Medieval Research: The Classy Crossbow

(This post is related to the one I wrote on bows earlier on. You can find that one here)

In the time of The Black Prince (roughly the 1300s), archers were pretty much respected for the skill they had, especially with the longbow. And it was one heck of an art; archers had to build up arm strength from childhood; practice for years, and at that period, would probably never do anything else in life other than shoot arrows. Live an archer, die an archer, and more often than not, the latter would be on the battlefield with your bow in your hands. Glorious, indeed.

Of skeletons found that date back to medieval times, it is fairly easy to identify the ones that belonged to longbow archers. Apparently, the spines would be all twisted out of shape, and the bones in the right arm near the elbows were reportedly deformed. Kind of morbid, I know, but it goes to show how difficult their training was, and how much a part of their lives it played. If you really want to know more about  this, you can go here. Otherwise, moving on...

  

On Pens That Gave Swords Something to Swing At

I don’t know what it is about swords, spears and arrows that fascinates me. To me, nothing beats witnessing a good charge down a rocky slope, hooves pounding, voices roaring, spears flashing, and a line of the enemy standing firm, shields raised, spear points bristling.

Nothing, except for some good vanilla ice cream and a whole Monday of relaxation after getting back from a three hour commute. That’s something else, entirely.

But, on swords and stuff? There’s almost nothing that can surpass that sort of thrill. I mean, just look at this:

Tell me you don’t feel good now, and in the mood for a LOTR movie. I know you do.

Of Ups and Downs and Dizzy Flies

             Normally when you get a story that’s meant to give you some sort of moral, there’s this pattern that story follows.

You get the story. Sometimes there’s this little opening sentence before it, sometimes not. And as for the story itself, it may be short, it may be long, it may be insightful, or it may not. And then there, at the end, you get the point of the whole endeavor in one to two lines, the moral of the story that you’re supposed to take away with you. I say ‘supposed’ because, let’s face it, most of us forget the entire thing a few minutes after we’re done. Don’t deny it, you’ve been there. We all have.

So, the story, the tale, true or not, that you find yourself reading. Some of the time, it may be glaringly obvious what the moral is once you’re done. Other times, you might be left wondering what in the world the ‘moral’ had to do with the story.

Me, I prefer to follow this method most of the time. Why, you ask? It’s tried and tested, and it allows me to ramble on without the hassle of needing to stick to some old boring point. Once I reach the end, I add some random phrase from somewhere and pretend that it was what I was taking about the whole time.

Medieval Research: The Beautiful, Brutal Bow

Here we are, finally. The post on archery that was long coming. I’m feeling much better now, thanks for asking, so let’s get twanging.

First thing you guys should know is that I was originally planning to make this one a standoff between the two bows of the medieval times; the longbow and the crossbow. I would have made it one short post with random facts from each, but soon enough I realized; there is just way too much awesome information out there for me to ignore. Seriously, did you know that trained archers never fired more than six arrows a minute in battle? Any more and they would risk injury. Aye, that’s hardcore.

Anywho, one meagre post barely gives these beautiful weapons any justice. So I decided to make this particular piece part one of two; and with that in mind, I give you today, the bow

Sample: The Legend of Charezahn

It’s been a week since I first started sneezing, but I’m still far from recovery. I have no idea what sort of vindictive bug this one is, but one thing for sure, it’s nasty.

Try as I may, I could not get myself into the mood to start on the Longbow post, which I had planned to have up here instead of this one. Stuff happens, though, and you have to make the best of it.

Lucky for me, I had already begun chapter one of Charezahn earlier, so I thought I’d put up a sample of it here this time. It needs plenty of work, and I’m very aware that it’s not fit for print; but I’m just too darn tired to put up anything else right now.

Following is an excerpt from chapter one of The Legend of Charezahn. If you think I should continue, please let me know. Thanks.

Of Delusions and Dog Whistles

’Twas the first of March, and I woke up sick.

Right away I knew it was going to be one of those days. I hadn’t even woken up properly at 8 in the morning, and the sneezes had already begun.

The common cold was no stranger to me, nor I to it. That said, I really have to stress that I didn’t welcome it as often as one would think, our twenty year old acquaintanceship considered. But it was like one of those visitors who show up at your front door one day, with two duffel bags at their feet, and announce that they’re staying for the weekend.

And no matter the hints you pass or the blunt in-your-face orders to get out that you deliver, it still tweaks your cheek and settles deeper into the couch; which in this case happens to be your sinuses.

Or mine.

In any case, the repeated sneezes had me down all day. I feeling a little light in the head, or in any case, I was feeling it a bit lighter than usual. But even as I sat there, huddled in front of my laptop under that comforting piles of blankets, I wasn’t too worried.

After all, it was just a few sneezes (per minute) and a general tendency to shiver every once in a while. How bad could it get, I asked myself. I was all for betting it would clear up by the next day.

Little did I know what I was in for.

On Surviving a Bane of Sleep

This is torture.

The cacophony rises and abates all around me. I cannot think, I cannot forget, I can only clench my teeth as the pain drills into my head.

This anguish is more than any should ever bear. It is ceaseless, it is agony personified, and it is going to drive me insane. I don’t know how long I can hang on. My eyes are open, but I see nothing.

And after the awful day I had spent, this was the only way it could have gotten worse.