THE LEGENDARY SWORD, ASTRA, sings into the air with a metallic twanging sound as Lance pulls it out its sheath. The long blade extends out three feet in the air, its deadly edges sharpened like that of a Samurai sword, an expert swing good enough to cut hair from the head. With an unshaken poise, bespeaking years of mastery, Lance waves the sword up high into the air. His biceps flex and the air around the blade vibrates. When he crashes it down it a swift backhanded swipe, I can almost see the blade in battle.
My mind's eye is able to create the vision, helped on by Lance's words, of Astra, long and golden, borne in the hands of a mighty King, hacking away at the dark scaly skin of invading orcs.