Greatsword Poses Novels & Stories

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.

Jim had already appeared in front of Sebastian, wielding an oddly-shaped black greatsword. Sebastian couldn't evade in time and took a solid blow to his shoulder. This time, his defenses couldn't hold up. The clothing on his shoulder was torn apart, leaving a deep gash, and blood began to flow. "-220!" Sebastian also learned about his opponent's strength due to this encounter. [Loose Cultivator: Jim] [Occupation: Sword repairman] [Realm: Early stage of foundation building] [Health: 5300/5300]

My fingers are on my chin as I crouched and looked at it. The cover or the sheath was silver with a few pints of gold, I don't understand the engravings etched on it. Because of my curiosity, I held it and released it from its sheath. Unlike other sword, its blade was bluish and silver, the handle was wood in color and the cover was glass. It was not as heavy as it look. I lifted it up and swayed it... Imagining I was a samurai fighting some bad guys. I chuckled.

The leader of the disciples from the Thousand Leaves, Graham Eliot, let out a light snort before attacking a Divine warrior as well. He held a green-colored sword in hand. His white robes fluttered even with the lack of any wind. He stepped in a gust of wind, his sword aimed right at the Divine warrior. The Divine warrior split into two bodies after a radiant glow from his blade as usual. The Divine warrior was incredibly quick and charged forward at Graham like a bullet.

The wooden blade was smooth, the handle worn down by the touch of hundreds of hands. "Hold it like you're going to use it, not like it's going to bite you." I moved my grip, trying to remember how I'd seen the pack warriors hold their weapons. Garrett shook his head in disgust. "Wrong. Your stance is wrong too. You're standing like you're expecting someone to bring you tea." Beyond us, the other students had stopped their own practice to watch the show. I could see wagers passed as they bet on how fast I'd be out of my sword.

His greatsword lay across the prep counter, the blade still bearing the gouge where a shield had smashed into it, the notch's edges glinting cold. "Eggs are overdone. You've got a choice: burnt or raw." He shoved a plate toward me. One egg was a charred ring of black. The other was still wobbling. He unstrapped his own dagger and laid it on the countertop beside the greatsword. The dark brown leather wrapped around the grip was polished to a glossy sheen by years of sweat and blood. "That sword's too heavy. You take this. Light. Fast. Angle's different when you're going for lungs instead of heart. Blade goes up, extra half-inch of tilt. Don't use it backwards."

He said, drawing out a sword from its sheath that was tucked away behind him and handed it over to me. "Hold the sword with a firm, but not overly tight, grip. You want to be able to control the blade, not strangle it." He said in a master’s tone. I held the sword up—-"Like this?" "Almost. Relax your wrist and let the sword sit comfortably in your hand. Remember, the sword is an extension of your arm, not a separate entity." He murmured, showing him how to hold it. "Okay, got it. What about stance?"

The laughter sounded polite enough, but the greatsword in his hand was already out, and he swung it down in a single brutal strike. The man's action was anything but polite.

James positioned himself the same way. “Okay, good. Your legs, positioned as they are, will give you a strong trunk from which to fight. They will help keep you balanced. Now, take a firm grip on your sword, but don’t squeeze it so tightly that your hand will begin to go numb. That’s good, that’s good.” Blakeney nodded encouragingly. “Cock your arm slightly, like this, and raise up to where the sword will sit perpendicular to your hips. Only slightly higher.” He held his arm away from his body, elbow bent some, and the blade pointing straightforward a few inches above his hips. He looked menacing, but in control. “That’s right, good. Now bend your knees slightly.”

Boro and Mika stood in the sand circle as the two finalists. The animosity between the two was so thick in the air it was almost palpable. Boro stood in the ready form, Crane In The Water, standing perfectly balanced on one leg, his sword held out before him. Mika stood in a form that Boro didn't recognize. Boro prided himself on knowing all the forms of classical, and modern, sword art, the fact he didn't recognize this one was puzzling.