Prologue: The Eternal Wanderer
The sun beats upon his brow. This one abandoned by his own. For his is another world he believes in..... his to be one and his own.
No knowledge of anything other than his instincts to survive are to be now a part of his daily routine.
The hood he wears as part of his cloak of black as the passing night, but curiously cooling beneath the sun's burning radiant light.
This one lost, he is not one that would be expected to gross the deserts on feet, for he is a conundrum of existence. No science to make belief of his life or even of the death that so frequently has eluded him; souring his heart with strife.
His condition, it is rarely spoken of by those that exist outside the deserts of the land. It is one where the skin and the body actually adapts to life eternal walking the desert sands.
His name, it may sound somewhat familiar by some from their perspectives of religious belief. But this tale, it is not one that any has yet heard; for it is a tale of a man that could not die. Of a man that does not bleed.
Some deem him to be immortal, and others fear him as being the devil's seed.
In truth, he is neither; and of his trusts he is mostly green, for he finds fear of all those that cross his path.
Fear that of his wisdom they will take, and leave him nothing of that which he seeks.
His name?
It is Methuselah, and this is an untold tale of his track across the deserts of old.....
