The Tale of Togæn

     The sky was alive with the pulsing rush of clouds, purple gray and black clouds that seemed alive in and of themselves. The shadows they cast fell upon a brown desolate ground, which an eternity of stagnant winds and hollow sunlight had made empty. Accompanying the clouds an eerie music wafted through the air. Following the music back to its creator found a cloaked figure sitting atop a black boulder picking at a guitar. From his strings emanated incessant loneliness, an urgent desperation known only to the one who has an intimate relationship with the forever of death. The strumming becomes harder, the plea more powerful, thunder roars through the clouds, the clouds quicken their march, and lightening brandishes its power in bright flashes of laughter, the cloaked figure suddenly stops playing. He sets down his guitar, lays his head in his hands, and weeps. A single gray tear falls from his clasp, and splashes against the ground. There is a flash of blue/white light, and the cloak is gone; now, standing naked atop the black boulder, guitar in hand, is no one.