Tag Archives: sword

Mine, Craft, Farm

As I stared through my tall observation tower and faced the north, I tilted my head to one side.  It felt strange, that I was planning to go out with only a few spare tools and a wooden sword, rather than dozens of torches, tools, and whatever else I could carry.  I glanced back at the glass-surrounded room I built with my own hands.  I was proud, but I wanted to do more.  I wanted to throw danger to the winds, even with my unarmored body and my lone sword.

My home– no, my castle– was incredible.  I had this room– my observation tower.  I had a master bedroom, a guest room, a reception hall, a crafting room with everything included, an underground farm, a second level with beasts, and all the defenses a lowly farmer could create using stone, wood, glass, and some help from my friends. Read the rest of this entry »


Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Death Learning

If any could ever find fault in me as I fulfilled my merciful duties, that fault was my love.  I loved every single living person, just as much as I loved those who had already died.  King, peasant, whore, saint, I loved them all.

My only sadness was how none loved me, in return.  It was heartbreaking.  Every time I approached, the people I loved so dearly fled as though I was a monster, come to bring them agony and pain.  No, that was my mother’s duty, and they adored her, but I was not bitter.

Mother’s duties were unpleasant enough as it was, and in her twisted mind, she thought herself a scion of goodness and love to those beneath us.  She did not need me to think cruelly of her, even when she brought suffering upon the hearts of innocent children.  Besides that, it was simply not my place. Read the rest of this entry »

Leave a comment

Posted by on February 25, 2013 in Semihistorical Fiction


Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Swan

Despite the thunder of hooves and cries of battle, my mind was at peace as I mounted my horse.  Somehow, I had a feeling this was the happy ending of some story.  From here, forever would be bright.  With a smile to my squire, I accepted my sword. “Hang back.” I ordered with no sense of urgency.  I felt entirely serene as I rode my horse into the fray.  My mare, White Lily, seemed to prance as I fell into the familiar motions of battle.  Parry, lunge, evade– it all seemed so easy.  A young man charged at me, and I deflected his blow.

His expression was grim and filled with such hatred.  It frightened me. Read the rest of this entry »

1 Comment

Posted by on February 10, 2013 in Semihistorical Fiction


Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Distorted Reflections

The difficult part of my plan was at hand.  I knew that the masked hero was the prince of the kingdom.  I knew that he was on his way to deal with me personally.  I knew that he knew everything about me.  So, I waited at the far end of a quarry.  To my back, the sheer face, and to my front, a wide, open area where Prince Rivara would challenge me to a duel once he arrived.

I slowed my breathing and slowly checked myself in a mirror.  My lips were stained red, and my cheeks were rosy.  I looked every bit like the woman he remembered from his childhood.  A small smile of pride tugged at my lips.  His mother’s dress hugged my form as I looked down.  I tucked my mirror into the small bag that hung from my wrist and sat to wait. Read the rest of this entry »

Leave a comment

Posted by on January 29, 2013 in Semihistorical Fiction


Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

“There will be more wars until men grow brave enough to stop them.”

Crack!  The two armies rushed like the tides into the valley.  From the rim, archers shot anyone who wore a color not their own.  A roar rose from the mass as the melee was met.  Warriors belted out their battle cries.  The battle was quick-paced, and both sides fought hard for dominance.  Even with archers on either side, it took several minutes for the first dead to fall.

Steel clashed freely against more steel, and shouts of pain and rage replaced the battle cries.  The cacophony threatened to drive the mounted watcher to join.  Her gloved fingers clenched the reins, and she stared down.  Her mail was pristine– each link agonizingly scoured hours ago.  The tabard over top was pristine, with neither device nor border.  She took a deep breath through chapped lips, then drove her horse to a run as she spotted a shift in the flow of battle.  She rode not toward the melee, but instead to a baggage train.

Read the rest of this entry »

Leave a comment

Posted by on January 19, 2013 in Semihistorical Fiction


Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

“Shameful deeds bring on revenge.” – Norwegian Proverb

I stood tall in the middle of town.  My people surrounded me, cheering.  My campaign against the wretched Northmen barbarians was a rousing success.  The tribes were reduced to one that simpered and hid from any who approached.  They starved and shivered in their frozen home, and my people were safer for it.

My people were safe.  I smiled, and there was a tightness in my throat.  It was time. Read the rest of this entry »

Leave a comment

Posted by on January 16, 2013 in Semihistorical Fiction


Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Ice searches in the fire.

Screams sounded everywhere around the warrior.  Supposedly retired, he wore his armor like a second skin, and rose with the aid of his large battleaxe. “Boy!” he called as he walked through the choking smoke. “Boy, where are ya, lad?” The old warrior squinted through the smoke, then began to cough.  He doubled back down to one knee.  His chest ached, and for a moment, his eyes glowed an evil blue. “Boy!” he shouted again, only to nearly collapse as he coughed all the more.  Blood shot from his mouth, into his hand, and as he stood, he absently wiped it onto his cape.

The cape was covered in bloody hand-prints and smears, many old, and some new. “Boy!” He felt unsteady on his feet, and despite the personal danger, he walked into his guild’s house.  The boy was not there.  Luckily, the building was undamaged as well– especially given the amount of people inside.  He closed the door to prevent smoke entering, and made his way fearlessly into the heart of the attack on the city.

Read the rest of this entry »

Leave a comment

Posted by on December 28, 2012 in Semihistorical Fiction


Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,