The Barbarian's Broadsword
by Wynne Burroughs
© 2012 Wynne Burroughs
He strode like a panther, taking panther-like steps pantherly across the jungle floor. The barbarian trod over gnarled, massive roots and knotted bushes as does the mighty jungle panther. Hearing a noise, he perked up his ears and spun his head around, working to identify the source in precisely the same manner a panther would, assuming that you taught the panther to walk on two legs and it had to turn it's head to look at something.
His name was Colm, the Barbarian.
Though the noble beasts of the jungle were aware of him none challenged him. Even the dumb beasts knew better. The sunlight, suffused through dense jungle canopy, glinted off his improbably huge muscles. His absurdly huge deltoids rippled with every panther-like step.
But his massive muscles and superhuman strength came at no price. Though I've previously stated that the noble beasts of the jungle knew better than to threaten our barbaric hero I neglected to mention the proclivities of the other denizens of the Hyberbrazillian jungle—the man eating plants of the Bloodstone Forest. The sinewy jaws of the ghastly giant man eating fly trap snapped shut upon the barbarian's ankle—but no matter.
Colm's fingers spun round like a panther with opposable thumbs, clutching the hilt of his sword and unsheathing it with a single, panther-like motion. Light glinted off the blade as it sailed through the air. It effortlessly sliced the giant man eating fly trap into confetti. Colm sheathed his sword once more with a simple motion. He had not even broken his stride.