Fiction
He wandered. He suspected it but did not fully believe it. Perhaps he even knew it yet could not admit it. Mayhaps he simply did not want to voice the idea out loud out of some fear of what giving such notions the shape and form of voice would unleash. For words, especially once spoken out loud, had a terrible power. A power that could reshape lives, entire civilizations even. One man’s resolve could scarce last long against such power.
Fiction
I’m also writing short stories these days! All of these stories will be based off of my artwork. This one is based off of Razor’s Edge.
I stared at the derelict on the screen, unable to fully comprehend what I was looking at. Something ancient beyond any human understanding. Perhaps as old as the universe itself. But was it a station? A warship? Something else? I did not know.
Fiction
A blade of power cannot be forged with the common techniques of smithing. A blade of power must go beyond mere metallurgy. But what one blade of power needs is not the same as what another needs.
What did the Blades of Shakti need you ask?
Ore stolen from the stars, humming with the power of a thousand suns.
A forge imbued with touch of the Gods themselves. The flames whisper in the voice of the divine, almost taking on the shape of fingers as they shaped the metal of the blade.
A hammer and anvil versed in the art of the Occult, each strike singing a song tinged with death.
A sorcerer priest with an unsurpassed understanding of the Arcane to inscribe the blade with litanies of power.
A blacksmith with the talent to fuse it all into one.
And a swordsman of skill to unleash the blade in a dance of war.