The High Prophecy

Chapter 1: Darkness Prevails

Chapter 1: Darkness Prevails

A big bar, in the midst of a lot of noise, from drunk men and women shouting and just talking loudly and chanting and dancing, some wrestling loudly, but not in a serious manner. The bar is a modest place, tables of hardwood, old but regularly cleaned and appealing to look at, fancy wine and beer decorating the place, and a closed door leading to the backroom.

The few windows in the place let in the morning sunlight, along with the murmurs and footsteps of the people on the outside, mostly villagefolk walking about, a young man with a leather hat and simple clothes holding newspapers, shouting;

"The daily paper! Come and get the daily paper! There's news! There's trouble and feuds! Victories and loots! Come and get the daily paper!"

The village is a calm, peaceful place filled with peaceful folk, men, women and children, horses and dogs. The grounds are covered in thick, light-green grass and clean brown roads. It is bordered very closely by the woods to the west, a group of tall trees splitting the two apart.

Amidst the various figures drinking and shouting in the bar, stands an old man, looking to be around fifty years of age, strong in figure, with long, gray hair and a long beard of similar color, in simple, comfy clothes of leather origin. A smile decorates his slightly wrinkly face, a big glass of beer in his right hand as he rests his left arm on the bar.

The man watches in pride as the other folk dance and chant. He takes a sip from his glass- actually, a sip would be to greatly undermine it, as he glugs down almost a third of his huge glass in one, long shot.

The bartender, a thin man in his fourties with tired-looking eyes and a black goatie, approaches the bar to refill the old man's glass.

"Do I look like I'm finished, Winnie?" blurts the old man. He speaks with an accent that sounds American, mixed with a tint of medieval.

"Sorry sir, I just thought-"

The old man laughs loudly and cheerfully, patting the bartender on the shoulder. The bartender gives a very slight smile to follow him up.

"Lighten up, Winston boy! Have a drink!" says the old man, offering the rest of his glass to the bartender.

"But.. I can't drink during work, I-"

"My bar, my rules!" laughs the old man, slightly pushing the glass to the bartender's chest. The bartender picks it up, smiling at the old man. "You work hard, come on, have a drink.. It's on me!"

The bartender nods, drinking very minute portions of the beer, putting it back and walking off to tend to another drinker.

The old man turns to face the crowd, waving at somebody in the distance, almost about to call out to him, before he is interrupted by a crazed-looking old fool that had presumably been laying asleep on the floor, in old rags, with a large, white beard almost taking the shape of a lion's mane.

"When the seeds grow into flames!" cries the crazed fool, "And the men are toppled by dames! When the mist rises high and darkens the days ... The dead of the fallen shall lay!"

"What's with him?" asks the old man, watching the crazed fool while he sips from his beer.

"Oh, that with the lion's mane?" says Winston, tending to another drinker as he turns to the old man. "He's- He's been here since we've opened... Should I-"

"Nah," says the old man. "He's somewhat entertaining."

"The cocks laying havoc instead of eggs, the wards of darkness among the dead, the angels foreseeing above the heads ... Of the dead and the souls that stray!"