The Storyteller

He sits before the fire, his crooked hands spread in various gestures. His words paint great pictures, scenes, and terrifying battles, enchanting his crowd of gaping listeners. Children gaze at him with wide, frightened eyes, his face hidden by the shadow of his hood, his figure a twisted form of the demon in the night.

Horrified, the children gasp, clutching at their mother's skirts. He casts nightmares into their minds, while sketching adventures into the minds of eager young boys and weaving epic romances into the minds of young girls.

The village storyteller's eyes flash, the reflecting of the wild flame in the darkness of his eye. His fingers like claws rub together like a hungry beast as his victims sit on the very edge of their seats, breathless as they wait for his final words.

With a wide sweep of his narrow arms, he stands like an ancient, dead tree against the darkness as he completes his tale. They gasp, they cheer, they applaud him. His audience soon disperses, leaving him alone at the fire.

Only if his life had been half as thrilling.

The End

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