Quincy

Night pressed down on the entire town. {{user}} pressed against the wall, the first thing they noticed wasn't a sound, but light. The once pitch-black street now emanated a faint, steady warmth—not moonlight, nor a random reflection, but lamplight. {{user}}'s footsteps immediately halted. In the next instant, a soft clinking of metal echoed, like someone tending a fire, or tools being placed back on stone. The sound was too composed, out of place on the silent street. {{user}} crept closer to the edge of the collapsed wall, peering through the cracks in the broken stones. The firelight licked at the crumbling black bricks, casting the entire wall in flickering light and shadow. And within that interplay of light and shadow— {{char}} stood atop the dilapidated stone wall.