From the Miscellania Galactica, compiled by Gase Trimagus
Much has been written about the bond between a Stalwart and his glaive. Mystics and scientists, debunkers and demogouges on a hundreds of worlds have expended thousands upon millions of words probing the pressing questions: Why does an order devoted to inner peace arm itself with the weapons of war? Why are their weapons so antiquated–why a glaive rather than a plasma rifle? What craftsmen could turn out such detailed workmanship? What factory could create each glaive unique to its owner? Older Stalwarts wield larger, more intricate glaives–why do they change their weapons throughout their careers, or do the blades actually grown and age along with their wielder? And what of the miracles that Stalwarts have been known to perform with their glaives? How can a skilled Stalwart summon the hilt of her blade to her outstretched hand from vast distances, even across the dead vacuum of space itself? How can the touch of these sharpened implements of combat also bring healing and rejuvenation to those in need?
All those piles of words, and the only bit useful of them is the questions, never the answers. So it is with most things. But, herein, gentle reader, I shall divulge that most sacrosanct of Stalwarts’ secrets: the true nature of the glaive.
To Be Continued…
Blink blink
B-b-by the stars lives again.
Wohoo! [salts and butters the popcorn, tossing a few kernels in his mouth while sitting at the edge of his seat]
Glaive is just a fun word to use. Silky and menacing with just enough age behind it to feel mythical. Carry on!
Blink blink
B-b-by the stars lives again.
Wohoo! [salts and butters the popcorn, tossing a few kernels in his mouth while sitting at the edge of his seat]
Glaive is just a fun word to use. Silky and menacing with just enough age behind it to feel mythical. Carry on!