B L A C K W O O D (Patreon)

Every evening as the sun started to set, he'd head to the outskirts of town, pulling up a seat and playing to the crawling darkness of the night.

Whenever he was quizzed about this particular ritual, Blackwood would go quiet. Eventually though, his eyes would settle onto his old six string, perhaps betraying a little more than he'd intended. It were as though he'd taken a peak at a memory he knew he ought to bury, but couldn't...

One thing was for certain though, where the hustle and bustle of town seemed to grate on his soul, it was in his solitude that he seemed truly alive.