Light Fiction - Blade Dancer

Hi everyone! Something a little bit different today :3 A thought popped into my head about the similarities between certain things and I was like "surely someone's already written light fiction or something about this" and evidently not ~ So if you're interested in some vvv short light fiction, enjoy! 

What comes to mind when you conjure the image of a blade? Holy warriors bravely smiting evil? Armored infantry ruthlessly enforcing laws? Leatherbound barbarian cleaving through hordes of undead? Sharpened steel covered in acrid stagnant blood?

"So you're a warrior?" they ask, pointing at the blade at my hip. "Something like that, yes." Better not to complicate thing. "How many monsters you kill? The big ones." It's always about body count in these taverns. "24. Unless we're counting captures?" They're not. They are impressed though, in their own crude way. Always asking about the gory details. Guess there's a reason we're called adventurers and not heroes.

Every night it's the same routine. Pick a wide table, lay out my pack, a get to work. First the grit to pull flecks of blood and mud, peeling away the daily labor of an adventurer. People appreciate this attention to detail, keeps the sword from smelling and becoming a walking ghoul magnet. Next to sharpen, a slow and time consuming process. Keep a window open, the cool air blowing on the steel. It makes the sharpening easier, smoother. Go slow. Take your time with each stroke, rushing can lead to chips and an uneven edge. Test with a light caress, then polish with oil. Gleaming. Smooth. Elegant. Perfected. A radiant beauty of silver compared to the muddied reds and brown of a "man's blade."

"Wouldn't it look better if you kept some of that battle weathering?" No, it wouldn't. "Do you really need to polish that sword every night in your line of work?" Yes, I do. "There's something kind of sexy about a blade stained with blood." Then find it elsewhere. "You ever think of upgrading to something a bit bulkier? Maybe enchant it with some skulls and runes?" I missed a spot, just below the wrist of the right hand. A patch of prickly dark brown hair. No one will notice it. Well, almost no one.

Every night it's the same routine. Enter the baths after midnight, steam opens the pours and the privacy aids in focus. First the sponge to pull off pools of sweat and dirt, peeling away the daily exhaustion of an adventurer. People appreciate this attention to detail, best smelling party member they say they've had. Next to shave, a slow and time consuming process. Keep by a fountain, the hot water washing over the skin. It makes the shave easier, smoother. Go slow. Take your time with each stroke, rushing can lead to cuts an- too late. It's only a small cut, just above the left knee. No one will notice it. Well, almost no one. Test with a light caress, then polish with oil. Gleaming. Smooth. Elegant. Perfected.

What comes to mind when you conjure the image of a warrior? A frontline fighter, sounding a war cry through a curly beard? A stoic rock cloaked in armor, their speckled jaw not betraying a single emotion? A burly berserker, wildly jumping into the fray? Bulging muscles covered in acrid stagnant blood? Covered in hair?

"Don't you think you looked good how you were?" No, I didn't. "Seems like a lot of work." Yes, it is. "And you're... a warrior?" What a loaded word.

 "Well, if it makes you happy..." A twinge of pain at their resignation. 

Every night it's the same routine. Every day it's the same dungeons. But my blade and I are two of a kind. Our dance of death on the battlefield is beautiful. Gleaming. Smooth. Elegant. Perfected. And it is worth every night spent keeping it this way.