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Many of those present had in the past taken their roleplaying to the point
of dressing up in pseudo-medieval costumes and equipping themselves with
weapons.
But the swords had always been made of wood or plastic, and their blades
had borne
scant resemblance to the gleaming length of tempered steel that Fred drew
from his scabbard. The creative anachronists were deeply impressed by it.
Fred immediately sheathed his sword again. His anger had caused him to draw it, but his knightly honour had quickly asserted itself, reminding him that he could not use the weapon against an apparently unarmed opponent. The brief glimpse of the sword had been more than enough for the heckler. His face had gone white. "Er, I was only j-joking," he stammered. "Let's be friends, eh. Can I buy you a drink?"
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3/17/2002 9:24:55 AM
Extending Enabled
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