The story of a lamp-lighter.

        I have seen may of great things fail. I have seen machines that restored sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, and words to the muted; destroyed. I have seen the strongest of men fall to their knees. I have watched as holy men be torn to pieces without second thought. I have watched as towers that scraped the underbelly of the sky be broken as though nothing was there. I have may of names; none of them true. The current name for me is The Lamp-lighter. I have with me what all lamplighters own, a scabbard, twenty half crowns, and The Lighting pole.

       I chose this job, not for the gold, not for females, but because it is my calling. I have wanted to become a lamplighter after my fifth birthday. It was a stormy night, all who were sane locked their doors. But not one man, he walked down the street; oblivious to the angry Gods and the monsters that haunt the shadows. I called to the insane man:

"Sir! Would you like to come in; it is safer in here and dry!" There was a long pause, he pulled the Stick out of the mud with a squish sound, and turned to head towards our house. Then there was a thunderous roar, too deep and loud to be human. In a flash a group of sand, too well defined to be an accident, scorched across the tear ridden sky. Like thunder itself had given the lamplighter speed humans cannot see, the only reason I was able to glimpse at it was the arc of lightning across his swing, and the lamplighter had somehow acquired a sword in his grip. The death-black sword seared through the belly of the sand beast, with no harm to the sand. Sand/mud was engulfed by the swirling earth.

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