Fine antique British infantry officerâs sword made circa 1825 and in quite good condition. It is a model 1822 sword with the hilt decorated with an embossed coat of arms, corresponding to the king George IV. This English king ruled the country from 1820 to 1830. The sword comes with its scabbard: it is in good condition though the brass tip is missing. The swordâs hilt is a gorgeous piece made of golden metal and with a fine wavy design with curved branches. One of the crossâs sides is foldable. The grip preserves the original leather covering and the twisted wire that holds it in its place. The steel blade is well preserved and boasts a fine patina created by the trace of time. The scabbard is made of black leather and has brass locker and central piece, both decorated with fine hand-engraved geometrical motifs. The central piece still preserves the ring designed to tie the swordâs leather strap.
Measurements: Total Length: 37.8 in / 96 cm. Blade Length: 31.8 in / 81 cm.
A beautifully gilt Basket-hilted Backsword, likely belonging to a member of the Gendarmes Ecossais, made in France, ca. 18th century, housed at the National Museum of Scotland.
Being a good person is a choice. Donât let people fool you into believing that truly good people never have bad thoughts, are never tempted by the easier path, by the low road, never mess up or act out selfishly. Never believe a person can be good without making a conscious effort.
Every single time you do something good, youâve made a decision to make the world a little brighter.
Goodness is not an inherent trait, it is a choice. Keep making it! I see you, Iâm proud of you, and Iâm rooting for you!
A rare variant of the Napoleonic era British infantry officerâs spadroon (1796 pattern), featuring a double-edged blade with part flattened-diamond and part hexagonal section blade. The blade engraved with the royal coat of arms and motto, as well as the pledge âFor My Country and Kingâ to both sides. Hilt of regulation form, but high quality manufacture, with gilt brass guard and pommel (much gilt remaining) and a silver wire-bound grip which has a flattened front and back, better suited to swordsmanship than the normal oval-section grips.
When you pick up a sword for the first time you will be slow and awkward. This is frustrating, but refuse the temptation to try and become a âfasterâ fencer. Chasing after speed is like trying to catch smoke. If you try and pursue speed, all you will accomplish is haste. Haste is the enemy of 1st class fencing.
Speed is a lie the untrained mind tells itself when it sees an action it cannot follow. The truth is a combination of timing, control, and fluidity. Fluid motion, even done slowly, will always arrive before a hasty strike. Control will allow you to move without wasteful motion that will slow you down. Timing will eliminate the need to move fast almost entirely. There is no need to get somewhere fast so long as you get there at the right time. Â
The blasts hit nearly simultaneously and Jasperâs world is suddenly nothing but white. For a moment, she feels nothing - she doesnât understand whatâs happened. Did she fall? She should be used to how falling feels by now, shouldnât she?
Maybe itâs the Corruption.
She moves slowly, it feels slow, like time has all but stopped, and snow clings to her face, to her gem, as she pushes herself off the ground, ice melting from the heat emanating off of her until itâs dripping from her chin; she moves her head and snow shakes from her hair. Her mind is a furious blank, like static. Thatâs when the sound rushes back in, overwhelming her at first. The twin echoes of energy blasts, the sizzling sound lingering on her back as the smoke is blown by the cold wind, the crunch of the snow as she balls her fists - sheâs being attacked! How could she be blindsided like this?
Maybe she isnât trying to survive anymore.
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   The ice of The Renegadeâs eyes were not to be outmatched by the frigid North itself. There wasnât an anger to the slender Gemâs face, or a wildness, it was cold and collected and a perfect copy of the hardened gaze Pearl had worn all those millennia prior while she ruthlessly cut down Homeworld Gems-- Gems just like the one she was staring at now.
  She doesnât take the time to let herself see the spread of the corruption, she doesnât allow herself even a moment to consider any aspect of what it was she was doing here beyond a simple âAttack, Winâ mantra. If she did, she might give, or hold back, or even worse, retreat.
âWe are through, Iâm just making sure it sticks.â Pearl hisses, laying on more pressure in an attempt to keep the Quartz pinned. The poles of her spears begin to warp from the pressure, the blades starting to illuminate once more in brilliant whites and subtle blues that cast harsh contrasts against the tangerine and crimson of Jasperâs face. The air around their superheated spirals steams and for a moment, Pearl can visualize her spears cleaving clean through the Hard Light of her opponentâs torso and rending the Quartz formless, even as she sees the Quartz wrap the ropes of her fingers around the staves.
  This vision doesnât last long enough to carry through.
                             --âTook you long enough.â
  A look of indignancy passes through Pearlâs intense eyes as she gathers far too late what was about to happen. There was no way to avoid it, despite all of the training and strength that the Rebel had found within herself during the Crystal Rebellion, she didnât have the bulkiness of a Quartz to back it up. Without so much as a moment of resistance, Pearl finds herself flung into the sky and fighting to find her orientation from the spin Jasper managed to put on her trajectory.
Icy branches and bales of snow lash at the slender Gem as she tumbles upwards, slowing her ascent and knocking her off-kilter enough for it to be irritating. Before Pearl can fall back to the ground itself, she catches her footing in the treetops and uses it to her advantage, staying up off of the ground where a well-timed Spin Dash could easily catch up with her. Pearl could finally regain her bearings now that she was stopped. Â
  There was no way that Pearl could best the Quartz in a competition of Strength, but she was sure as the Stars that she could best her in a challenge of agility. Training, more than any fight before, was coming back to her and Pearl found her feet moving before she had even come up with a solid plan.
Her form moved swiftly from branch to branch, twisting and contorting around the spaces needed to continue her forward trek. Behind her, pointed downwards, her spears became an extension of her Self and avoided intersecting or crashing up against any branches and giving her away.
It was a kind dance, this Treetop Sprint, and it suited the Pearl well; intended purpose and newfound freedoms coming together to make her an agile force not matched by other Homeworld Standard Gems.
  This was the Terrifying Renegade, this was the Crystal Menace, more than she had been in far, far too long. The smooth luster of her Gem began to glow dimly as she summoned forth first one, then two, then four Holo-Pearls that split off and created a disorienting tangle of movement in the Treetops in the same way a fighter jet fires flares, confusing predictions.
Once she found herself far enough ahead of the Quartz, she leapt from one side of the Forest Canopy to the other, whipping blindingly white slashes of energy at long-range towards her Opponent before finding her footing once more and ducking into the snow-covered trees.
There is a spark of satisfaction as Pearlâs existence all but disappears from her phone. No more passive-aggressive barbs, no more annoying comments - just blissful peace and silence. Itâs comforting, like falling into a snowbank before realizing you have to get up and deal with clinging snow and wet stains.
Guess Jasper finally won.
She watches her phone for a few minutes, half-expecting Pearlâs words and face to show up again, waiting for gentle yet precise insults and exasperation aimed her way. They donât appear, of course.Â
The wry smile slowly slips into a passive stare. Why would they? She won. Pearl lost.
Why doesnât it feel like a victory?
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   Earthâs Snow was interesting, the way it blanketed things, the way it silenced things. What was amplified and what was muted seemed to be largely up to chance. That random aspect of the nature of the phenomenon made navigating the winterscape that much more taxing. Be silent. Itâd been a great thousands of years since Pearl needed to be this stealthy, but if their previous encounters were anything to go by she had to be. It was of the absolute importance that she get the drop on the Quartz to level the playing field.
It would seem that Luck was on the Crystal Gemâs side, the sharp cracks of Jasperâs tree falling carrying under the weight of of the winterâs dampening. It gave a pretty good directional indicator of where she needed to be heading. Though itâd become habit at this point, a comfort, a routine, Pearl stopped breathing. She didnât need it. The exhalation of light-warmed air was too much of a tell and interfered with the stealth of the situation. Pearl could catch her breath later, once sheâd won.
If Pearl was even leaving footprints in the powder, sheâd be surprised. The same energy she used in her Room was travelling through her, helping her step so lightly on the frozen water that she barely made a dent. She was like a ghost of pale moving through the treeline, low to the ground and fast, jumping cover to cover. For a moment, the briefest moment, she had a sliver of Clarity into âWhy are you doing this?â. Pearl didnât engage with it. This fight had been pending a conclusion ever since the Storm. It needed a resolution and there was little chance of that happening civilly now that the pair couldnât interact with the buffer of the Internet between them.
Pearlâs shoulders found the frozen back of a tree, frigid bark pressing in uneven sharpnesses right back at her.
   Crack.
Pearl was absolutely still as the rodent leapt in surprise from the shelter of the tree and skittered across the ice. Her spears were held tight to her chest and she stared out into the labyrinth of blue-white snow dunes and ice covered forest. After it left there was silence, then the telltale crunching of snow beneath the Bruteâs feet, and then a rather loud and forceful CRACK of another tree coming down and the muted thumping of its gathered snow falling to the ground. Good time to move. Pearl seized the moment.
The first thing she did was rush further out into the trees, giving herself ample cover to launch an attack that wouldnât immediately be parsed. In the breaks between treetrunks, she lowered and aimed her spears, channeling her energy through them until their tips became white-hot. Timing herself, keeping herself from firing too early, Pearl waits for the perfect moment of alignment to fire off her Spears-- first one, and then shortly after the other.
The second thing she did was launch herself up into the treetops, barely even landing on them as she tossed and twisted her way through them to get a drop on the Quartz from the opposing side. The Rebel dropped from the trees, still soundless as she brought down the spiraling blades of her twin spears on the hulking and shockingly mutated orange Beast beneath her.
     It was shocking how fast all of her rage came flooding back. Pearl could have continued on with her existence, carried on with ignoring Jasperâs Existence in the far north, continued training Connie and Steven for defense the world of galactic horrors that theyâd been exposed to. Pearl could have never signed onto that Blue Hellsite ever again and been happy, just carried on and stayed the course, but her need to be organized had won out. Her need to read up on the changes the site was about to implement was greater than her want to just live away from the website itself.
All of these things could have happened, but now could not.
Pearl was pacing. Her feet carry her from one end of Stevenâs Room to the other in long but sharp stomps. Her phone was set on the kitchen counter and the Slender Gem was focused on nothing more than trying to control the festering rage inside of her. Across the bridge of her nose, her cheeks, her forehead, her pale skin was flushed a dusty teal. She was close to muttering-- close, but not quite there.
âUhh... Pearl? Are you... okay?â A young male voice calls from the loft of his bed. Steven looks down over the ledge, half illuminated by the Video Game heâd paused to address the angry Gem. Pearl doesnât stop pacing, she doesnât even slow down or give any indication that she heard the Half-Gem at all. He clears his throat and calls out again. âPeaaaaaarrrrrrrl!â
This seems to catch her attention.
Pearlâs eyes shoot up to look at Steven and the boy tightens up under the intensity of the look. Seeing his reaction softens the Rebel slightly, and she releases a held breath she wasnât aware sheâd been keeping. âIâm... fine.â She lies. Itâs an obvious lie, not just in tone but in context. Steven doesnât buy it, but he doesnât confront her. Not right now.
âOkay.â He replies with the same kind on uncertainty sheâd just given him.
â...do you want to talk about something?â
âNo. Iâm--â Pearl starts, bringing her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Her foot taps in her irritation. âIâm just going to go clear my head. If you see Garnet, just let her know Iâll be back as soon as I can be.â
âIs that... a good idea?â Steven asks, genuinely attempting to stop her from doing whatever crazy thing it was that she was likely to go off and do. âDo you want a travel buddy?â
Pearl frowns. âNo.â She says, unsure of which part of his questions sheâs answering.
âIâll... I won't be long. Make sure youâre not up too much later, itâs past your bedtime.â With that, she starts walking towards the warp. Steven was, for lack of a better word, disappointed, but decides against pressing the matter further. Whatever Pearl was about to go do, she was going to do it regardless of his intervention. He offered a quiet âBe safeâ as the Warp chimed and Pearl found herself rushing through the Distance and to the Pad on the other side.
The cold hits her. It threatens to steal the air from her lungs but she refuses to let it, holding the hitch and grimacing through it. The snow was already creeping in, not nearly as wild and deep as it had been when Pearl had been trapped here, but starting to build for the season. Her gem glows and from it she produces two spears.
This was a bad decision. This was a rash decision. It was petty, and small minded, and ridiculous, but still she finds herself moving up the pathway and staying in the treeline. She was acting like a child but she didnât care.
All she wants to do is kick Jasperâs ass.
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