swing from above
and never, ever make a defensive manuever. They'll kill you dead.
I saw three movies this weekend, and they've left me in a bit of a sword and sorcery mood. Narnia, Lord of the Rings, and Kingdom of Heaven. Don't tell me there isn't any sorcery in K of H, cuz there ain't no way Balian survives all that shit without somebody looking over his shoulder.
Oh yeah, God. There is that. Magic, God, whatever.
The result of all this swashbuckling, two-handed, sword-swinging bloodshed, "my lord" this and "your majesty" that, good triumphing over evil always--not to mention Orlando Bloom covered in artistically placed patches of blood--is that I really want to go after some baddie with a sword, feel the hot spray of his blood across my face, and plug a few arrows through his sidekick's mail shirt. But, alas, I have no sword, nor arrows with broadheads, nor a handy evil target in a mail shirt.
I do have my children, currently brawling in the kitchen, but that sort of discipline is frowned upon, I'm sure.
Stuck with living this sort of life vicariously through Sean, who is about to kick his minor-enemy's ass and take over his barony, my only recourse is to go lift weights, which makes me feel tough.
I'm also having my annual yuletide crisis of faith, but you don't want to get into that.