Man of Destiny

“Something needs to happen.” Amra said with a sigh.

The four walls of Amra's cottage were the same as they ever were, each covered with a tapestry of conflicts yet to come. Over the hearth was a sword that whispered dreadful things. Next to the door, hanging from a peg, was a cloak that allowed the wearer to pass unseen through any magical ward. Against another wall was a stand holding up a suit of invincible orichalcum armor. His bare feet, free of his magical boots of running, rested on a chest full of maps to treasures of another age.

The problem was that nothing ever happened.

Amra dreamed of destiny and glory, yet it never came. It was if the gods had descended upon him the abject misery of boredom.

He sighed again. Something needed to happen.

He heard someone running up to his cottage. He heard pounding on the door.

“Who could that be?” Amra wondered. He slid his bare feet off the chest and stomped over to the door. He flung it open and yelled, “What?”

At Amra's fierce appearance, the knocker skipped back, fear in his eyes. He was dressed like a farmer, in linen torn by claws no mortal beast would have.

“Well?” Amra demanded.

The man found his courage and cried, “Red Raiders have stolen the temple bell! Someone needs to get it back or we can’t ring it. If that happens the sun won’t come up tomorrow!”

“How does this concern me?” Amra sneered.

“You’re a swordsman!” The man said. “Isn’t it your job to do heroic things?”

Amra rolled his eyes, “It’s my job to find my destiny, not fix your problem.” He closed the door and flung himself back onto his bed. He ignored the pleas of the farmer outside.

“Something needs to happen.” Amra said with a sigh.

Last Updated: 9/1/2018, 11:10:43 PM