The Final Storm (Part 3)

Ralem Kicks Country Boy Butt

He shook his head, gritting his teeth and shoving his hands into his cloak. I hate myself, he thought vehemently, I hate my stupid life! He knew he was acting extremely immature but he didn’t care. He was so angry… he felt like punching somebody. Instead he just kicked a rock. It skipped a whole foot before coming to a stop on the back of someone’s heel. “Sorry,” he mumbled as the guy grumbled and jerked his poor foot up.

            He decided to go the local Tavern and for the first time in his life, to get a drink. A real drink. The tavern was small and dark, almost like Drake’s old one. At this time of the day it was nearly empty, with just a few dirty men sipping from hefty beer mugs and talking about trivial things like the weather and harvesting. No one looked up when Ralem crept in and approached the bald bartender. “Whadd’ya want?” he asked gruffly, spitting heavily into the sink.

“Beer,” Ralem said, the word sounding foreign in his mouth. He cleared his throat.

“Uh huh,” The bartender quickly grabbed a dirty mug and filled it with some dirty brown liquid from one of the barrels lining the counter. Ralem slid a coin across the table and grabbed the greasy handle, pulling it toward him. The beer sloshed angrily on the thick glass sides. It had black flecks floating in it and- was that a gnat? He hesitated. It looked nasty.

            “Trying to forget an old lover?” a man smirked next to him.

            Ralem didn’t reply. He lifted the beer up to his lips, breathing in the obnoxious odor. How could anyone drink this stuff? He took a swig quickly. The mix of strong, tongue-tingling flavors assaulted his tongue and made him gag. Grishnatha! This is nasty!!! He thought, spewing the dark stuff everywhere, including the man’s crisp white shirt in front of him.

            Oops.

            The guy was bulky. He was probably a farm boy. And that shirt was the best one he had. He looked down at it with piggy brown eyes before looking up to glare at Ralem in a very violent way. Everyone in the Tavern had stopped talking and was staring at the two, waiting to see what would happen next. The man stood up and his two goonies stood up with him, also muscular and ugly. The one to his right smiled, showing a total of two teeth.

            “That’s it buddy. We’re taking this outside,” the guy he had spit on said, grabbing the front of Ralem’s cloak and jerking him forward before stomping outside with the Rider in tow. Half of the people in the tavern followed, eager to see a fight.

            Ralem was shoved to the side as the man walked five feet away from him before turning around, his fists clenched.

            Woah this guy means business, Ralem thought. He held up his hands, “Hey, I don’t want trouble,” he began. He may have been angry, but he didn’t really want to hurt someone. Especially this poor simpleton.

            But the guy wasn’t going to give up on this fight. His was hopping from one foot to another like the ground was hot, a toothy smile on his face and his meaty fists coiled for the knockout.

            Ralem turned around. I’m getting out of here before things get worse, he thought. He started trying to push through the crowd, but they had formed a tight circle around them and were not going to let him weasel his way out of this one.

He didn’t see but he felt a fist whistling toward him. He cocked an eyebrow. So you want to play that way, he thought, spinning around like a hurricane, catching the fist as easily as if it had been a snail. The man’s bushy eyebrows jumped in surprise but he jerked back to land another blow.