King Of Flames

  Sarto, borned in Ogobol late one winter night. His father, a blacksmith. Like father like son, Sarto wanted to follow the trade, to take up the family heritage. Taking youth smithing classes, once he was the age of a man he graduated to advanced smithing completly mastering his career choice.

One late night he was smithing the last peice to his flame inspired armor set for the competition of master smiths. When his father popped in out of the blue, instead of participating in the inauguration.

“This armor is magnificent son.. look this will get in the way of the election can you keep it in the forge for the time being?” The crooked narcissistic father pleaded with null emotion.

“I am afraid I cannot fulfill your request father. I am truly sorry, I’ll keep the legacy going for the family.” Sarto patted his father’s shoulder affirmingly. Sarto returned to smithing his piece not expecting to be shoved in the forge by his own Kin,

— jealously is a fatal thing, or was it something more than that… his eyes were coal black,—  Sar pondered before the pain faded into darkness.

His eyes opened to the sight of  a flickering lantern waving steadily secured to a wooden tent pole. Sitting up he realized something was amiss.. his bofy was a chunk of crispy black flakes, the forge definitely cooked me up.

  Facinated at how he could walk through walls as he made his way back home to the forge.  A few farmplots down from the infirmary, With the armor back on Sarto was ready to return the favor, to his fathers great forge he marched turning heads as he stumbled through the cobble village roads. Like the others in the once band of fighters: HK, DK and so on.. His father was the weapons specialist, interestingly enough.

“Sarto turn around, my kin at once!”

Sarto turned zombiefied with the same black eyes for a brief moment until theh returned to hazel,

“yes father?” he replied in his cheery voice.

“My son would never dare call me that, you are a shifter aren’t you?” Sar queried

“Are you calling me out?” Pho Sarto flustered.

“yes you can count it as a challenge foolish mortal shifter,” Sar raised his sword.

The fight ensued in middle of the middle medieval streets of Ogobol, shutters clapped closed as the townsfolk hid from the chaos, swords sent sparks. Into the forge it carried, it finally went quiet when Sar shoved Sarto  into the kiln revealing his true form.

To the old mans dismay this truly was his son likely possessed by the shifter demon, he lived out his days blaming himself. So did the community as they awaited outside his house calling for him to surface with a mob holding torches and pitchforks.

Sar made no response, the townsfolk set the forge ablaze to draw him out with no prevail. The next morning they found the two alive in the basement below the rubble of the burnt down forge.

Limping from the wreckage holding his son Sar faced the almighty king himself,

“Sar? What are you doing you fool,” Gortok questioned with suspense in his voice.

Don’t speak just leave, banish these two at once for disturbing the peace Gortock turned his back to Sar his own brother..

The End

Earth Warrior Sneek peek

Courtyside, MN. A child was borned, completly normal until age 5. This is Warren’s tale. The boy was normal besides his impressive height at age 5, five feet tall he stood already. They took him away to the academy of deviating souls, where he spent the good part of 25 years. At age 30 he was deemed safe to inhabit the populace once again. First he strayed home, hitchhiking from Virginia to Massachusetts. From town he instinctively walked back to Courtyside, knocking on the shambled screen door arose an older man than expected..”Dad?! you got old on me, where’s mom?” “It is you boy! Yes, I did. It didn’t help your mom passed away from age.” “Oh dear, sorry paps.”Inside Warren sat with paps over a beer on the couch before supper.

© Copyright Sven Defono, 2021

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