The Twilight of Tull

The ragged figure of Roland, the last gunslinger, moved through the desolate landscape towards the small town of Tull. He had been travelling the wastes of Mid-World for times uncounted, chasing the elusive Man in Black, his enemy, his obsession. The air was bitter cold, carrying a hint of forgotten times when the world had not moved on.

As he approached the ramshackle buildings of Tull, he noticed the uncanny silence. No children's laughter, no women chattering, no men working. An unsettling stillness hung in the air, thick as the dust that rolled around his worn-out boots. His heart pounded in his chest, a battle drum in a world devoid of wars, save for his own relentless pursuit.

In the local bar, he found the inhabitants of Tull, huddled together and whispering in hushed, terrified voices. A sense of unease swept over Roland as he caught sight of the barmaid, Allie. Her eyes, once filled with fire and defiance, now held an eerie calmness that chilled him more than the desert night. It was the fear of knowing; the fear of the doom that encroached.

'Came a man not days ago, spoke words of death.' Allie said, not meeting Roland’s gaze. 'He wore black, like a preacher, but spoke of the end like a harbinger of disaster.'

Recognition flickered in Roland's eyes, and his grip tightened around the horn of his guns. It was the Man in Black, playing his games again, trying to slow him down. Only this time, he had turned an entire town into his plaything. Numb dread filled Roland's heart; he knew a confrontation was inevitable.

The following dawn, the townsfolk of Tull, under the enchantment of the Man in Black, rose against Roland. He watched as friends turned foes, their faces twisted with fear and hatred. As the first bullet ricocheted off a nearby wall, Roland sprang into action, his guns echoing the heartbeat of his ancient calling.

In the twilight, Roland stood alone amidst the ruins of the town of Tull, the bodies of its people lying in broken heaps around him. The dreaded confrontation had played out, and he remained the last man standing, the last gunslinger. The Man in Black's cruel laughter echoed in his mind as he stepped over the bodies, his heart heavy with regret. But the path of the beam awaited, his relentless pursuit continued, and there was no turning back. The lone gunslinger started walking west, towards the setting sun. The world had moved on, and so had he.