Woman Warrior

 This was mainly because a sword was a man's weapon. Women usually carried daggers. God, according to popular opinion, had not made women for battle. He had made them to be homemakers and healers. This woman obviously didn't care about "popular" opinion. The long, curved weapon hung at her hip with such a natural ease it almost like she had been born with it there.

Later, when she had cause to withdraw the sword, she did so in a graceful, fluid motion. As she moved, the weapon became a natural extension of her arm. There was no hesitation or doubt. Each strike and block was executed with precision and minimal effort. When she had defeated her opponent, she simply sheathed her blade and walked off. Neither gloating or basking in her victory. She knew what she was capable of and that was all she needed.

The Night Before Duty

Captain Harrison looked down at his young son. He would miss him so much. He hated that he had to leave, but duty was duty.

He could hear his men laughing and talking with their families and friends. They would be leaving for Eiridin tomorrow. Since they were escorting King James, there was no way of know how long they'd be gone. So tonight, the families and friends of the Guard were having a feast.

The King had ordered his kitchen staff to cook their best and had lent the men one of his banquet halls for the occasion. Entertainers had been hired and were outdoing themselves.

Even thought there was much merriment, the was still a lingering sense of apprehension. Eiridin was the capital city of country they had been at war with not too long ago. The war was over, but relations were not friendly. The king was going as a display of "good will". There were also rumors that he was going to speak with King Ivan about a marriage between their two heirs. Captain Harrison had no idea if they were true, it was not his place to inquire about such things. His job was to protect the king, nothing more. He only offered advice when the king asked for it; and though that happened often, the king had not brought up that particular subject.

The feast ended at midnight. He wanted his men well rested and prepared for tomorrow. As he slipped his free arm around his wife's waist, he silently prayed. Thanking God for his family and for the ability to provide for them. He also prayed that God would bring him, his king, and his men home safe.

The Dragon

 He stared at the dragon crouching before him. He should not have gone out on his own. No one would know what had happened to him. His mother would spend the rest of her days expecting him to come home, like she did for his father. He couldn't climb the rocks, they were too step and smooth. Besides, dragons could fly. He would just be making himself an easier target. He couldn't dash to the side and try to run around either. The dragon's reptilian eyes tracked his every movement and it moved it's body to block his every time he tried. There wasn't anything to do but fight and hope for a miracle.

The Pen is Mightier

He stared at the pen sitting on his desk. It was nothing special, but he remembered the day he had received it with perfect clarity. He had been so nervous, unable to stop crossing and crossing his legs. He had turned twenty-one that month. Every month, all of those who had turned twenty-one received a weapon that embodied them perfectly. He had hoped his was a sword. Any sword would do. He was so engrossed in his hoping that his name had to be called twice. He hopped to his feet and had to remind himself not to dash to the podium. As he approached, the shakes in his hands intensified. He took his place and waited, a man went to a table filled with red boxes and picked one up. His heart immediately fell, the box was too small to contain any type of sword. A knife maybe? He could make do with a knife. He took the box with trembling hands and opened it. He stared in shock. Inside was nothing but a simple ball point pen. It had a simple clear plastic body with a black cap. Nothing special. He shuffled back to his seat. A pen? A stupid ball-point pen? Not even a fancy fountain pen with a sharp tip. How in the world could this be a weapon? As the days and months afterwards turned into years, his question had been answered. He life came to embody the Shakespearian quote, "The pen is mightier than the sword." He had never been, nor ever would be, a great, super-athletic warrior worthy of a sword. He was a simple man who was able to write in such a way that all of the world listened. His words convicted even the most hardened of criminals and brought down the most corrupt governments. They negotiated treaties between warring nations and brought light to hidden atrocities. Yes, this simple, plastic, ball point pen embodied him better than any sword or knife ever could.