Runic Tablet Simply Swords Novels & Stories

He let go of the horse's reins, stepped back and slapped him on the rump, forcing him to step aside. - I'm afraid that my money is not enough to feed your company, but there is something else - his voice sounded very calm, indifferent. A gloved hand pulled a sword from its scabbard. The Daitras laughed. Against their background, a tall, thin boy looked like a puppy among wolves. The sword left its scabbard and gleamed silver in the sunlight, a string of intricate runes ran across the blade in flashes. The outlandish weapon looked completely alien, they don’t do this in their world - neither the shape nor the sharpening corresponded to the accepted standards of forging, and at the same time i

A crest gleamed on his chest plate: the Moonveil Citadel emblem, a silver wolf's head wreathed in thorns, symbol of an ancient order long whispered in legends. In his grip, he wielded a sword that sang of forgotten forges—a massive greatsword with a blade as long as a man's arm, etched with glowing runes that pulsed like veins of starlight. The hilt wrapped in blackened leather, guarded by a crossbar shaped like crossed fangs, it hummed with arcane power, cleaving through monster hides as if they were parchment. Each swing arced with devastating force, severing limbs and heads in sprays of dark ichor, the warrior pivoting seamlessly, boots sinking into the mire without falter. He fought alon

"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.

“The future is not found—it is woven from the choices we make today.” Sunlight streamed through the forge’s open arch, illuminating hammered steel and runic smoke. Lerder and Rhys consulted over treaty-forged swords, sparks dancing in the air. Hannah, wrapped in her treaty cloak, stepped inside. Her attention fell on the blades—symbols of protection, not aggression. Hannah (soft): “Each sword holds peace within its runes.” She watched as Rhys lifted one, torch light catching strong lines.

Pushing open the back door to his stall, I gazed at the array of weapons that lay on the tables. Swords, bows, arrows and axes littered the tables. "When did you have time for this?" I whispered. Father surely hadn't done all of these in one day. As I gazed at the array of weapons, one weapon caught my eye. It was a silver sword. At the base of the handle was a purple gemstone. Gently grasping it, I felt the weight shift in my hand. Swords weren't my cup of tea. To me, they were heavy and left you open, but I still loved the way this sword looked.