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A tall fae wrapped in silvery furs charged through the crowd, his iridescent sword held at high guard. His eyes blazed with arrogance and his lips curled into a lazy smirk. He was probably already imagining how he was going to smash me into the dirt. His dirty armor presented a solid mesh of green protecting his body, including cleverly fashioned gloves and a patchwork cloak of hides with multiple layers of enchantment. To anyone else looking on, the fae was set to crush me to a pulp.
But my talent showed me the flaw in his weapon his swordsmith had missed. Instead of raising my hammer to parry the blow, I swung Thor to meet it.
The cold iron of my hammer met the brittle fracture line in the crystalline structure of the sword, striking at the precise angle and force needed to cleave the sword in half. The sword broke with a sound like a bell, the broken stump of the blade passing harmlessly by. The fae warrior’s stunned expression morphed into spluttering rage as the shattered bits of his sword rained down. With a keening scream he launched himself at me, wielding his broken sword like a crude dagger.
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