Greatsword Poses Novels & Stories

Travis had picked up a short sword as well but chose a Kaskara; we both got in our fighting stance, both taking on a basic four style. “You ready?” I asked Travis. He smirked, positioning his long sword above his shoulders and a short sword by his waist, both blades pointing forward towards me, “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He replied. I copied his stance and readied myself for his attack. “Begin!” I said, indicating to start. He lurched forward, swinging his Kaskara towards me. I dodged and brought my short sword up with my left hand, blocking his sword from swinging any further, and spun to the side, bringing my claymore down. He easily blocked and we began our dance.

"Sophie, are you even listening?" "Yes! Of course." A hell of a bloody no; his biceps and broad shoulders were more interesting, though. How would it feel if I ran my hands downward? Would he moan? Sage smirked. "I want you to remember that perhaps the most diverse and exotic types of swords are the Asian swords, which include straight, double-edged Chinese longswords (Jian) and single-edged Chinese sabers (Dao), as well as a myriad of other exotic weapons favored by martial artists the world over. See this?" Sage held the sword like it was his other hand, expertly and effortlessly. Impressive, though. He's been explaining it since forever, which bored her to death, yet all Sophie remembered

“Try a few until you find one that feels right.” Once he’d picked his knives, I moved on to stance. “Stand sideways, feet shoulder-width apart, dominant foot forward for balance. Align your body and throwing arm with the target. And yes, this is the basic way—master this first, then we’ll work on throwing from different angles.” After adjusting his posture, I demonstrated the grip and throwing motion. “It might feel awkward, but it works. Raise your arm, bend the elbow to eye level, keep your wrist locked, and swing forward smoothly. Just before full extension, release the knife—let it follow through naturally.”

I meekly apologized. He softly smiled at me. "Don't feel bad. It's all right." Cesarevich Dimitri then cleared his throat and continued. "The sword must be treated as an extension of the arm." He held up his own; lean muscles tensed and flexed. "You need to move it as if it's a part of your body. It should be fluid and feel natural." I nodded. He then said, "You try holding it, Rose."

He was careful not to disturb the palace at this time of night. Sweat trickled down from his scalp and forehead, down his neck and into the hems of his angrakha. Twirling both the swords with agility he moved his feet along with occasional jumps and swift turns. Gyreing into a full circle and a crossing both the swords, he thrust them into the ground panting hard. Pratap Singh focus. His mind signaled as a warning. He shut his eyes, his hands on the crank of the swords. He exhaled sharply and yanked the swords out and was about to twirl them when he saw Ajabde.

It smelled of damp stone, old hay, and solitude. Makil was already there, warming up with a series of fluid stretches that further betrayed his training. He wore similar clothes to yesterday, and two practice longswords were thrust into the ground at the center of the yard. Leigh arrived silently, a shadow detaching from the deeper shadows of the archway. She'd re-braided her hair tightly. She said nothing, simply walked to the center, pulled one sword from the earth, and tested its weight. "No rules," Makil said, pulling the other. "First to yield, or be disarmed."

The white-haired and white-browed young man had unsheathed his long sword. It was a strange long sword that was as clear as jade. One flank of the sword was the cutting edge, and the other flank was a sharp sawteeth-shaped edge. The blade was long and narrow, and it looked like a beam of silver light when it shook. Every time it shook, a beam of light shot out from it like a fierce tiger coming out of a box. Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!

My grip tightens on the hilt of the weapon as I prepare myself for the impending clash. Surrounded by a few Embers, I catch a glimpse of Sora's fiery ginger hair nearby, her expression, that of shock. Stepping forward, I swing my sword, but he dodges with impressive agility. As the clash of steel filled the air, each strike reverberated through the training square like a thunderous drumbeat. Thrystan moved with the grace of a seasoned warrior, his movements fluid and precise, a testament to his years of training and combat experience in the Wreath.

Phyllis got back my attention and I turned to her. She demonstrated the steps; her two legs parting with the left going a few paces forward from the right. She thrust her hands in the same way; her right clutching around the hilt of the sword and the elbows pushing back behind her body as her left crossed below her upward tilted face. She rested the tip of the sword over the fisted knuckles of her left; and brought her shoulders down as her body relaxed, giving her an elegant posture.

Naria said in a master’s tone. Sean 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." Naria murmured, showing him how to hold it. "Okay, got it. What about stance?" "Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, and weight evenly distributed between both legs. You want to be balanced and agile, so to be able to move quickly in any direction." She said spacing his legs with a staff.