Closed Mistaken Identity

[Oworo Birdflight]

5th day of Winter, 513 AV 13th Bell, The Stained Pelt Notch, draw, twang. Breathe in, breathe out. Notch, draw, twang. Breathe in, breathe out. Oworo Birdflight was in a trance, a tranquility that only came about when he had a bow in his hands. The slight brush of feathers across his fingertips, the rugged bow string that brushed his cheek as he pulled it back, the firmness of the grip in his hand as he locked his elbow . . . it was all intoxicating to the Drykas. He had lost his family, his friends, his way of life; nothing had been left to him except the strength to pull a bow back. And really, that was all Oworo needed. Yet, it had felt so long since he had used it. Since arriving to the city weeks and weeks ago, Oworo had little time to just go somewhere and shoot. Winter had since opened his schedule, so Oworo felt he needed to fulfill this desire. He had asked around all yesterday before he was finally pointed in the direction of this little place. The Stained Pelt, they had called it, the place to go for your archery needs. The search was hard even with directions for others who had been there before. But he had found it sure enough. And he loved it. Reaching into the quiver strapped to his waist, he pulled an arrow free, hands instinctively moving down to the center; this was the way his grandfather had taught him to notch an arrow. Bringing the arrow up with his left hand, he notched it slowly, and then looked up at the targets ten yards ahead of him. His eyes focused in on the straw bale, where a dozen of his other arrows already protruded out; it looked vaguely liked a pincushion as the cliche went. Oworo lifted the bow up, left hand wrapping around the fetching on the end of the arrow. He pulled back gracefully, his arms used to the weight on the bowstring. And then he composed himself. Breathe in, breathe out. Several times he did this, until he felt his body balance himself out. His focus became clearer, his senses more acute. And then he closed his left eye. Oh, many a time had he faced scorn from family over the action. They always told him it didn't help the aim. He had listened to them in the beginning, attempted to change. . . Release. Impact was just above the center . . . but then he realized if it wasn't broken, why fix it? The shot wasn't his best of the day, but then again, he wasn't out for perfection. He knew on a man that would've hit the torso, definitely knocking the wind out of him if not killing him. The aim would come with more practice. For now, he'd settle for the tranquility. Notch, draw, twang

NOTE: -3 sm for access to range.

[Faryon Whiteflower]

Faryon's mission was simple, check out the Stained Pelt and see if bows would be her ranged weapon of choice. She still couldn't think of a proper ranged weapon to take up, since Kavala had told her it was necessary for her to learn. Unlike her choice for a melee weapon, the quarter staff, Faryon couldn't think of a ranged weapon that wouldn't harm someone too bad if they were hit with it. Her original intent was to find something that would merely incapacitate her foe, long enough to escape but as the teen was going over her options nothing came to mind. So she figured maybe a short bow but instead of hitting vitals, hit spots that would slow them down. Or at least that was her goal. The temperature had dropped quickly with the change of the season and the teen found herself pulling her cloak closer to her to retain the heat within. Riverfall had seen its first snowfall a few days ago but it didn't stay for long, of which, Faryon was glad. The young woman wasn't too keen on cold weather and rather deal with it where it was not in it but somewhere warm and maybe with a cup of tea. The Drykas reached the Stained Pelt with little difficulty, even if she had gotten lost a couple times along the way. It was located outside of Riverfall and wasn't that bad of a walk from the Sanctuary. Faryon was taken back by the appearance of the place and was equally unpleased that the archery range was outside. In her right mind, she would have turned back around, and tried a different day and one that was warmer. However there was a man already there and she could just watch for a bit. The man sported long dark chestnut hair and was taller than Faryon but then again most men in this city were. He seemed well fit and was slightly tanned. He had notched his arrow and was ready to let it fly but instead he stood there for a few ticks unmoving. Glancing away from the brunette, Faryon looked at his target. The arrows were haphazardly sticking out at random spots. The Drykas was no expert but she thought the goal was to hit the center. "For an instructor, he sure is a lousy shot." Faryon said out loud in Pavi. She didn't expect the man to know her tongue and besides he looked so deeply engrossed in what he was doing, he hardly was paying her any mind.

[Oworo Birdflight]

Oworo had been so absorbed with his training that he didn't notice the presence of the girl until she spoke. The Pavi tongue hit him immediately, the beauty of the language a sound he always loved to here. He had been hearing it more and more since arriving in Riverfall, for which he appreciated greatly. Although the comment of the woman behind him wasn't the kindest. She had insulted his ability to use his weapon. Furthermore, she had referred to him as an instructor . . . Oworo turned to address the woman, his eyes taking here in. She was short, young, with black hair kept braided atop her head. Although his people had no distinguishing traits, Oworo felt that this woman had come from the horse clans; something about her demeanor, her willingness to speak her mind. Her eyes were a pale grey, an intriguing color, a color that you could you lose yourself in. He himself probably would've fallen into the trap too if it weren't for the sight above them that attracted his attention. To Oworo's surprise, her forehead was covered by a strange, shimmering mark. Almost like a tattoo, the image of two serpents shimmered in the sunlight. The snakes twist and turn to form almost a mask around the eyes. If it weren't for the strange shine, he would've took this as nothing more than a strange windmark. Except it wasn't, at least not any windmark he had ever seen in his life. This was definitely something beyond Oworo's current understanding. To cover his shock, Oworo speaks out to the woman, in the same language she didn't believe he'd understand. "Who is it, if I may ask, that questions my ability with this here weapon?" Oworo gestures to the bow in his hand. "Furthermore, is she going to match her words with a display over her own competence?" All of this was said with a soft grin on his face; Oworo hadn't been offended by the woman's doubt, since the evidence certainly wasn't in his favor. He merely wanted to cover his own shock and learn a little more about this woman along the way.

[Faryon Whiteflower]

A blush started to grow across Faryon's face. She wasn't sure it was because the man had understood her, the fact he was addressing her, or him calling her out on her own lack of skill in the bow. He had ask of her name but her once boldness of the tongue was no longer there. The teen stood there for a few ticks trying to the courage and tongue to answer the handsome man. The Drykas really wasn't expecting him to know Pavi and it was completely throwing her off. She was going to ask him for a few pointers after she had observed him further. Knowing it would probably make her look silly, Faryon faced away from the man and took a deep breathe to clear her head some and focus on getting her tongue to work properly. A few ticks passed before the young woman was able to work up a nerve to speak. However the blush ever remained. "I'm Faryon Whiteflower, bonded to Kachal." she managed to say above a loud whisper. "As far as my skill in the bow.." Faryon bit her lip, she didn't want to admit her lack of skill but if she went up there and attempted to show otherwise, the Drykas would fail miserably and he would surely laugh at her. The teen weighed her options and decided to tell the truth. "I dont even know how to draw a bow properly. I'm sorry for my words earlier." The blush was surely beet red now but she had worked up enough courage to look the man in his hazel eyes and have a face to convey she was indeed sorry all while a look of slight pride. For what who knows since she lacked in bow. Hell she didn't even know what kind of bow he was using.

[Oworo Birdflight]

Oworo's words brought a flush to the woman's face that no alcohol ever hoped to equal. As he had just been moments before, this woman was now transfixed, frozen by the actions of another. Oworo knew what had shocked him, but what was her excuse? Was it the fact that he understood her that had flustered her so, or his questions? The woman turned away from him for a moment, an action Oworo wasn't quite expecting. He didn't make any move, though, standing fixated in the same spot until the woman spoke. It only took a few moments for her to compose herself enough to turn back around and finally address him; if she did look him in the eye when she spoke, she'd see a warm smile on her face, hopefully a gesture she wouldn't take as mocking. She announced herself almost formally as Faryon Whiteflower, and even told him the name of the Strider she was bonded too. After an interruption in her dialogue, brought about by a nervous bite of her lip, she went on to explain her own skill, or lack there of, with the bow. She even apologized for her earlier comments. She definitely was a timid girl, not at all a fan of direct social interaction. Oworo nodded once she had finished, before returning the greeting. "I'm Oworo Birdflight, currently bonded to no Strider, though had been in the past." Oworo purposely neglected to explain how he had lost his Strider, letting the girl come to her own conclusion. It would've been better to just tell her outright, but he didn't feel the need to. If the woman truly wished to know more, she'd ask. "As to your comments, I see no need to apologize. I must admit the evidence here doesn't really stand in my favor, so I feel no slight by your words." Oworo's smile, which had slipped in the introduction, returned full blast at this. He truly wasn't offended by the woman's words, mostly because something inside had told him she was no better. His comments had come off a little harsh, yes, but they were nothing more than a ploy for Oworo to prove his assumption. "Did you come here to learn the art of archery, if I may ask? It truly is a valuable skill to learn, and one I'm more than willing to guide you in." A pause. "At least, until someone more . . . skilled comes along." With that said, Oworo pulls an arrow free of the quiver at his hip, and holds it out along with bow to Faryon, waiting for her to step forward.

[Faryon Whiteflower]

Faryon wasn't sure if she should feel relieved or not that Oworo had dismissed her misplaced words. He made it seem that it was fine but his tone said otherwise. However the teen decided she wouldn't dwell on it but perhaps make it up to him somehow. Even at the mentioning of once having a Strider, the older man seemed off somehow and Faryon couldn't quite figure it out but she didn't have the courage to ask him further on it. Oworo then asked her what her intentions were by coming to the Stained Pelt and oddly enough offered his services. He held out his own bow and an arrow to Faryon and waited to see what she would do. "I came here to observe the art to see if this was something I wished to pick up." Faryon looked down at the brunette's visual offer. Oworo did seem to know what he was doing and to her knowledge no one at the Sanctuary had archery as a skill so in a way what did she have to lose? The Drykas stepped forward, little shakily at first but after a few steps it was gone. She gently took the weapon from his hands and studied it. It was beautiful golden color with a slight sheen to it. It looked to be like any other traditional bow but it seemed to have some extra materials to it. Faryon really had no idea what she was doing but now that she was here the teen was determined to learn something. "I do not know about someone coming along and being more skilled than you and become suddenly fickle and run off with them but I am willing to learn." Faryon said while trying to hold back some laughter. She didn't mean to offend further but the thought of running after someone else to teach her because they were more skilled was a ridiculous notion. In a way Faryon was loyal once she deemed it worth it and Oworo had won the gesture somehow. "So what do I need to do first?" She was starting to warm up to the man, all traces of blush and timid gone. The teen even offered a smiled with her words.

[Oworo Birdflight]

"You know when I was young, a lad on my grandfather's knee, he told me a story about an bird." Oworo said softly as Faryon told him the reasoning behind her visit to the Stained Pelt. "This bird spent every day in the sky, observing everything around him. He flew over the Pavilions, seeing everything we did. He saw how we spoke to one another, how we fought, how we lived; This bird saw it all. Yet when he died, he died an unsatisfied bird. Why? Because he hadn't lived himself. He had seen everything, yet did nothing." Oworo cut off as the girl took the weapon from his hand. When he spoke again, it was almost to himself. "The moral was to use all the senses you had been given, not just one, and never think anything in your life wasn't worth trying once." He fell silent at this, brooding on his own thoughts as the woman admired his weapon. When she spoke again, though, commenting on his jest, he returned his gaze upon her with a warm smile across his face. He didn't respond to her assurance of remaining loyal to his teaching, only nodding in thanks. When she asked what she was to do first, though, he spoke up, pointing to the bow in her hand as he spoke. "First, you need to establish your dominant hand, as it'll be the one you'll use to pull the string back. I'm right handed, so I place my left hand here in the middle, like a fist." Oworo steps beside Faryon at this point, and demonstrates how to grip the bow on the center grip. "I prefer to wrap my fingers around the wood, like a fist, but I've seen others that tucked their fingers underneath the grip instead, using only there thumb to hold it. Obviously, you'll know which one will give you better control of the bow, at least until you get better with it." Oworo reached down to his thigh and pulled out an arrow from the quiver; he was running low, he noted, which meant they'd only have a few shots before it was time to retrieve them all from the target. Holding the arrow in the center, he gestured to the fletching on the end of it. All the feathers were black, save for a single gray feather in the middle of it. "The gray feather is there to remind you how to notch the arrow; if the gray feather is facing you when you notch the bow, you know you did it right. Now notch the bow. Just place the fletched side of the bow on the center of the string; the groove, or nock, will fit snugly on it if you do it right." And with that, Oworo fell silent, watching to see how his new student will do.