Lone Fisherman

Walking down the jetty, a lone fisherman looks on in horror at the town he once called home. Awash in a sea of flame, tears fall from eyes from more than just the smoke. A crunch of footsteps on rubble diverts his attention as a man clad in black armour steps away from the wall.

“It seems one insect escaped the boot.” As he begins to walk towards the fisherman, a black greatsword, phases into existence. Ignoring the soldier’s sword and advancing, the fisherman removes his hat revealing a middle-aged face with a scar rubbing from temple to jaw on the left side. Letting the hat fall to the ground he reaches into his shirt and begins to talk as he closes the distance to the soldier.

“Bound by the chains of fate are those who walk the knifes edge. For if they falter in their steps, only the void will await them.” Halting his advance the soldier points his sword towards the fisherman and in his arrogant high tone demands a question.

“What would a mere fisherman, from haven, know of fate?” Pulling a small plain ring from inside his shirt he looks at the solider, a look of sadness crossing his face briefly.

“More than most. Shall we see who’s fate rings true here?” Without waiting for the soldier’s reply he places the ring on his right hand. Blue light blooms from it the moment it settles on his skin. Stepping forward as armour coats his body the fisherman waves his hand and a single-edged longsword appears. Grasping its hilt he charges towards the soldier with barely a sound. Shouting the soldier closes the remaining distance and with lightning speed, swings his sword. With the clash of steel, sparks fill the air as the older man stops the blade dead. From behind a piece, timber falls to the ground and both men move, their battle beginning in earnest.