[…] Bramin, walking up drawn-out alleyways, carried a flyssa sword on his back ; a green-white pearl bracelet gifted to him by his mother ; a satchel leather bag with a long-gilded strap, which allowed enough room for flexible movements. That was why he wore it, as he was fully aware of the dangers which accompanied the hazardous journey he was pledged to. He might, one day, find himself in a situation where a quick reaction would be primordial.
The pearl bracelet was a keepsake he wore to never forget what had set him on course to find the treasures of the wild jungles of Azerkah. The pearls – imbued with T’ien’ttai – held magical properties of slight healing and better-than-average fortune.
Ahead of him stood a bundle of huts topped by thatched roofs of straw, sedge and other types of vegetation – all huddled together. They resembled a band of bandits hiding behind bushes in a dark forest waiting for an unsuspecting prey to pass them before furtively pouncing at it. Bramin walked cautiously past the huts, ready to draw at the first sight of any movement. He began climbing his ascension up an inclined stairway leading to the centre of the city. However, trouble came quickly his way. An unfamiliar young man walking up unfamiliar streets armed with a sword – an easy target for conspiring bands of criminals – is but a fruit ripe for the taking.
A party of three dubious looking individuals surfaced further along the road. But, Bramin instinctively guessed they were not alone. Animated shadows danced about behind the huts, eyes threw daggers his way from hidden cramped side-alleyways. The three shady looking individuals moved up to block his path. One, who acted like the leader, was tall; wore grey rounded spectacles on his nose; and a black cloak. Another, who looked like an everyday stooge stepped forward, chest heaving up proudly, beckoning Bramin to come closer – an omen of misadventure. The last one, a young boy looking only fourteen or fifteen at best – seven years my youth thought Bramin gloomily. The young boy wore a red bandana and at his side rested a sharp curved dagger along with what seemed like star-shaped throwing darts. Bramin did not want to be forced to hurt an immature pup barely off his mother’s tit.
As he moved along, his hand gripped the rugged handle of his sword – ready to unsheathe if given no other choice. […]
Written by Issa Dioume
Author’s website for other writing: https://thebiligualwriter.com/coffeebreak/