34th Day of Winter, 508 AV
It was getting better, but that didn’t it was getting any easier. He’d only recently changed his stance, and the key was, as always, repetition. The instructors had no expectation of Elias becoming the most skilled archer that both hallowed Ravok and blasted Syliras would ever laid eyes upon, and that was a good thing, but they still demanded a superb level of efficiency none the less. Best in the world? Perhaps one day, but as for right now, the least he could manage was consistency.
Sinewy muscles tensed as Elias drew the bowstring back slightly, bringing the deadly weapon up to the ready so he could begin sighting the target. His feet were spread just a bit more than shoulder width apart with his left foot just a bit out in front of his right. His torso was rotated to the side so that his left shoulder was facing down towards his target. Before him it stood in quiet, contemptuous defiance. Some may have looked upon the thing and simply seen a stuffed, man sized dummy. Not Elias. To the young prospect, standing in his path was the enemy so vile and unforgivable it begged for the arrow. No! It needed the arrow, and as a good, Rhysol fearing ravokian, it was his responsibility to give it what it wanted.
Luckily for the straw man, he’d actually started hitting fairly often, but the issue was still present and annoyingly simple. His shots were all over the place. While he was hitting his target, he wasn’t hitting it where he wanted to. Aiming for the chest and then catching the arm. Trying for the head and hitting a thigh. The training had been easy enough at this point, or so he thought. He’d set up a target, fire at it until he could hit the same area over and over and then move the target further back and then try again. It seemed like a great idea, until he moved the target closer again. By only looking at one distance at a time, he’d been conditioning himself to only be decent at specific ranges. If he was asked to alternate or change targets that were placed twenty or so feet apart, he may as well have been starting from scratch. With four targets of varying ranges set up, Elias could set about remedying this mistake in his personal training.
The bowstring caressed the edge of his cheek as he pulled it back and muddy brown eyes locked onto the closest target about fifty feet away. In the edges of his vision he could make out the next target, another ten feet beyond that, and another ten feet beyond that one were the shadows of a third and fourth. It wouldn't do him any good to split his focus yet however, he wasn't skilled enough at his craft to do so. Instead Elias simply lined up his shot, aiming for center mass on the closest dummy, then raised the bow slightly to compensate for the distance. With his elbow tucked in nicely against his body, his draw was tight and compact. The petitioner exhaled and released the string, sending the arrow flying towards its mark. It spiraled along, cutting through the otherwise calm morning air and striking the dummy.
The arrow pierced the stuffed target in the right shoulder, sinking in and sending it swinging back on the rope from which it was suspended.
Sinewy muscles tensed as Elias drew the bowstring back slightly, bringing the deadly weapon up to the ready so he could begin sighting the target. His feet were spread just a bit more than shoulder width apart with his left foot just a bit out in front of his right. His torso was rotated to the side so that his left shoulder was facing down towards his target. Before him it stood in quiet, contemptuous defiance. Some may have looked upon the thing and simply seen a stuffed, man sized dummy. Not Elias. To the young prospect, standing in his path was the enemy so vile and unforgivable it begged for the arrow. No! It needed the arrow, and as a good, Rhysol fearing ravokian, it was his responsibility to give it what it wanted.
Luckily for the straw man, he’d actually started hitting fairly often, but the issue was still present and annoyingly simple. His shots were all over the place. While he was hitting his target, he wasn’t hitting it where he wanted to. Aiming for the chest and then catching the arm. Trying for the head and hitting a thigh. The training had been easy enough at this point, or so he thought. He’d set up a target, fire at it until he could hit the same area over and over and then move the target further back and then try again. It seemed like a great idea, until he moved the target closer again. By only looking at one distance at a time, he’d been conditioning himself to only be decent at specific ranges. If he was asked to alternate or change targets that were placed twenty or so feet apart, he may as well have been starting from scratch. With four targets of varying ranges set up, Elias could set about remedying this mistake in his personal training.
The bowstring caressed the edge of his cheek as he pulled it back and muddy brown eyes locked onto the closest target about fifty feet away. In the edges of his vision he could make out the next target, another ten feet beyond that, and another ten feet beyond that one were the shadows of a third and fourth. It wouldn't do him any good to split his focus yet however, he wasn't skilled enough at his craft to do so. Instead Elias simply lined up his shot, aiming for center mass on the closest dummy, then raised the bow slightly to compensate for the distance. With his elbow tucked in nicely against his body, his draw was tight and compact. The petitioner exhaled and released the string, sending the arrow flying towards its mark. It spiraled along, cutting through the otherwise calm morning air and striking the dummy.
The arrow pierced the stuffed target in the right shoulder, sinking in and sending it swinging back on the rope from which it was suspended.
