He stepped into the cold, dark hall with a ruffle of his hair. A wind from the east blew through the cracked and damage cathedral and swam through darkness to the nape of his neck; it wanted him to shiver. He raised his winter coats color and walked towards the altar where the old man sat writing names onto the scroll which rolled straight off the altar and onto the old, dirty, red-ruby-carpeted floor. A pair of golden spectacles were the richest color beyond the red floor and he could see that the ancient scrollmaster had stopped his work to gaze up. "Are you here to join?" came the raspy, yet strong, voice of the scrollmaster. "Yes." "Very well." Hello there. Just a fellow writer who would love to read some work and upload some work to be utterly ravished by better writers in the hopes of getting better. I'm an avid reader; love all types of books, Horror and Crime are a big area for me but anything with a good story I'll take on too. I'm glad to be here. Ziggy.