Aemond Targaryen Sword Novels & Stories

Devin smiled and said nothing. Devin sized up the Arondight on the table. This was the gift from the Holy Court to apologize to Jason. "The legendary sword of loyalty is really extraordinary."Looking at the Arondight, Devin said with a smile. His palm brushed across the body of the sword. It was a good sword that was no weaker than Tyrfing and Harpe. Swordsman could not remain indifferent to the famous sword. "Here you are. You've accepted a disciple. Consider it as my gift to you!" Throwing Arondight casually to Devin, Jason said with a smile.

It was only now that Carson Montgomery realized that he had not walked out of Caspian’s shadow. "I refuse to accept this! I refuse to accept this!" Carson Montgomery roared. He raised his hand and shoved it into his mouth. His mouth was swollen and deformed because it was stuffed with a hand. The next moment, Carson Montgomery took out a curved, inky cyan long sword from the depths of his throat. The surface of the long sword was full of scales, like the skin of a snake. At first glance, it gave people a feeling of malice and cruelty. "Caspian, this is the Demonic Python Sword refined from my spine." Carson Montgomery's voice became hoarse at this moment.

“Mother, what is this?” The voice was soft, almost reverent, but carried the unflinching will of the woman who birthed it. Bianca turned sharply from the window. Luna stood at the threshold of her chamber, drenched in candlelight and shadow. In her small hands gleamed a relic from another era Bianca’s dagger. The one that had slit throats and carved empires. Its blade shimmered with a faint golden hue, etched with the sigil of the Ashford line.

There was also a golden cover at the center of its handle, and there were some abstract designs embossed on it. Cordelia's spear can shrink into a handy weapon with blue crystal blades on both ends but in different sizes, from where the mainly used one is much longer and visible than the other one. Its handle was made with silver metal with shiny and tiny pieces of crystals sprinkled all over it. Her partner—Helios, got his sword upgraded as well. His weapon could turn into different styles and sizes that he thought would fit into a certain battle.

Hearing it spoken in the open air above the Atlantic gave it a different quality. Permanent was the word she kept arriving at. Not ending. Permanent. The crown of the Vael bloodline was a physical object smaller than she'd expected, old metal worn smooth by time, carrying nothing theatrical. Seren placed it on Caspian's head with the precise care of someone who had done this for three hundred years and understood that the object was less significant than the moment. He became, in that moment, what he had been becoming for a very long time. She watched it happen.

We said goodbye and I headed to the address Nick had texted me. As I walked into the shop a friendly gentleman greeted me. “Miss Clarke, Mr. Thorn said to expect you.” “He did,” I sounded surprised. “I have the bottles ready for you.” We walked over to the counter, and he showed me the bottles. First was Chateau Montelena chardonnay and the second was a bottle of Macallan 18-year-old double cask whiskey. I nodded, not having a clue. I watched as he boxed the bottles up and placed a gift ribbon around each of them.

I accepted the dagger with a nod of approval, tucking it away securely. "In addition," Maxwell continued, presenting me with a silver sword, "I've had this crafted for you. Silver, lethal to vampires and wolves, but harmless to you, Your Highness. It may prove invaluable within the enemy's stronghold." I inspected the blade, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. "A thoughtful gesture," I acknowledged, feeling the weight of power in my grasp. "It will serve its purpose well." With a swift motion, I tested the sword's balance, nodding in satisfaction. "Let us proceed," I declared, my tone firm and commanding. "The battle has just begun".

Even if they would still respond if the master only used their energy. Rion's sword was named Zephyr. The 'gentle breeze', even though the attack was not anything gentle at all. It was always deadly, but with the minimum wound. This is how Rion could show a little compassion to those who fell as his enemies. A quick, merciful death.

He still had a scar over his left eye where the wineglass she hurled at him shattered too close for safety. Rhychard glanced down at the Guardian Sword in his numb hand. The blade had returned to cold bronze. The broadsword, his inheritance from a dying elf, had an intricate design of vines engraved around the edges. Faeries cross, a stone resembling the bark of an ancient pine, encased the pommel. The stone supposedly helped him to draw upon the elemental magic around him, protecting him against the Void and its denizens. The Guardian Sword held the memories and skills of a dozen previous Warriors who wielded the blade before him. He wondered if the Seelie knew the number thirteen was bad l

A river rested on the right side, providing the source of another waterfall nearby. “Are you ready for your training? I hope you finally recovered from what happened recently. Being here is your destiny. Like it or not, you have to embrace it.” Zenus drew one of his swords from his back. Kharyn was following them behind. She held a long sword and handed it to Eleand. “You might die training with Zenus, so I will give you Hasmal—the late king’s sword,” she said. “Thanks,” Eleand hesitated for a while. Because if this sword belonged to the king, he should take good care of it. That responsibility alone was overwhelming. It was a warrior’s sword; the hilt was black, and its pommel was a form of