Yarns of El Dorado

It wasn’t the light of the rising sun that woke Silas that morning, but rather the sound of a vessel being moored on the beach outside. The distinct scratch of the hull clinging to wet sand after a voyage over The Salt’s open water pulled Silas out of his reverie.

As his wit returned to him, he saw that his nocturnal compatriots had vanished and the House was empty again. The strange abode always had a gauntness about it the morning after... Any remnant of the nights’ festivities was always long gone by the time consciousness found its way back to the tired old Wizard. He closed his eyes—gripping his temples with one hand until their tension briefly eased, then pushed himself from the floor, swiping up his tattered hat and brushed its brim.

“Would you were yellow,” he grumbled before placing it back on his head.

The sounds from the beach continued, drawing Silas to a window to see who was mad enough to come ashore.

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