, and furtive glances were cast by those who had gone to the fields, but naught was said to the lonely man in the distance.
He preferred it that way, obviously. He cast a brief glance at the figures in the distance—more like ants than men, and quickly put them out of his mind. He had not camped alone for the bleak winter to be bothered by the likes of them.
He had waited long, but waiting was something that he had mastered. The impatience of the young and the restless was a distant memory. The fires and impetuosity of youth had long burned out, leaving only the smoldering coals of purpose, stoked gently by the iron rod of will. His path was one that began years, nay decades, before—another few months was a small price to pay.
Finishing his survey, he retreated back into the woods atop the tor. Muttering fluidly under his breath, he glided his way into the woods with naught but his shadow to confirm his passing. Finally, he reached a small copse, and stopped for a moment. His muttering took on a more guttural tone, and the very air in front of him seemed to shimmer and fold into a shining lens-shaped aperture. Contorting his body, he gingerly stepped through the rift. The lens glowed brightly for a moment, and then collapsed on itself with a small sound, rather like a child’s soap bubble.
He had disappeared.
TBC