The tale of Herbet Gruel

Welcome to my story. I am a slight whisp of a man, slender and fragile, features wrinkled and worn, eyes sunken into their sockets like rabbits cowering in their burrows. The years have not been kind to me, but yet I hold no regrets, as I have overcome all that sought to ail me, and have been allowed to bide my time, making mischief as I travel to and fro, 'cross the unyielding landscape of the outer rim.


Buster is my guardian angel. Before that, he was my dog. Before that, who knows? I lost my dog many moons ago while out hunting geese in the undergrowth. A shot rang out from my rifle, and I called for Buster to collect the goose I had felled. He ran off towards where the bird had landed, but never returned. I never found his body, but I comfort myself with the thought that he did not die; rather he transcended to a higher place, and now watches over me, to ensure my well-being.

My possessions

A travelling man needs very little to accompany him on the road: