Jacaerys Velaryon Sword Novels & Stories

Again. While I tried to think of what to do, Jenny slowly raised her hands over her head, forcing them up one centimetre at a time, until she was able to grasp the hilt of the sword with both hands again. She tilted her head down. Her teeth were bared, tightly pressed together, grimacing against the pain. Her eyes sparkled blue with static. The Jester’s eyes flinched backwards but not fast enough. The sword came scything down between them. And passed straight through.

The mountain wind howled, whipping their robes into a frenzy. Jaleel didn't hesitate. He unleashed the full, crushing weight of a Great Decator, driving it straight at Aria. A ten-foot pillar of green sword-force surged from his right hand, its edges flickering with golden electricity. The sheer density of the energy made it clear that this was a sword-force he had spent years nurturing.

Her intense gaze, hardened by countless battles, was tempered by her unwavering loyalty to Somerland. To Elysia's left stood Gareth Swordbane, widely feared and respected as the Sword Demon. He was a tall, imposing figure, his eyes sharp and deadly. Known for wielding a blade with unparalleled mastery, Gareth’s skill in swordsmanship was legendary, his reputation as a ruthless opponent striking fear into the hearts of all who dared challenge him. His sword, an ancient blade etched with runic symbols, was strapped across his back, and his eyes held a piercing focus that spoke of countless battles fought and won.

"Go Turry!" "Ladies, that's enough, this is a solemn lesson in magick - and the first phase of my courtship!" Jarnja mock scolded, beating her furred breasts with her claymore. Silence, then laughter, fell across the fighting pit. Felice handed me a sapphire encrusted longsword carved with bindrunes in the shape of the wolf riding, snake reins giantess Hyrokkin. I saw Othala, the Ancestors, on its hilt. "I'll beat you, dear Jarnja," I smirked as I said it, flashing the blade.

One of the weapons Lee had encouraged me to wear was a sword which he called the Dyrnwyn. I could tell it was a Welsh weapon but I wasn't familiar with the legends behind it. Lee wasn't sure either and said he just knew that Rakesh had claimed it belonged to an old friend, who was long gone from this world and that it was very potent against even Ancient Ones. I wondered if it would even still be useful with how old it seemed to be but gathered if it was here, then it had to be strong.

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

If the horses don't whinny, and that singer doesn't come poking around the garde "What about yo "I'll hide by the tree. He's probably alone. If he bothers me, I'll kill him. Go Hot Pie went, and Arya dropped her carrots and drew the stolen sword from over her shoulder. She had strapped the sheath across her back; the longsword was made for a man grown, and it bumped against the ground when she wore it on her hip. It's too heavy besides, she thought, missing Needle the way she did every time she took this clumsy thing in her hand. But it was a sword and she could kill with it, that was enoug

My Mask was on. "If you're going to participate in the royal battles. Take this," said Jon, handing over a one-handed sword with a gold and blue scabbard. It had lightning-designed inscriptions into the gold. "My mother had given it to me. It's made out of mithril, so you shouldn't worry about it breaking. She said it was a sword fit for a king. Shadiàn." I rested my hand on the hilt and glanced down at it. I felt a little shameful knowing that this blade was going to be used for evil. Righteous evil.

VIKTOR “Please!” I screamed, my knees slamming into the stone as the blade hovered above the baby’s neck. The cold metal shook, trembling with the weight of death. The baby’s shrill cry tore through the air, slicing me open from the inside. My heir. My blood. “Stop,” I choked, my voice breaking. “Please.” But my pleas were denied. The sword came down with a sickening thump against her tiny neck. Blood sprayed warm across my hands. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I screamed again. And again. And again.

The next I was there, my hand closing around the soldier's wrist with crushing force. Bone cracked. He screamed. I ripped the sword from his grip and drove it through his chest in one fluid motion. He fell. The second soldier lunged at me. I did not even look at him. My hand shot out, and silver light erupted from my palm, slamming into him with the force of a battering ram. He flew backward, crashing into three others. "What..." Gabriel's voice, for the first time, held a note of uncertainty. I turned to face him, and I saw my reflection in his wide eyes.