Joraven....................?

Innocent men glared through prison bars, watching the people drown, for their fear of turning around to face the fire that would surely kill them in moment’s time. Their faces pressed up against the cold bars; a tear rolled down a man’s face. It fell onto the hard bricks that made then slanted window sill; the tear formed a puddle, and slowly trickled over the edge and plunged into the icy waters below. The water crashed up onto the cities’ walls, breaking off old bricks and dragging them to the bottom. Ships raised their sails in the distance; lit up by the burning city, the burning city that lit up the world that night a torch, the resemblance of cruelty. The man in jail stared out at the ship and noticed something rather odd. At the top of the boat there was a cloaked figure. His cloak waving in the fierce wind his hood slipped off his head; a bright light flashed into the prisoners face and for a moment he was blinded by it. When the light had receded the cloaked figure was gone. The fire burned the hay that was carelessly tossed about the cell. The fire’s roared as it consumed his cellmates, one by one. Slowly burning their flesh until the pain seared to deep into their hearts, to the point where they could not withstand it. Their screams did not reach his ears. As the flesh burned, blackening, and turning to ash, he realized he was on the brink of his own demise. He walked backward with his palms turned up to the ceiling his eyes closed, his arms held out his sides. Between the screams of less valiant men, his calm voice could be heard.