The story of a soldier and his sword. 

Picking at his sword, he reflected an image, one stained in his nightmares. The iron struck hot his demeanor, rugged and gruff. The weapon looked ordinary, a standard wooden hilt, and steel tip carved into two blades, one on each side: the medieval longsword. Yet it was anything but simple. 

He dropped the sword on the wooden planks which decorated his cobblestone abode. Hearing a clank, he was satisfied to leave it alone, choosing to exit his house. Unfortunately, the blade was bound. 

Soaring in the air, it plunged through the door, leaving a sizable hole before returning into the man’s sheath. He sighed regrettably, finding immense displeasure with the sword’s clinginess. He wanted nothing more than to rid this curse, even if the sword granted him power.

With no other choice, he spoke to the sword, “Hello spirit. I know you want out, so why not make it easier on me. Tell me how to remove this mark on the nape.” A few weeks back, a mark appeared on the soldier’s neck once he grabbed the sword from an ancient ruin. 

Prior to his asking, the spirit requested the man’s aid, yet left out details where to begin. The winds shifted, flowing a breeze which blew the man’s brown hair. He shuffled the mess on his forehead, parting it to the left to allow his sight better gauge.  Something was surely stirring out there. He thought it related to the sword’s supernatural behavior, but couldn’t confirm it with any evidence. 

“So, let’s take a little stroll, you and I. And you can tell me what I need to do.” The man walked along the gravel roads, letting the peaceful farmlands juxtapose his knightly attire. 

[@Vampiretwilight]