The unassuming community of Ravenswood had forever been covered in secret. Settled somewhere down in the core of a thick woodland, it was where mysteries were covered and murmured legends reverberated as the night progressed. The residents knew not to meander the roads into the evening, for the shadows held something beyond dimness.
On this specific evening, a thick haze came in, covering the town in a ghostly quietness. The old clock tower struck 12 PM, its tolls resounding through the vacant roads. Somewhere far off, the sound of hooves repeated, becoming stronger as time passes.
A solitary rider rose up out of the haze, his figure scarcely noticeable against the dim background. He was clad in a long, dim coat that vacillated behind him like the wings of a bat. His cap was pulled low, clouding his face, however the glimmer of his eyes was obvious - cool, computing, and loaded up with an implicit commitment of risk.
The rider got off his dark horse and fastened it to a post external the main hotel in Ravenswood - The Raven's Home. As he ventured inside, the couple of supporters present fell quiet, their eyes following him with a blend of interest and dread. He moved toward the bar, where a brawny man with a grizzled facial hair growth stood cleaning a glass.
"What'll it be, more odd?
"Bourbon," the rider answered, his voice smooth and low. He flipped a silver coin onto the counter, which the barkeep immediately stashed prior to pouring a liberal proportion of the golden fluid.
The rider took a sluggish taste, relishing the torch as it slid his throat. He looked around the room, his look waiting on each face before at long last choosing a corner table where a gathering of men clustered together, their murmurs scarcely discernible over the popping fire.
He moved toward the table, his means intentional and estimated. The men looked into, their demeanors a blend of shock and worry.
"Mind assuming I go along with you?" the rider asked, however his tone generally ruled out refusal.
The men traded apprehensive looks before one of them, a slender individual with a scar running down his cheek, gestured hesitantly. The rider took out a seat and sat, putting his cap on the table. The firelight cast flashing shadows across his face, uncovering sharp elements and a couple of penetrating blue eyes.
"I hear this town has a set of experiences," the rider started, his look fixed on the scarred man. "A dim one."
The man gulped hard, his eyes dashing to his buddies prior to getting back to the rider. "Yes," he said, his voice scarcely over a murmur. "Ravenswood has seen its portion of murkiness."
"Tell me," the rider asked, inclining forward. "I'm hanging around on purpose."
The scarred man faltered, then, at that point, took a full breath. "There's an old legend," he started, his voice shaking. Many have gone looking for it, however none have returned."
"Bourbon," the rider answered, his voice smooth and low. He flipped a silver coin onto the counter, which the barkeep immediately stashed prior to pouring a liberal proportion of the golden fluid.
The rider took a sluggish taste, relishing the torch as it slid his throat. He looked around the room, his look waiting on each face before at long last choosing a corner table where a gathering of men clustered together, their murmurs scarcely discernible over the popping fire.
He moved toward the table, his means intentional and estimated. The men looked into, their demeanors a blend of shock and worry.
"Mind assuming I go along with you?" the rider asked, however his tone generally ruled out refusal.
The men traded apprehensive looks before one of them, a slender individual with a scar running down his cheek, gestured hesitantly. The rider took out a seat and sat, putting his cap on the table. The firelight cast flashing shadows across his face, uncovering sharp elements and a couple of penetrating blue eyes.
"I hear this town has a set of experiences," the rider started, his look fixed on the scarred man. "A dim one."
The man gulped hard, his eyes dashing to his buddies prior to getting back to the rider. "Yes," he said, his voice scarcely over a murmur. "Ravenswood has seen its portion of murkiness."
"Tell me," the rider asked, inclining forward. "I'm hanging around on purpose."
The scarred man faltered, then, at that point, took a full breath. "There's an old legend," he started, his voice shaking. Many have gone looking for it, however none have returned."
The rider's eyes restricted. "A fortune, you say?"
The man gestured. "In any case, it's watched by something worth talking about… something evil."
"Evil, you say?" The rider's lips bended into a weak, pompous grin. "I've confronted evil previously."
Written by Ashraful Shohag
Note
(They will listen to the stories only for the joy of listening to the stories.Stories are not meant to hurt anyone psychologically and physically.There are many characters made up and coincidental. The story has nothing to do with reality. The stories are made for the sheer pleasure of listening. Reading the story, no one will fix his mind in any direction, accepting
the stories with a blind heart.)