2005-04-10 11:31![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
digitaldiscipline
digitaldisciplineYou hear a lot of younger mercenaries talk about their weapons, often giving them names intended to instill fear in their adversaries. Deathbringer, Hellspike, The Scourge of Winder, that sort of thing.
Frankly, in the time it takes most of them to say something pompous and self-aggrandizing, I can usually cut off at least one of their hands, so for all I know, there are actually a lot of swords called Blackouch and Grimargh out there. Most of them don't sell very well when I take them back to my weapon dealer. Maybe there's something to the theory that they pick up the psychic vibrations or spiritual essence or some other pseudo-mystical thing from their wielder and victims, and it sours the steel. Or maybe they're just not very good weapons to begin with.
Wart calls her blade "Sharp," which, in addition to being literally true, has the benefit of being nice and short, and therefore less prone to letting you get dismembered while saying. Of course, she's also really good with it, which goes a long way.
Me? I usually just use the most recently misbegotten Grimargh or Blackouch. If you use something that nobody would want to steal, you can worry about other things, like how last night's raiding party found us, and where we were going to get rid of the bodies. They got Baab, though. The bad ankle gave out on him partway through, and he went down.
I don't like losing members of the team. He hadn't been with us too long; only since we'd left the Northern Lakes a few months before, but he was quiet and competent, and had a good nose for local herbs. When you can go weeks between professionally-cooked meals, something that spices up the local game is a welcome find.
We planted sage and mint around his cairn, and moved on, wary for the next Sentinel ambush.
Frankly, in the time it takes most of them to say something pompous and self-aggrandizing, I can usually cut off at least one of their hands, so for all I know, there are actually a lot of swords called Blackouch and Grimargh out there. Most of them don't sell very well when I take them back to my weapon dealer. Maybe there's something to the theory that they pick up the psychic vibrations or spiritual essence or some other pseudo-mystical thing from their wielder and victims, and it sours the steel. Or maybe they're just not very good weapons to begin with.
Wart calls her blade "Sharp," which, in addition to being literally true, has the benefit of being nice and short, and therefore less prone to letting you get dismembered while saying. Of course, she's also really good with it, which goes a long way.
Me? I usually just use the most recently misbegotten Grimargh or Blackouch. If you use something that nobody would want to steal, you can worry about other things, like how last night's raiding party found us, and where we were going to get rid of the bodies. They got Baab, though. The bad ankle gave out on him partway through, and he went down.
I don't like losing members of the team. He hadn't been with us too long; only since we'd left the Northern Lakes a few months before, but he was quiet and competent, and had a good nose for local herbs. When you can go weeks between professionally-cooked meals, something that spices up the local game is a welcome find.
We planted sage and mint around his cairn, and moved on, wary for the next Sentinel ambush.
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I just like the notion of a Scimitar of Wincing +2 *laugh*