[Anthonius Fighter's Pit] Missing the Mark

by **Nathaniel Deveraux** on October 20th, 2013, 4:20 pm

Day 60, Season Spring, 505 AV

It was still early in the day when Nate found himself in the Pits, leather quiver bouncing on his back. He'd left most of his other equipment, including backpack and rucksack, behind today, in order to be less encumbered. Besides, the Anthonius Fighter's Pit was not supposed to be a place where a citizen of Syliras was in any inherent danger, so he saw little reason to carry his standard hunting equipment.

Despite the early morning start, Nate noted there were already a few people here, and he sighed when he realized he'd have to be calling for people to get out of the way of his shots. He'd chosen to bring a wooden log to shoot at; he'd have preferred an actual target, but the log would have to suffice. Plopping it down against the right wall, he walked back a few paces and eyed it carefully, trying to ignore the shouts and grunts of the other people there swinging away with their weapons. Nate had always been leery of sparring with live weapons; the chance of accidental injury was too high, but he supposed it also gave the sparring a sense of realism that working with wooden weapons did not.

Nate walked back about ten paces and turned his attention to his bow. He stuck one leg between the string, and the wood of the bow, and leaned the bow sideways so that he could pull on the string while letting his legs keep the wood steady. Straining against the weight of the tension, Nate pulled the string up the body of the bow, past the curvature, and onto the small notch at the end. He then lifted the bow and carefully checked both ends of it to make sure it was properly stringed; firing a bow that is not properly stringed could result in very unfortunate consequences.

Taking a breath, Nate looked down at the arrow in his hand. It, like most arrows, had a "notch" feather, set at a right angle to the nock, so that it would not contact the bow when shot. Normally, Nate preferred the four-feather arrows, since they were typically symmetrical, so there was no preferred orientation and made nocking the arrow that much easier. Still, four-feather fletching was also more expensive, and his family did not have very many funds to begin with, so with a sigh he brought the arrow up between his middle and forefinger, wrapping his thumb halfway around and resting the end of the arrow on his right fist as he drew the arrow back.

Nate took a breath, making sure to not allow his breathing to throw off his aim. Even the slightest wrong movement of the arm can have drastic effects on flight path. Trying to remember the feel of the distance from the day before, Nate eyed the log carefully, before releasing the arrow. As it sailed, Nate had already reached behind him to pull out another arrow, notching it as he watched the arrow miss the log by mere inches. It was ridiculous how he could still miss, even after all the practice he'd done, but he wanted to replicate a real situation, like yesterday's debacle with the cougar.

Nocking the second arrow, Nate drew it back again, up to his shoulder as he adjusted the aim slightly. Rapid fire of this nature was rarely accurate, but Nate figured it would also give him practice in the motions, so that getting an arrow from the quiver, drawing it, and firing it would be one smooth natural motion, rather than the choppy, deliberate ritual it was for him.

by **Nathaniel Deveraux** on October 20th, 2013, 4:59 pm

The second arrow did not fare much better than the first, this time going over the top of the log, but at least he had the general vicinity correct. The log was also a much smaller, narrower target than the normal circular ones that Nate had on occasion seen the Knights use for their target practice. It was cold comfort though; he should be able to hit the petching target by now! Grabbing a third arrow, Nate drew it back, and he could hear an ominous creak. Instantly withdrawing the arrow, Nate hurried to check the bow to make sure it hadn't cracked anywhere. That creak was not a good sound.

Looking from one end of the bow to the other, Nate's eyes pored over the wood, from the front, then the back, and down the side. As far as he could tell the bow was still in good shape; perhaps the creak had come from overdrawing it too much. With a sigh, Nate readjusted his stance, and drew the bow not quite so far back this time, not to his shoulder but just before it. The strain felt much less, but Nate was worried this draw meant he wouldn't have sufficient power in the shot.

The arrow's flight did seem... different. It wasn't exactly with less power, but it seem to sail smoother, somehow. And Nate observed as the arrowhead seemed to graze the side of the log, bouncing wildly before landing somewhere off to the left. Nate considered the log thoughtfully for a tick. Then, as he walked slowly to retrieve the three arrows, he considered what he'd learned. Perhaps it was best not to draw the arrow that far back. The recurve bow was designed to provide extra power with the same draw, after all. And that protest from the wood seemed a warning to Nate. And he intended to listen.

Nate picked up the three arrows, checking each one for signs of fracturing of the arrowhead, or splintering of the wood. Fortunately, they still seemed in good shape, so he carefully returned all but one to the quiver on his back and walked back to where he'd been standing. Drawing that arrow to the new location just above the the right bicep, Nate closed his eyes and just concentrated on the sound of his breath. He realized he was too tense, the muscles too tight, and that was throwing off his aim, so he listened to the sound of his heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down to a measured pace before opening his eyes again, and with a whoosh of air from his lungs, let it fly.

The arrow embedded itself into the top of the log, the entire thing wobbling slightly from the impact before coming to a stop. Nate grinned at the success, even though it was just one shot on a stationary target without any external distractions or prevailing winds. Nonetheless, he managed to hit his target, and that was the important thing.

by **Nathaniel Deveraux** on October 20th, 2013, 5:34 pm

Nate took another arrow from his quiver and drew it back, aiming to hit the same general area of the log again. It was supposed to be a smooth motion, but he'd been so used to drawing the string all the way to his shoulder that drawing it to his bicep seemed unnatural, and he had to think a tick before loosening the draw, letting the fletching just touch his bicep. It was a new habit he'd have to acquire, and he'd need to practice this for a few days before it would begin to feel natural. Still, the new draw had its advantages. With the bow not so tightly drawn, the strain on his arms and chest was not nearly so bad, and the smoother arrow path seemed to aid in accuracy as well.

Nate released the arrow and watched it fly toward the log, coming to rest just shy of its side, about three quarters of the way up, causing it to wobble again. Well, it didn't hit the wood anywhere near the same location, but at least he managed to hit the target at all. And a second time in a row no less, so Nate figured that this new draw length was what he needed. Walking forward, he removed the two arrows from the log, making sure not to wiggle the shaft too much for fear of splintering the arrows. Although not incredibly expensive, arrows did cost money, and the poor-quality deer pelt from the day before did not bring in sufficient money to cover a brand new set if he was careless with the one he already had. It was barely enough to pay down some of their debts, and to feed the family.

Two shots, two "hits". Even if the hits were not in the same place, they were still hits, and on a target as narrow as a log; so Nate was feeling a bit confident. Returning one of the arrows to his quiver, Nate nocked the other. Throwing his shoulders back, he lifted his right arm again, squeezed his left eye shut and took a breath. Not too far, he reminded himself, making sure he wasn't drawing the arrow all the way to his shoulder. But in his hubris, Nate had neglected to aim carefully, and simply released the arrow. It went wild, missing the log by a large margin and sailed across to embed itself in the wall beyond. Nate's brow knitted and he growled, storming over to the wall to retrieve the arrow, which was likely ruined now. It had been a foolish thing to do; he wasn't nearly good enough for a snap-shot like that to be anywhere near accurate.

Nate wriggled the arrow free of the wall, and cursed to see that indeed, the tell-tale banding of the shaft meant it had begun to splinter. Sighing, he placed it on the ground near himself; he supposed perhaps he could still use the arrowhead for something, or perhaps get a fletcher to salvage as much of the arrow as possible to make a new one. Or perhaps it would simply have to become tinder in tonight's cooking fire. Regardless, Nate knew that arrow was no longer useable for is main purpose anymore.

by **Nathaniel Deveraux** on October 20th, 2013, 6:30 pm

It was, possibly, a good thing he'd missed. Nate had been presumptuous, believing that hitting the target twice meant he could hit it again. And he hadn't aimed, which was a clear indication of why the arrow had gone so wild. But in the field, unless he was able to stalk his prey the way he did that deer, it would often be the case that he'd need to hit moving targets, and if he had this much difficulty with a stationary one, Nate had no confidence he'd be able to hit something like a fox, or even a buck if it was on the move.

Taking several deep breaths, Nate reached back and drew another arrow. He readied it in the usual manner, making sure to keep his back straight and his arms steady. Right arm straight, and Nate noticed that by not drawing the bow all the way to his shoulder, he was no longer canting the bow to the left. Huh. Interesting; perhaps it was his arm's way of compensating for the extra strain. In any case, Nate made sure to level out the bow by making it as parallel to the vertical log as possible, then took careful aim. A tick passed. Then two. He took a breath, and released the arrow with his breath.

"Thunk!" The arrow sank into the log, this time closer to the bottom and thus did not rock the log as much as his other two shots had. Nate did not celebrate or really feel any joy; the last time he'd done that he'd missed entirely. Instead, he drew yet another arrow from the quiver and took aim again, trying to hit the same location. He could see his arm wobbling slightly, and he willed it to not move so much, knowing that its wobble was probably what was causing his lack of precision. Nate could now feel a burn not only in his arms and chest but down to his stomach and core, as well, but it was not severe enough to prevent Nate from continuing.

Nate's left hand let go of the arrow, and it slid across his right hand, the tension of the string suddenly loosening and propelling the projectile forward. As it sang across the field Nate was already reaching for another arrow, and he almost smiled when it struck home yet again. It was still nowhere near where he'd actually aimed; this time the arrow struck the log nearing the top again, causing some fairly significant wobble. Nate just shrugged and nocked the arrow in his hand against the string. Precision would have to come with practice, after all.

Nate tried to see if he could take aim a bit faster this time. He had taken nearly half a chime the last two times, and in the field when hunting game that would be enough time for many animals to simply run away. Obviously the log was not going anywhere, so he could take his time aiming here, but the whole point of this practice was to see if he couldn't make aiming the shot a natural thing, something he could instinctively feel and as such wouldn't have to waste precious ticks consciously doing it.

So this time, Nate tried to feel how high above the log he needed to aim, using the knuckles only as a rough guide and guesstimating the rest. And he did not spend ticks in his mind trying to calculate things, but tried to feel the shot and how far to the left or right he'd need to lean the bow to compensate for various factors. But he wasn't skilled enough to truly feel the weapon. So when Nate finally released the arrow after only "aiming" for about three ticks it flew off to the side, missing the log by a few inches.

by **Nathaniel Deveraux** on October 20th, 2013, 7:49 pm

So he needed more than just a few ticks to aim. That was fine; he just wanted to see how quickly he could aim and still reliably hit the target. So, half a chime and he seemed capable of hitting a log-sized target with somewhat-decent accuracy and practically no precision. A few ticks, and he wildly misses. So he would probably need ten or so ticks, Nate estimated, of somewhat focused aiming, before he'd be able to hit. Or so he hoped. He walked forward, bending over to wiggle loose the arrows that managed to hit the log, then walked over and got the arrow that had missed entirely.

He had been there for nearly a bell, now, and Nate realized he probably should wrap this up. He still needed to try to acquire something useful from the woods if he was going to be able to feed his sisters tonight, and he was greatly irritated he couldn't have brought home some of the venison from that deer he'd killed. If only he had a means by which to drag it back, and not be attacked by every wolf in the Bronze Woods... even if he could, he worried that the meat would spoil before he could get it back to Syliras.

In any case it was a moot point. Nate eyed the log in front of him almost warily, as he readied his bow and took aim again. Ten ticks, he'd said. Very well. He took a breath and held it, waiting for ten beats of his heart to pass as he aimed the best he could. With more time to guesstimate, he was able to move the bow hand slightly more to the left, and raised it slightly below the first knuckle. That felt about right, anyway, but really there was only one way to know for sure. Nate exhaled as he let the arrow fly, and fly it did, right into the wood of the log. By sheer luck, this shot hit the log right smack dab in the middle, although it was no cause for celebration since that was not in fact where Nate had been aiming. Ah well.

So ten ticks seemed sufficient time, it seemed, and Nate no longer needed to aim a full half-chime, though it was still clear that the longer he had to aim, the more precise his shots. Reaching back, Nate retrieved yet another arrow from the quiver, and nocked it against the string. He'd fired maybe a dozen arrows today, perhaps more, he'd lost count. Still, the day was young, and he had plenty of time to go out and hunt after this was over. Drawing the arrow to his bicep, Nate squeezed shut his left eye and aimed carefully. Ten ticks, as he'd recalled. He held his breath and adjusted his aim, making sure he had the right angle, and then...

The arrow leapt from the bow, cutting across the air to embed itself in the wood of the log opposite of where Nate was standing. All in all, it had been a decent shot. This one hit the log a bit off of center, and about four-fifths the way up. Nate shrugged. At least it was an accurate shot, if not a precise one. he'd need to work on tightening his aim, and making sure his arm didn't shift too much during the aiming. Of course, this was all predicated on his aim not being completely ruined by some external distraction, but at least he seemed to finally be getting a hang of his weapon.

~Fin~

by **Perplexity** on October 20th, 2013, 8:53 pm

Riddled with Rewards!

Nathaniel

Weapon: Short Bow	+4 XP
Observation	+2 XP
Meditation	+1 XP
Bodybuilding	+1 XP
Logic	+1 XP

Lores :

Notes :

Completed [Anthonius Fighter's Pit] Missing the Mark