So once lived a crazy man in a little hut. He drew his curtains once a day for offerings (mostly herbs and drinks of illusion) and made nice with the people in his village. Not long after dark his shades drew. Some stayed in temperment to the wild man to come and some left in aggravation from his howls and clenching fists. Night after night, illusion after illusion he slowly became a monster to his people. Performing odd ceremonies of debree and dirt. Dumping and rubbing the remnants of their dinner on the ground with his feet only loosing balance when his garments began to fall. Screaming in his stupor, reaching the mammal within, he beat his breasts and howled to the females but one femme was outkast from the rest. He targeted her in disgust, rubbing the remnants on her cave floor and stomping through all hours of the night banging the sides of her home. She was sorry at first. She liked him in the day but at night he was immortal. And so her fear grew into disgust as she sat in a huddle on the cold floor. Bang. Bang. Bang. Her mind racing, her eyes spotted a club for cleaning the fur. She reached for it in time for him to bellow through her ears. One strike to his right side and he dropped, unyeilding to gravity, smack. The heartbeat that once taunted her finally seased and her mind was clear. She dragged him in and roasted his remains all night. His skin she beat into a bag for sticks. For many moons the village ate well.
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