23rd of Fall, 501 AV
As the wind blew the grass about and the sun shone down on the pavilion, Azmere was biting his lip and trying to twist as much thornrope as possible. His grandfather told him that if he finished two spools he could practice his archery. Thornrope was an interesting device. The thick vines that sometimes covered arid patches of the plain had long, pointed thorns. Azmere’s great-grandfather, Asmodeus, found that cattle truly disliked this weed and decided to use it as a means to create pens. If twisted or braided with several cords, the vine becomes extremely strong. The method became braiding this rope into long spools which can be attached to an arrow and fired into posts or trees then tied off at the other end. The task of moving a herd was simplified with this invention and the Stormbloods have made it a staple chore that is taught to all of their children.
This is the task that Azmere had been working on all day. Each spool consisted of three vines and would range in length from seventy to one hundred feet [this depended upon how large the thorns were and how tightly the vines were woven]. For Azmere, he was meticulous in his task. He enjoyed the art of avoiding the thorns and the tediousness gave him a way to pass the time that didn’t involve manure. Each spool was coiled around a water pot. Azmere was very careful about his task and made some of the finest strands. His spools were so well wound that one could grasp the entire coil without much effort since the thorns seemed to always line up with one another. He had just finished his spool and was about to retrieve more vines when a shadow passed over his form.
Azmere looked up to see his grandfather standing over him. The sun was behind the man so the boy could not make out his face. “Well done, Azmere.” His grandfather’s voice was deep and reflected very little emotion but Azmere perked up at the compliment. “Clean up your mess and then we can practice your shot.”
The boy, who was now a teenager, show up from his squatted position and briskly put away the rod used to twist the vines and the special pliers used to trim them. He grabbed his coiled thornrope and carefully carried it to the small shelter where items for the herd are kept. He then scurried into his hut to retrieve his bow and quiver. It was the same bow that he had taken with him on the night he and Abednego faced the glassbeaks. It has changed a bit since then.
Azmere knew many warriors fought with both archery and a melee weapon. This was natural since battle, by its nature, is chaotic. No one can predict what may happen in a fight so a true fighter prepares for multiple scenarios. Azmere elected to modify his bow so that it may be used in melee combat as well as ranged. The exploded glassbeak left behind many parts. Azmere attached a talon to each end giving him the ability to slice his foes and deflect lighter attacks. He also found the hook beak and, with help, molded it over the grip. This made Azmere happy because his punches are now lethal even as a light jab. His mother grimaced once these things were properly added commenting that the bow seemed “like something from a nightmare”.
The boy held his weapon like one does a cherished treasure. He walked with confidence from his lodging but it was far different from the arrogance he once held; an ignorant arrogance, at that. He moved to stand next to Alvont, his grandfather. He looked over to the man who was only slightly taller but much larger in build. “Where will we go today, Ankal?”
“I think we’ll head to the knoll. It’s been a while since you’ve had to deal with the swirling winds.” The large hand of the old man clamped down on the shoulder of his descendant and the two set off to the east. About a mile from their pavilion was a slightly elevated piece of land that harbored a single tree. This made an excellent place for target practice since the shifting winds of the plain seemed to meet at this location. For one reason or another; be it geography or topography or just the tree itself, this patch of dirt made discerning the direction of the wind nearly impossible. Azmere also held the belief that his Ankal revered the land. The old Stormwarden must’ve felt closer to Zulrav in a place where the wind was unpredictable and frustratingly powerful. Regardless, the pair walked along in silence for most of the path. Azmere and his Ankal were comfortable with one another and need not fill the space with meaningless conversation. Also, it should be known that silence in the Sea of Grass afforded travelers the ability to be keenly aware of what was going on in the tall weeds. The presence of predators would silence the chirps and squeaks of bugs and critters. Today, the locust were quite noisy.
