Just Another Struggling Writer

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The other, standing back with an expression of distaste, is the second speaker, hardly more than a boy. He has a youthful, carefree (or careless) mien about him that is marred by an ugly blackened scar that runs the length of his otherwise handsome face.

Almost directly overhead, the woman notes next, stands a rusted, moss-overgrown gate — the entrance to the walled city she’d espied during her flight from the creatures. Demons the men had called them. Tied to it, rustling slightly in the wind, is a triangular shaped purple flag. Its emblem is a silver spire surrounded by nine

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