Sword Of Gryffindor Novels & Stories

This gruesome sight made the room's contents not look like a luxurious palace but a cruel slaughterhouse with a suppressing aura. Draco pulled out the sword forged by Bowen. The hilt was made from the trunk of the Sacred Mana Tree, and the blade was made from dragon scales. Magic gems were embedded along the hilt and blade of the sword. While walking along the corridor, Draco smacked and slashed at every demon-beast that came attacking him like insects.

Power I can feel the amount of power he has, that's a lot but to bad for you I am stronger He was running towards me really fast. He jumped to attack me but before he got the chance to touch me I created a vortex around me that blew everything around me. The lycans that were there were sent flying far away from the battle but...my vortex barely touched him... WHAT? noo... don't tell me.... my powers refuse to hurt him, WHAT THE HELL!! "my powers may refuse to hurt you but my sword won't think twice before hurting you" *growls*

We cleared the room of all none essentials, cleared the tables too, and all furniture that could be in the way, in case of an attack, or anything that could go wrong. I had a ceremonial obsidian knife that I lend the Hellhound. “Break it and I’ll be really pissed,” I told him. It was a genuine article, really hard to find, historical, and it had been used in magic ceremonies for centuries by all sorts of wizards. The kind of magic it had absorbed throughout its existence was significant. It could give him an edge if the Other attacked. Giving him a chance to do something. That simple gesture seemed to have made a big difference with him.

BLADE 3. Pain. It was all I felt when I shot my eyes opened. I felt so sore and tired. The memories of how Lorenzo plunged deeper into me last night filled my mind. He was so cruel to me. I didn't find any enjoyment in it at all. I tried lifting my hands and I was happy It was back to functioning. My tit hurts too as a result of the sucking he did last night.

For a short while each morning, the citadel felt almost peaceful. Adrian stepped into the open courtyard with his sword resting against his shoulder. The stone beneath his boots was cold, still damp with the night’s lingering frost. Thin mist curled along the edges of the training grounds, giving the towering walls a ghostlike appearance. He set the sword down carefully in the center of the courtyard. The weapon was enormous—nearly as tall as his shoulder and heavy enough that most soldiers struggled to lift it with both hands. Adrian lifted it easily. The familiar weight settled into his grip like an old companion.

Corin spent days making me this gift. The thought alone still hadn’t fully settled in my chest as I carefully lifted the sword from the wooden box, my fingers tightening slightly around the hilt as I tested the weight of it in my hand. It was heavier than I expected, solid and balanced, the kind of weight that demanded respect rather than fear. The golden vines wrapped naturally around my grip, as if they had been shaped for my hand alone, and the soft pink crystals caught the morning light spilling into the room, glowing faintly as if something inside them was alive.

I quickly grab some casual clothes from our walk-in closets and stuff them in our bags. I closed Edgar’s bag. There is only one more thing to place in my bag, a thing I would never travel without. My wand, Dora. She is an old wooden wand made of oak. Oak from my family tree. “It’s nearly time to avenge them,” I said, stroking her before I carefully placed her in my bag.

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.

"I'll pay for it for you, as my apology for your broken sword yesterday." I called a waiter to retrieve the sword from the showcase. Unlike the previous attendant, this time a young male waiter with black pants and a white shirt came. He opened the cabinet and handed me the sword. "W-wait, Vans, I don't want it," Livi replied, gesturing to decline. "But didn't you say you wanted it?" Why did she suddenly change her mind? In my opinion, it's a good sword, made of magical mithril material, strong, and can be infused with magical energy.

"That seems pretty bad!" "It is." Jévon squeezed his thighs and urged his nightmare towards the thing. "Lord Ingálvur said he gave you a sword? It's made out of one of the thirty pieces of silver Judas Iscariot got when he betrayed Jesus. It's the only holy artifact we have in the area since we let the Holy Grail go on an inter-museum loan!" I pulled out the sword and almost dropped it. Jévon nearly threw me off to grab it. Honestly, I wouldn't have blamed him if he had.