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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Biographical · #932724
A semi-autobiographical piece written about my 1st Society for Creative Anachronism event
Steve shivered in the cool autumn air as he watched each of his friends armor up, approach Ajax, and get soundly beaten. They were only using rattan weapons and the armor was well padded, but it was still painful to watch, especially knowing he would get his turn. This was only a training session for the heavy weapons combat simulation for the medieval recreation group he’d joined a month before, but Ajax seemed to be taking it very seriously. Perhaps it was because he’d arrived too late to enter the fighting tournament, but he seemed intent on taking it out on the small group of rookies.
 
As Steve strapped himself into the leather and foam padding, he settled the steel helmet on his head, gripping his rattan sword in sweaty palms. He realized his only chance to forestall a beating similar to his friends’ was to immediately go on the offensive and use his secret weapon. Almost vibrating with nervous energy, Steve waited for the signal and then leapt forward. He swung his weapon in a wide arc that ended up connecting with the back of Ajax’s helmet. The ring of wood on metal signaled a “kill”, much to both men’s surprise. Taking a step back and giving Steve a long, appraising look, Ajax stepped back in and proceeded to pummel him for the next twenty minutes. Steve knew that he’d have a whole new legion of bruises in the morning, but was still able to grin through the pain, knowing he’d accomplished something few could brag about, even if it was just in someone’s back yard.
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