An Expected Journey Chapter 8

This is yet another chapter in the “Expected Journey” series. If you have not read the previous chapters, we encourage you to do so. All previous chapters can be found in the Poetry/Fiction section on the front page. And now for the folks who have read the previous chapters!: Chap. 8. (extra note, I would like to know if I should cover more character background in chapters 9-10. If you believe I should, tell me. If you want me to just continue the story as with this chapter, Let me know. Thanks!)

The group had spoken about the path they were to take and prepared to leave. One problem with that, they were with an elf.

Normally we humans nowadays have great relations with Elves. By that I mean that only some humans meet with the Elf people

as ambassadors to the human race. But before the elves lost number, they were hunted by humans and dwarfs. At the time of this

story, they were still known as bad beings. The nervous group threw out all kinds of ideas, they finally settled on walking in a circle

with the elf at the center. Symon led with the rest of the party behind him, just as they reached the front door, the bartender

noticed that the one in the middle was unusually tall for a human. “Leaving so soon?” He asked squinting at the group. The clatter

died down, all eyes on the group. “Not good.” Symon whispered. “Yah see, our policy here is no hats or hoods on inside” the

bartender said. The elf pushed out of the circle and pulled her hood down. “So you weaklings fear the might of elves do you?” she

asked. Symon didn’t like where this was heading. “Face your fears!” she yelled angrily, she notched an arrow from her quiver, with

a quick shot, she broke the glass mug the bartender held. “Elf!” a man to the right of the group shouted, some of the inn dwellers

ran in fright, the elf had a dark frown on her face. Suddenly, Symon saw one man in the corner string an arrow. “There!” He

shouted pointing towards the man, the Mage looked to the direction Symon was pointing and fired a bolt with his staff in the palm

of his right hand. The arrow sizzled and burned. More men with swords ran towards the party, Oro and the elf were firing arrows

at multiple targets, the Mage was attacking one man with more bolts of energy. The dwarf was knocking the wind out of the tallest

men smiling like a lunatic while swinging his hammer. And Symon stood, feeling useless in comparison with these incredible

fighters. And that’s when he recalled the gift from his father. “In times of peril, use this to burn your enemies to a cinder.” His

father had said before, entrusting upon Symon a sword that use to live only in legend. Symon grabbed the blade of cinder from the

cloth on his back, strapping the sheath to his belt, he drew the sword. The air in the tavern grew hot and foreboding. His father had

warned him that while the blade was unsheathed, it’s master would see the world in the swords view. The weak point of every

fighter in the tavern was now clear to him, he saw red and black, and new patterns on the walls that he could have never seen

without the sword. It was incredible, but he remembered his fathers words. If held to long, he would see with cinder forever, only

red and dark. The sword willed him to move quickly, he followed it’s instruction, moving quickly to the left he used the flat side of

his sword to knock out one foe, running to Oro’s aid, he attacked a man behind his friend’s back. Moving forward he parried an

enemy attack, knocking him to the floor. The rest was a blur of battle, he was pulled out of his trance by a hand on his shoulder.

“Sheathe your sword young one,” he turned to face the dwarf. He sheathed his sword to see that all the men that attacked the

group now lay on the floor. “You have shown incredible battle.” the dwarf said, Symon looked at the group. They all looked at him

strangely, and that’s when he passed out.


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