The Old Sword Part 1


The sun stood in the sky, watching over workers as they plow the fertile lands below. Birds chirp from nearby forest mingled at times by the sound of monkeys yapping on trees watching with excitement at the opened land in front of them.  An old man walks down the empty dirt road watching several people tending at the opened lands. He smiled and shifts his luggage before continuing his way towards the bastion at the end of the road.
                The bar stood empty. There was no life except for the old barkeeper who was sleeping behind the counter and the lone candle at the end of the counter. The man walks inside, his steps silent. He took to the deep ends of the bar and set his luggage next to the table. He walks towards the bar counter, picked up a bottle of fresh water and a small glass and went back to his seat. The man sat with his shoulder to the wall. He rocked back and forth in silence.

                Outside, the sky turned dark. People rushed about. Mothers calling their child, traders closing shops all terrified by the sudden change. 

                Yet the man stayed where he sat. He poured another glass of the fresh water and placed the bottle gently back onto the table. 

                Thunders and lightning explodes above the bastion. Rains soak the very stone streets, pushing even the tiniest critters to a drowning death. 

                The man downed the last drop of the fresh water and gave out a smile. He grabs hold of his luggage, unwinds the leather rope that wrapped the red cloth and pulls out a long blade hidden inside a shiny black sheath. “They have come” said the man. His voice flew into the air like the whisper of the wind, unnoticeable even by the sleeping bartender. He man steps out of the bar and let the rain soaked through his body. “Blood will flow” he said as he watched the darkened sky.

                “This bastion will fall” 

                The man turned to the empty cobblestone road in front of him and watched as dark ashes fell from the sky and formed into jet black direwolves with sharp spine that protrude through their back and eyes the color of hellfire itself. 

                “Nothing can prevent this”

                He raised the hilt of his sword to his face and ran his index and middle finger down the blade of the curved sword. Water from the edge of the blade broke into millions of pieces. The man swings the blade to his sides and rushed towards the direwolves in front of him.   

                “Nothing can prevent the end of the world” said the man.

                He laughs like a mad man and swings the sword down on the first direwolf.

                A powerful lightning startled the bartender from his sleep. The chair he sat tipped to his back, almost taking the old bartender with it had the bartender not grabbed hold on to the bar counter beforehand. He rubbed his wrinkled eyes and wondered why one of the bottles on the counter is gone. He reset his slipping glasses and makes his way out of the counter.

                “Now where did I put that bottle?” 

                The bartender slowly lowers himself to the floor and looked down the tables.

                Outside, the rain turns into a thunderstorm. Lightning had already burned down several of the houses. Warning bells rang amidst the raging weather, telling the people inside to seek shelter in their cellars. 

                The old turned to his back and frowned at the red cloth and the black shiny sword sheath lying on the floor. He crawled his way towards it.

                “Oh, what a beauty…” said the bartender. He ran his hand on the shiny sheath and felt it touched his skin with unbelievable coldness. Quickly, the bartender pulled his hand away and glanced over his shoulder. No one. “Who could possibly have left such beautiful thing here” he said. He grinned and touched the sheath again, this time savoring its cold touch. “Nice… now tell me where is your swo-” before the bartender could even finish his word, something cuts through the air and stuck to the wall where the man sat before. 

                The old bartender covered his head and touched his cheek to the floor. Once he could no longer hear anything, he slowly opens his eyes and pulls his head up. A long curved blade stuck to the wall with its sheath pointing towards the old bartender. The bartender glanced over his shoulder over and over again before he finally makes his way towards the sword. His frail hands held the same shiny hilt of the sword.

                In an instant, a rush of coldness seeps into the old bartender’s body. It coursed through every vein and floods every artery. The old bartender shuddered and trembled as his brown skin turns white. His graying hair whitened. He tried to pull his hand away from the sword but the coldness had already numbed his fingers, urging him to pull it free.