The Broken Sword

The worthless swordsman or the broken sword. that was what people called me. my name long since forgotten by everyone but me. despite the fact that I was one of the best swordsman that could be bought. no these unusual nicknames came from the fact that I never had so much as a copper on me. my equipment was all old and worn. some of it being repair. the most valuable thing I owned was my horse. the reason behind my poverty was simple. I never took coin as payment. only rations, repair, room and board. there was a reason I never took coin as payment, but that was my secret. a secret I never intended to let anyone find.

Angelina_Bennett · Fantasy

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39 Chs

The Broken Swordsman

It felt far too natural to sit in the corner by myself. How many years had it been since I'd last drank with someone else? I didn't really care. Not anymore. The scar on my neck reminded me again how quickly someone could betray me as I rubbed it thoughtfully.

I would need to get out of the town soon. Word traveled fast in a small town. Once folks heard I was in town they'd come rushing from all over asking me to use my sword for them. After all I was the cheapest sell sword a couple days rations could buy. Farmers always needed some beast chased off, and wives always needed some husband chased home.

I personally didn't care. Right now I wasn't taking any jobs. I rubbed my stiff shoulder rolling it experimentally. Getting stabbed in the shoulder had cut down the strength in my dominant hand by more than I cared to mention. Not having full use of my better arm was not good for my chances of survival if I were to get jumped again.

Sure I could use my left hand, but that just didn't feel right. My left while almost as proficient as my right was sloppier on the more precise maneuvers. A little sloppy with a well sharpened sword in hand meant the difference between life, and death in a real fight. No one in their right mind would go into battle without the best of their weapons.

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