Elven Curve Blade Novels & Stories

We just passed the 12 weeks mark. “Rissa and Gabe will help you practice and get used to it.” I just nodded and pulled the knife from its sheath. It was beautiful in its own deadly way. I didn’t know shit about knives, but I was sure you can kill pretty easily with a blade like this. “The blade is a high density silver alloy, so don’t cut yourself,” Gabriel chimed in. “I won’t.” I gave him an offended look as I put the blade back and closed the box on it.

I forced myself to say. "It doesn't matter, Reis. As a matter of fact, she's on my side now, and she's going to help me execute my plan. And there's nothing you can do about it." He smirked and leaned back in his chair before snapping his fingers. Some men approached with a tray. Resting on it was a blade emitting a glowing green light. "Let me introduce you to the Blade of Poison," Cillian began. "I'm sure you can sense the lethal energy radiating from this blade. We've spent years designing it to kill usurpers like yourself."

I warned James, but I guess he didn’t have the balls to finish what I started. Elena’s eyes narrowed. And now you’ll try? I don’t try, he smirked, I win. With a flick of his wrist, a surge of raw power exploded from him, hurling dust and shards of marble into the air. Elena barely flinched. She unsheathed the curved blade strapped across her back, the same one that once belonged to her father. Flames danced faintly along its edge, it was more than steel, it was vengeance reborn. They lunged at each other simultaneously.

“Then what are you here for?” He pulls his hand back out, and there is something in it. Metal catches the low light. He turns it once in his fingers and offers to handle it first. I know the weight of that blade before I touch it. Guild issue. My hand closes around it before the rest of me can object. The balance is clean and familiar and my grip adjusts on its own. “You recognize it,” he says. “How did you get this,” I ask. “It was delivered.” Silence thickens.

Eryndor's Shadowing dagger seemed to dance in the moonlight, its dark blade slicing through the air with a haunting screee-ksss. Each strike landed with a thud-thwack-thoom, sending tremors through the troop's warriors. The troop's hearts raced as the violent zing-ting-zap of clashing daggers filled the field. The savages of warriors, fueled by fury and loyalty, clashed in a frenzy of arms and teeth. The ground grew slick with blood, the earthy smell mingling with the metallic tang of steel. Jack Wolf stood firm, his Moon-whisper spear shining with a soft, ethereal light. He parried Eryndor's strikes with a precision born of desperation, his movements a blur of speed and strength.