Medieval MisconceptionsHeavy, cumbersome swordsMedieval Misconceptions9 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
- The issue of weight seems to be one of the most commonly mistaken aspects of medieval combat. Smiths all made swords slightly differently and each fighter had his own preferences. It is impossible to generalize when it comes to the technology of an entire continent from c/ 500-1500 AD, and both very heavy and very light swords existed. In terms of what was typical, though,, here’s a rough guide to averaged:
Single-handed sword (aka sword) - 2.5 pounds
Hand-and-a-half (aka bastard sword) 2.5-3 lbs
Two-hander (aka longsword) - 3 to 3.5 pounds.
The absolute largest swords still rarely hit the 5-pound mark. These were designed to serve very specific tactical functions on the battlefield and were not intended for general-use purposes. Experience showed smiths and warriors that this was the ideal weight range for their weapon. It’s essentially natural selection at work: people whose swords were too light or too heavy went off to battle and
December Waters poemDecember Waters poem8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Cutting through a thickening fog
a dreary day of yesteryear
I squelched across the shallow bog
in hopes for guidelights to appear
A light I saw, not from a lantern
Ghostly shadows played across
the smokey whispers floating like phantoms
from under the mulshy water's moss
And from the under, sleething forward,
a nebulous shape with empty eyes
Cold fish fingers pulling my breath toward
itself, turning me to stone inside
something's rising, something's sinking
pale darkness, neverblinking
DisposableA book with Grandpa's favorite quoteDisposable11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A poem that your boyfriend wrote
Your little cousin's old toy boat
They're all disposable.
A picture of a long lost friend
A letter you forgot to send
The broken heart you couldn't mend
They're all disposable.
A notebook from your freshman year
With notes from friends you once held dear
A porcelain doll you used to fear
They're all disposable.
The lies I'm burning to confess
The love I'm yearning to caress
The tears I constantly repress
Am I disposable?
The hollow hopes that didn't last
The shining dreams that died so fast
The constant fear of things long past
Am I disposable?
A hopeless cry within the strife
My tears reflected by the knife
The memory of a happy life
Am I disposable?
A cry rings through the black of night
The raven and the crow take flight
A cloud impedes the pure moonlight
We're all disposable.
A bloody pool of hopes and dreams
Overcast eyes and strangled screams
A life that burst out at the seams
We're all disposable.
A body in a
- self -- self -7 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
when you fight yourself
one of you will lose
Not My Kind of Fairy TaleDon't give me the KnightNot My Kind of Fairy Tale10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the Knight,
Whose armor is dull and broken.
Whose horse is weary,
Whose heart is heavy.
Give me the Knight who looks at the dragon with pity,
For that dragon has done nothing,
And is just as imprisoned as the princess he guards.
Don't give me a princess who only wishes to be saved,
By that Knight whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the princess who wishes to escape yes,
But wants to free the dragon,
Who does not wish to marry her savior--
Nay, give me the princess who wants to explore,
Who wants to live and to learn.
For the years of imprisonment only made her yearn,
Not for the Knight whose armor shines bright,
But to see the world and live in the light.
Do not give me the evil dragon,
Whose soul purpose is to give that bright Knight something to fight.
No, give me the dragon who is weary,
Who longs for the freedom of the sky,
Whose leg is burdened with chains,
And whose heart aches for the princess he must guard,
[France X Joan of Arc] Waiting Forever[France X Joan of Arc] Waiting Forever1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
**Quick Note- this is probably not historically accurate. I have tried in the past to try and get the facts and to get this as straight as possible, but if this isn't historically accurate, please don't chew me out in the comments. And also, please read description after reading! ~ChangeOHearts101**
*May 29, 1431. France is at the height in its revolution against England in the 100 Years' War, and the maiden that came from nowhere and seemed to be helping the desperate situation, was sentenced to death by Arthur himself. Francis loved her immensely. A ma'm who can do so much in so little time, and at such a young age, amazed him. It was strange for him, to love someone so fresh in life. But who was he to compare? Hundreds upon hundreds, thousands, of years ahead of everyone we walked with now.
And so, despite his hardest efforts to reject the deal, he was unable to. His citizens were blinded by a promise of plausible peace before them, and if sacrificing a girl was the only way through
Old House Blues.Old House Blues.5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Author's Note: This story takes place about a year after the ending events of my fanfic. It also takes place post-Old World Blues, so if you haven't played that, some parts of this may not make sense. I'll do my best, though, and feel free to comment or note me with any questions. I don't bite (usually.)
It felt so good to be home. It didn't feel quite right, though. For the past however long she was trapped at Big MT, Andy had suffered through the strangest obstacles of her young career, seeing things that made her question the very philosophy of technology and how it bettered lives. Even worse, she'd been traveling alone when she got transported, and for the first time since before she met Boone, she was utterly and completely alone in the Wastes. After Arcade's mysterious disappearance, and the birth of her first child, it was traumatizing to say the least.
Boone basically made her swear to never le
The needle in the haystackThe needle in the haystack6 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
I had always felt that the idea of believing in soul-mates is enchantingly dreamy and romantic on one hand, and fraught with peril and suicidal leaps of faith on the other hand. If you can see what I'm trying to say here, you probably know what this piece is about.
So paradoxical and full of contradictions and 'what ifs' is this particular belief, that I think there are few emotional chasms that are so so frightfully difficult to get out of, once you have fallen in it; than this one ~ the belief in the existence of soul-mates. That someone out there is made for you, and fits you like the glass shoe fits Cinderella.
The UnicornThe darkness was absolute. He could not tell whether his eyes were open or closed.The Unicorn9 years ago in Humor More Like This
The voice sounded as though it came from everywhere. He listened for a source, but silence followed. He didn't even hear himself breathe.
A small point of light appeared in front of him. He stared at it, finally something to focus on, and witnessed it grow larger. The white split into colors and arched downward, and he finally realized that the light simply hadn't expanded; it was traveling toward him.
He took a step back as the rainbow landed in front of his feet.
I have been waiting for you, Charles.
Another flash of light brought his attention back upward to what was likely the apex of the brilliant arch. A horselike figure stood at attention, a soft glow coming from a long, golden horn perched upon its head. As it descended, more ethereal light seemed to emanate from its silver mane and hooves. Its four legs tread with a fluid grace as it reached the end of th
Living a LieLiving a Lie:Living a Lie4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I feel like I've awakened from a comatose state
And the world has gone on without me.
I stretch my legs and take a walk outside
And for the very first time I see:
A strange kind of beauty, that is utterly alluring
It calls out to my spirit with the gentlest of cries.
I'm afraid to admit, for it was rather unmanly,
That I left with tears in my eyes...
I can't imagine how I could have forgotten
The very way that I used to walk...
I remember now my habitual actions
And I've even learned to talk!
"Arrr me hearties, good day to ya all
It be a fine day ta sail on tha sea
And if we find a plethora o' treasure;
Then yer drinks are all on me!"
I must admit it that brought me a smile
To be speaking my native brogue.
It reminded me that a dashing man
Should always be a playful rouge.
But that aside I'm feeling better
For now my mind has found its peace.
A comforting sense of order and structure
It's almost as rare as the golden fleece.
Within this sphere
MiedoEl que entierra en la pupilaMiedo5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
El terror paralizante,
El que eriza los tejidos,
El que apura los latidos
Y que rompe voluntades.
El que agita y convulsiona
Lo profundo de la vida,
El que altera los estruendos,
El que rompe hasta los nervios,
Ese espíritu agitado
De un instinto natural.
El temor en el reflejo
De las aguas del aliento
Del humano visceral.
reali swear to Godreal10 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
that i love mine as much as
you love yours and that
if i could find the words to say it,
i would. if i could
find the perfect words, if i could just
close my eyes and instead of thinking
i love him i love him i love him
think of something poetic and real and un-cliché,
just for a second,
i would. but
i am-he is-we are poetic,
sparrowsparrow9 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
The trees are unsettled, their limbs tossing in the violent tempest -- gauges for Natures wrath or love. The storm plays like a silent film as I sit in the cabin of my car. My old campus gym sits in the distance like a stolid mountain.
The world comes to life in stereo as I step out. Dashing down the side of the parking lot, my umbrella mimics the trees. Trying to avoid the rain, I notice an upturned creature on the wet pavement. I stoop to examine it. Its pale legs stick up like flags of resignation. People must think Im crazy, a university student examining some dead thing. He must be studying taxidermy.
Its a baby sparrow.
Its feathers are maturing over its soft pink underbelly, bunched into a mangy blanket by the rain. Its feet shiver in the wind. Dirt, pine needles, and assorted debris are stuck to its bo
10 Requirements for Writing a Publishable NovelPLEASE NOTE THAT WHILE THIS PAGE WILL REMAIN ACTIVE FOR PURPOSES OF EDUCATION AND RECORDS, IT IS OUTDATED. CLICK HERE TO ACCESS THE NEWEST VERSION.10 Requirements for Writing a Publishable Novel1 year ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
10 Requirements for Writing a Publishable Novel
Today, I would like to announce a project that I hope all of you will be as excited to be a part of as I am. As you all know, my writing guides and tutorials have been rather random, as I was still testing the waters of the internet. I wanted to know if anyone could possibly be interested in what I had to say about the craft of writing, and I was overjoyed to see all of your enthusiasm. And so, I would like to announce that I will be shifting gears with my articles, and attempting to create a step-by-step manual so that ANYBODY who is willing to put forth the work, can learn to write a professional-quality novel. But before we undertake this project, I should let you know that
Home from the AshesDistance tried to kill the bond we constructedHome from the Ashes4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
As well as the way our stress was conducted
We were tearing and pulling at what we had built
our sword of passion almost snapped at the hilt
Broken, our hearts were about to die
Our passion and love never again to fly
Rather, we almost let dying loves lie
Letting go with a deep mournful sigh
Wait, how can this possibly be right,
Should we stand for another lonely night
Should we just simply extinguish the light
No thats impossible, this could never be right
Rushing back with burning passion and flame
Thats right we're in love not some silly game
Love is stronger than the weight of shame
Love is quicker than the grasp of blame
Like a phoenix reborn our love was new yet the same
It is a powerful thing and our love is wild, not tame
It can't be locked away in some regret filled cage
It won't become a slave to the feeling called rage
It retaliates against these harbingers of pain
and soothes the soul like a soft summer rain
In each others pres
Regret: AphroditeRegret: Aphrodite10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
"Regret!? And why should I regret my gift?
My love and beauty all desire - all!"
Then prettily the goddess puffed and sniffed,
"I'm seafoam-sired: immortal! Not a doll!
And yet you'd trap me with your chain and ball.
This marriage set by Zeus: a dusty joke:
and now you'd wrap me in your net? The gall!
The gall! The gall! I'm weary of your smoke,
the endless fumes of forge and iron and coke,
your wounded eyes that only wish to serve!
Then serve me now! My passions have awoke."
She gasped as coarsened hands explored each curve.
Then gasped again as Aphrodite came,
and fleeting thought, "I wish he wasn't lame!"
The form is of course, a Spenserian sonnet, which interleaves the rhyme scheme of lines from one stanza to the next.
Hunter: The ReckoningMurphy's Tap House wasn't a very nice place to sit and talk. It wasn't really a very nice place to do anything but get as drunk as possible, and even then customers had to stick to bottled beers because the tap wasn't working.Hunter: The Reckoning9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
There were a total of three people present. Murphy, the barkeep, was muttering something about "Garou," while one of his two customers sat slumped at the other end of the bar. The patron smelled like garbage and looked no better, and seemed to have some sort of deformity on his back. It had given him the unwanted nickname "Hunch".
The only other sign of life in the bar sat in one of its dark, dingy corners. She was about twenty with long dark hair. She was the only one that didn't seem to notice when the door opened and another, more rowdy patron entered.
When he pulled a gun and shot Murphy and Hunch she couldn't really help but notice. He opened the cash register and snorted in disgust, removing the only twenty dollar bill inside.
He seemed startled by t
This Is The SoilThe dirt was cold, and the skin around my fingernails clung to it hopefully. I churned in his ashes slowly, giving him back to the birches he planted forty years ago. I started using the curls of their bark for paper after he died; lines of poetry struggle every day in the drafts from the window, shivering and moving away bit-by-bit from the glass panes that I can see the river through. It always rushes in the winter; the cold is never cold enough to freeze, but always cold enough to chill. I left half the ashes in the urn.This Is The Soil5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Castles in the airCastles in the air3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Even the fools daydream...
That something could go on well,
oh, for a single time
they build castles in the air,
daring to hope, dream
to find a temporary haven of peace
to escape to during the winter
and dream of spring...