The Man of the Hourglass

An old man once told me that irony is the engine of the world. The tiny strawberry birthmark between his left eye and ear took the form of an hourglass. He often smoked a miersham pipe, the white bowl wrapped round by an eagle's talon. I was really quite surprised that no one in the entire town of Westspire seemed to find his claims all that odd. It was an easy going backwater of a place.