The doors swing apart, crashing into the walls, as a blurred golden shape shaves past the monk with a few centimetres to spare. It arcs over and over, spinning in the air, flying forward with a speed almost eye-watering. With a *THUNK*, it embeds itself into the ingrained wood of one of the bar posts; a gleaming golden sword, fairly dispelling the shadows of the crowded, smoky bar, glowing with powers unknown.
Impossibly, the sword speaks:
"Ow."
Following the sword's path is a tall, young - but somewhat grizzled and footsore - warrior, clad in dented, tarnished, partially rusty armour with a large metal patch-plate over the chest; dark hair matted with sweat and mud, He stomps over to the bar, chainmail rattling, seeming no less dangerous for his lack of weapon. He rests one plate-clad arm on the bar.
"Lime spritzer, and a packet of dry roasted peanuts, please, barkeep."
The sword speaks again.
"Did you HAVE to do that throwing sword thing?"
The warrior smiles faintly.
"Sorry, Karnas."
__________________
\"HELP! I\'ve superglued myself to a flaming bowling ball!\"
|