Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Iliana, Jul 20, 2012.

  1. Excalibur! The sword that was stuck in the stone!

    King Arthur pulled that sword out because of his pure heart and kicked ass with it. During the medieval times, swords were wielded by only the strongest, toughest, and most bravehearted of men (and very rare women). If a man went out to battle wielding a glimmering sword and riding upon a steed, one knew that he was a forced to be reckoned with, and for damn good reason, too. He had a sword!

    In role plays, mostly Fantasy ones, swords are used this way and that. It could be from the most honorable katana to something huge and hefty like Cloud's of Final Fantasy! Some swords emit an aura around them, powering up the weapons abilities, while others use their own personal abilities in combination to the sword. Whatever the case, a sword is the most highly used weapon im rps today! However, sometimes, players use the same adjectives to describe motions. "He stabbed." "She swung." "They sliced." A sword is much more than those things! They are used in combination to other things! Body movement, powers, skills, anything!

    It's time for swords to be less stabbyslicey and more detailed!

    Your Job is To: Write a post using a sword and something more to make sword fighting awesome!

    You may pick the scenery, location, and add any other people in it as you wish! And remember: Length does not matter! Detail does!

    Lastly, and most importantly, Have fun with this! :D
  2. Re: Writing Exercise: Swords!

    The young man had a glow about him, that was for sure. It had been an afternoon like any other, with crickets chirping and birds consequently picking them off their long shoots of grass in a masterful dive before ascending to the sky. His smoke-darkened brick lodge remain unperturbed next to a lazy river as clear as it was slow, giving some passerby's the notion it might be a winding corner of a lake. Bernard had lived there for many years, his large muscular frame tanned under the sun and helped hide the various and versatile scars that traversed his body. The thick black beard he kept, in addition to his hairy genes, had earned him a nickname among the small villagers as "The Bear". He had come to enjoy his resemblance of the large creature, often using it to greet the few kids that dared get close enough to his lodge. Those playful children were most of the company he had; true company that need not seek his skills as a blacksmith. Until one day a long pair of legs came wandering down the rugged overgrown path from the village's hill, one's that he had never seen.

    The young man was tenacious, that was for sure. He called himself Dalton, as he swept back his own short black hair and bristled out beads of sweat from his journey. Clad in traditional leather gear of a wanderer, Bernard could do little but give a gruff laugh when the young man requested Bernard use his skill to make for him a sword. Thinking that was the end of that, Bernard had continued to work on the grain sickle for one of the local farmers, but when his eyes arose Dalton stood there. The unwavering jade green eyes of the youth pierced into Bernard as little had ever done, and for a moment the old blacksmith found himself considering the request with an open mind. But such thoughts were beyond old Bernard, who dismissed Dalton again with a wave of his hand. "There are other blacksmiths with plenty of swords made, young lad. I have the work for the farmers to occupy my time, why should I postpone their endeavors to take charge of one for you?" The jade shone with the sharp movement, as Dalton tossed him a small sack of gold coins, each embossed with the crest of a nobility that few might recognize for hundreds of miles.

    The young man was convincing, that was for sure. Just as Bernard prepared to toss the sack of gold coins back to him, he found himself staring at the young man holding a knife, disposition as calm and collected as the moment he had first walked down the path. Bernard couldn't decide what he was in disbelief of first, the young man knowingly drawing a knife on the old bear, or the request he made next: "Fight me in a sparring match, if you can best me I will withdraw. If I can make you submit though, you will craft me the sword." Bernard hardly realized his own movements until he was carrying two swords, long forgotten and kept stashed away, out to the young man, a taste of iron filling Bernard's mouth and wetting an appetite he had never quite found sated by the smoke of the forge or the meat of fresh game. With blades in hand, they stood ten paces apart, the slowly wind and sound of crickets breaking for the most infinitesimal moment, but they heard it.

    The young man reminded Bernard of long forgotten days, that was for sure. The paces disappeared as both charged, blades in hand and meeting overhead as each swung over and from their right. Clamping their left hand's to the hilt's, each of them in a mirror fashion buckled down their strength, remaining in a deadlock. With a brief push, each of the men stepped back in a sudden movement, returning a unwavering stare. Bernard had only been distracted for a moment to move the hair out of his eyes when the young man came lunging again, the blade arcing downward as he attempted to slash straight down against him. If Bernard had just been a blacksmith, he might have lost the sword and submitted, but the bear had awoken from a long hibernation that had prevailed many seasons and his hunger blinded him to the failure. Bernard rose his blade and stepped to the left, glancing Dalton's swing off Bernard's right side, a metallic ring filling the air as the metal swiped together. Rotating his legs clockwise and flourishing the blade quickly, Bernard swung with the same direction at the back of Dalton's shoulders. Before he could make contact, the youth predicted his movements and dropped to his knee's, tucking the sword against his waist and rolling forward beyond Bernard's range, only to stand again, ready for the next clash of their will. The blows continued, each matched or equalized between Bernard's brawn and the young man's dexterity, time slowly melted away under the flames next to the forge. A brief lifetime later, Bernard found him with the advantage from their parrying session as Dalton chose to glance off the strike with a second supporting the end of the blade. That was the end, as Bernard planted his knee into the youth's midsection, toppling jade eyes into the ground.

    The young man had won, that was for sure. Though Bernard had his sword against Dalton's neck, who lay on the ground defeated, that hue of jade penetrated back into Bernard even at the edge of defeat. Silent for a moment, Bernard withdrew his blade, the edge sliding against the metal top of the scabbard at his waist and reversing direction as he tilted it parallel to the scabbards form, the hilt clinking lightly as it met the scabbard. With one great heave, Bernard hoisted Dalton off the ground and onto his feet, slowly bringing him back towards the forge and questioning him on his choice of blade.

    Days later, the young man was complete. A hand and a half sword, one of Bernard's own favorites. Complete with scabbard of blackened leather and polished metal that might make silver jealous, the matching leather hilt drew out a wondrous blade 34 inches in length, magnificence reflected in the craftsmanship of the cross guard. Bernard had found himself bewildered as he actually crafted the mark of his trade into the blade, just below the guard. With a smile that could even overpower the intensity of his gaze, Dalton set off, Bernard against his forge with a small bag of gold coins that belonged to a nobility that no one knew. As the old bear picked up his hammer, inclined to finish the scythe before dawn, he could only wonder what style he would craft next was, when its owner came calling.
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  3. Re: Writing Exercise: Swords!

    His head was spinning, the blood pounding in his mind as he lifted himself off of the ground. There was this horrible pressure, as if his helmet was collapsing in on his head, the grip on his lance dropped as his hands began to try and wrench the metal off of his face. He didn't care that each time it pulled at his skin and pinched his head, he just needed the helmet off. Needed to relieve that pressure. His head popped free with a small gasp, tossing the bent and useless helmet to the side. He couldn't tell which of the enemy had hit him, the battlefield a mass of broken bodies and metal weapons being swung haphazardly by boys barely old enough to be conscripted into this god forsaken war. Growling, the young warrior brought himself to his feet, hand groping at his scabbard for the hilt of his sword, fingers closing over the cool, golden hilt. There was the sound of singing as it was pulled free of the sheath, both hands gripping the heavy weapon.

    His ears pounding with adrenalin, the young warrior rushed forward into the fray, the sword's voice a quiet note in the air as it cut through the air, brought down hard through the armour of a nameless enemy soldier. Imbedded in the shoulder, a low growl rose in his throat as electricity burst from his core, numbing as it went through his arms and into the sword. A metal conductor that amplified its power, frying the man's nerves as it shot through him. He wasn't able produce more than a strangled gurgle before crumpling to the ground, the young warrior wrenching his sword free of the dead carcass. The feeling came back into his arms in sharp pricks, repairing themselves from the abuse they had taken, ready for another burst of energy as he pushed further into the throng.
  4. Re: Writing Exercise: Swords!

    [Mwahaha let us see how my wimpy character wields his sword!]

    Arianna was not present. She was on her own mission today. Matt had been left behind at the cave, doing all the womanly things that only he could manage: Cooking Arianna’s last kill over a fire, sweeping the nasty dead dragon scales off the cave floor of the cave, gathering the only berry he could recognize in the wild as edible: raspberries.

    Right now, Matt was sitting at the fire turning the meat to help it cook evenly, pondering how it had come to this. Back home, he couldn’t cook to save his life, he never cleaned up after himself and he didn’t know the first thing about survival. But here it seemed these things were the only things he was capable of. Arianna took care of all the manly duties he should be doing. She actually successfully killed things. Matt couldn’t even lift the damn sword he’d stolen, it was so heavy. He felt useless out here.

    Just as Matt had reached to pluck a small piece of meat off to eat he heard a sound in the brush. His eyes darted to the left, then the right. He could see the glow of canine eyes reflecting from the fire. Not just one pair, but he counted five pairs of eyes. Shit.

    Matt scrambled to his feet as the dogs approached, likely angry that he was currently eating one of their pack members. He pulled the sword from his back with all his strength and held it out. “Come at me!” he threatened, despite the tip of the sword slowly sinking toward the ground under its own weight. Damn why was he such a weakling.

    The first wolf leapt and Matt felt a claw collide with his shoulder. He cried out in pain and tried to swing the sword up and over. To his surprise the weight of the sword worked to his advantage, once he’d brought it up it was easy to drop and its own weight cut through the dog’s abdomen with ease. Had he just done that? With a sword he could barely lift? Matt let out a little whoop. Okay so maybe he could use this thing after all.

    But Matt had been too busy celebrating his first success with the sword to pay attention to what the other dogs were doing. Three of them had leapt at the meat he had cooking and the last one had jumped on him, pushing his body straight on top of the dead dog he’d just killed. Matt would typically have grimaced at having a face full of blood but he didn’t have time. The dog was biting and tearing at his shoulder and he screamed.

    Matt had lost his sword when the dog had jumped and it lay a few meters away. With a strength he didn’t know he had, he forced the dog off of his back and rolled, grabbing the sword by the handle and spinning himself around. Centrifugal force did the rest. He’d managed to behead one dog and even slice up one of the dogs by the fire with that move.

    Matt observed that he did not have to be strong to wield the heavy sword. It had been crafted in that way for a reason, and if he could just utilize what he knew about physics, he’d actually be able to use it okay. He’d already successfully killed two of the five dogs without being too significantly hurt.

    The other three were approaching him now though. Matt was about to try his spinning move again. If he timed it right, he could take all three of them out at the same time. But he didn’t get that far. An orange blur charged through, taking all three dogs out at once. After the horrifying sounds of crunching bones stopped Matt grinned at Arianna. He’d have been okay without her, and he proudly hefted the sword up, covered in blood.

    Still, it never hurt to have a dragon around.
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