Short story with vampiric mythology.
Nicolas took his time in wrapping his arm as he prepared to train in the courtyard with his father. He knew deep inside that his father was a powerful adversary but at the same time the fact that he could down his father with his sword to his neck was disappointing at times. He thought his father was supposed to be stronger than their son. Then again Nicolas believed that a child is always supposed to be a better product of the parent.
When he was finished wrapping his arm with adhesive cloth he stood and stretched, picking up his sword and yawning. The sword was a long sword holding a beautiful silver tint up the blade. The hilt was gold and in the hilt there was a circular gem also holding a glamorous silver tint. Nicolas secretly called his sword Max but never openly admitted to doing that. It was funny because he remembered when he was younger when his father trained with some of the soldiers that his father called his sword Reamus.
Nicolas walked out upon the courtyard in which he and his father were to train. It was sad that such a beautiful courtyard would eventually be cut away by his father and Nicolas’ wild slashing and clashing of swords.
Nicolas turned to view the full spectrum of the yard’s beauty, but as he turned a large sword came into his view coming down upon him. Nicolas quickly dodged it and looked to see who his attacker was. Suspecting that it was his father in a black hood and cape he attacked back with a few slashes to the mid-section in which his attacker dodged, only to come back with a powerful kick to Nicolas’ jaw. As Nicolas fell to the ground he barrel rolled and gained his footing again, only to see another boot come to his face and smash into his temple.
As he rolled onto the ground a few yards away he realized that his attacker was much stronger than his father which alarmed him. As he stood his attacker charged him sword swaying down. Within himself he drew a deep awaited power he wished to always use, but only in the right circumstance.
He lifted his hand palm facing outward toward his charging attacker as he whispered in the ancient language a spell, “Graihu.” The attacker was thrown like a sock doll toward the opposite wall crashing into it breaking it apart. He was down.
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