Sumer 44, 499AV
Amaric squeezed Breezeflank with his thighs, clinging tight to her yvas as he urged her to go faster. With his short legs, he could barely stay perched across the strider's broad back, and before long his muscles were cramping painfully, but he trusted her not to let him fall. The warm sun beat down upon his back, but the wind of their speed was cool. The warm smell of the animal beneath him, the sweet scent of the dry, crushed grass beneath her hooves, the rush of speed and the thrill at the thought of being caught made Amaric giddy, and after turning to ensure he was out of earshot of the pavilion, he dared to let out a small whoop.
Breezeflank seemed to share his excitement; tossing her mane and taking a small leap over a furrow in the earth. The adolescent boy atop her was not prepared for the landing, and his teeth jarred and his stomach rolled. Amaric flattened himself atop the strider's back, as he had been taught, bringing his shape in line with her own, and moved his hips and shoulders with her until they moved as one.
Unable to contain his excitement, he burst into happy song close to Breezeflank's ear- it was one of her favourites; she always edged closer to the fireside when she heard the call and response taken up by the pavilion in the evenings, knicking her approval in all the right parts.
The South Wind whispered through the plains
and along the riversides,
a gentle zephyr of promised love
as the Storm Lord kissed his bride.
The Sea of Grass bent to his words
in a great and joyful tide;
the Goddess stirred and smiled then
and sweetly she replied.
The West Wind broke into mighty song
turning even the boldest to hide,
his devotion, awoken, now filled the air
where it shall forever reside.
To his voice, now, she added hers;
the grasses softly sighed,
taking her lover to her breast
to watch the fierce hawks glide.
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Impetuous youth is tempered by stern experience
(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role playing forum. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)The Wilderness of Cyphrus is an endless sea of tall grass that rolls just like the oceans themselves. Geysers kiss the sky with their steamy breath, and mysterious craters create microworlds all their own. But above all danger lives here in the tall grass in the form of fierce wild creatures; elegant serpents that swim through the land like whales through the ocean and fierce packs of glassbeaks that hunt in packs which are only kept at bay by fires. Traverse it carefully, with a guide if possible, for those that venture alone endanger themselves in countless ways.
Lessons
by Amaric Singspear on September 29th, 2015, 2:27 pm
Last edited by Amaric Singspear on October 13th, 2015, 10:35 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Amaric Singspear - Player
- Posts: 25
- Words: 16797
- Joined roleplay: September 16th, 2015, 5:08 am
- Location: Cyphrus
- Race: Human, Drykas
- Character sheet
Lessons
by Amaric Singspear on October 6th, 2015, 2:35 pm
And the North Wind danced now through the camps
in the light by the fire side,
across the grass where the glassbeaks hunt
and the Drykas bravely ride.
The Mother Mizahar swayed with him
with beauty, grace, and pride;
pride for the flowing, fleet-hoofed herds
where her sacred children stride.
As he sang the third verse, Amaric and Breezeflank reached his intended destination. The long grass gave way to a well-grazed pasture, cut short by a small zibri herd that had been allowed to roam nearby earlier in the season. There was a small copse of trees in the middle of the pasture, where the longer grass was criss-crossed by the pathways of the small animals which burrowed among the roots.
Amaric was still singing when he dismounted and stepped confidently around Breezeflank's side, where she could see him, and came to stand in front of her. He placed his arms around her neck, and smiled as she nuzzled him and snorted in recognition, blowing his hair out behind him. She winnied her objection and fidgeted as he lifted her feet to give her hooves a cursory inspection, but eventually, with much shushing and comforting tones, he was able to satisfy himself that they were in good health.
Amaric moved back in front of her, stroking her mane and fingering the colourful braids while he sang, reaching into her yvas and drawing out his waterskin.
At last, the East Wind caressed her hair
and kissed her deep and wide;
their passion the scent of heaving earth
as the summer storm subsides.
She drew him close, and clasped his face,
all burdens cast aside,
embracing upon the Sea of Grass
entwined and satisfied.
Taking a long drink, Amaric then poured some water over Breezeflank's neck, back and flanks, rubbing her down with his hands as he went. It was midsummer, and hot, and they were both sweating heavily- he did not want her salty sweat to chafe her skin beneath the weight of yvas or rider when he mounted later for home. He had to stand on his toes to reach the top of her back, and before he was done, Breezeflank shook herself, covering him in a mist of horse smell. He laughed.
Amaric returned the waterskin to the yvas, and with butterflies in his stomach, drew forth his prize.
The polished wood of his uncle's shortbow shone as it caught the sun. In Amaric's small hands, it looked comically large. He traced his fingers with delight over the carved designs on the front of the bow- the two headed snake, the fearsome glassbeak talons which curved into the nocks at the end of the bow's limbs; and the accompanying pale, yellow feather that hung from the lower limb. The exaggerated pictures of his uncle's quarries stirred his imagination and excitement. He imagined himself, with feathers of all kinds braided into his hair, pelts hung from his clothes, passing around just such a bow at the fireside, telling tall tales about his conquests and how they came to be depicted in the wood.
With difficulty, he managed to string the bow. He had to brace it against the earth, and the upper limb dug into the loose soil a few inches, but with great care, he was finally able to knot the string as he had been taught; so that the tension would rest not on the string itself, but on the flexible, ornate limbs.
in the light by the fire side,
across the grass where the glassbeaks hunt
and the Drykas bravely ride.
The Mother Mizahar swayed with him
with beauty, grace, and pride;
pride for the flowing, fleet-hoofed herds
where her sacred children stride.
As he sang the third verse, Amaric and Breezeflank reached his intended destination. The long grass gave way to a well-grazed pasture, cut short by a small zibri herd that had been allowed to roam nearby earlier in the season. There was a small copse of trees in the middle of the pasture, where the longer grass was criss-crossed by the pathways of the small animals which burrowed among the roots.
Amaric was still singing when he dismounted and stepped confidently around Breezeflank's side, where she could see him, and came to stand in front of her. He placed his arms around her neck, and smiled as she nuzzled him and snorted in recognition, blowing his hair out behind him. She winnied her objection and fidgeted as he lifted her feet to give her hooves a cursory inspection, but eventually, with much shushing and comforting tones, he was able to satisfy himself that they were in good health.
Amaric moved back in front of her, stroking her mane and fingering the colourful braids while he sang, reaching into her yvas and drawing out his waterskin.
At last, the East Wind caressed her hair
and kissed her deep and wide;
their passion the scent of heaving earth
as the summer storm subsides.
She drew him close, and clasped his face,
all burdens cast aside,
embracing upon the Sea of Grass
entwined and satisfied.
Taking a long drink, Amaric then poured some water over Breezeflank's neck, back and flanks, rubbing her down with his hands as he went. It was midsummer, and hot, and they were both sweating heavily- he did not want her salty sweat to chafe her skin beneath the weight of yvas or rider when he mounted later for home. He had to stand on his toes to reach the top of her back, and before he was done, Breezeflank shook herself, covering him in a mist of horse smell. He laughed.
Amaric returned the waterskin to the yvas, and with butterflies in his stomach, drew forth his prize.
The polished wood of his uncle's shortbow shone as it caught the sun. In Amaric's small hands, it looked comically large. He traced his fingers with delight over the carved designs on the front of the bow- the two headed snake, the fearsome glassbeak talons which curved into the nocks at the end of the bow's limbs; and the accompanying pale, yellow feather that hung from the lower limb. The exaggerated pictures of his uncle's quarries stirred his imagination and excitement. He imagined himself, with feathers of all kinds braided into his hair, pelts hung from his clothes, passing around just such a bow at the fireside, telling tall tales about his conquests and how they came to be depicted in the wood.
With difficulty, he managed to string the bow. He had to brace it against the earth, and the upper limb dug into the loose soil a few inches, but with great care, he was finally able to knot the string as he had been taught; so that the tension would rest not on the string itself, but on the flexible, ornate limbs.
Last edited by Amaric Singspear on October 10th, 2015, 12:17 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Amaric Singspear - Player
- Posts: 25
- Words: 16797
- Joined roleplay: September 16th, 2015, 5:08 am
- Location: Cyphrus
- Race: Human, Drykas
- Character sheet
Lessons
by Amaric Singspear on October 9th, 2015, 3:38 am
Sweating from the exertion, Amaric leant against Breezeflank, and thumbed the dirt from the bow's limb. He wiped his hands on the front of his trousers, and awkwardly pushed around the long hair that was plastered over his forehead and obstructing his vision.
He stripped his shirt off and wiped his face with it, stuffing it carelessly into his yvas, and pulling out his waterskin to take another swig. He poured a few handfuls out and held them out for Breezeflank, and wiped his hands on his trousers again.
Setting the bow down carefully in the grass, treating it as a fragile, precious object, and without daring to take his eyes off of it, Amaric drew four pilfered arrows from his yvas too. Holding them at arms length, point down, almost fearfully, Amaric sprang back to where the bow lay nestled in the grass. He felt as though he were vibrating all over with excitement, as though anyone looking at him would see only a green, pink and yellow blur. He could hear hs blood racing in his ears.
Amaric sat down before the bow, where he could see Breezeflank. He was too excited and full of nerves to start anything yet, so he just sat and watched the horse graze. Trying to calm down was like trying to learn webbing. He imagined the state of mind he was supposed to be in, pulling off his boots and feeling the lush summer grass warm between his toes. His feet were sweaty, and he wrinkled his nose a little at the smell, crossed his legs, and imagined his mother's words as she tried to guide him through an awareness of every part of his body, starting from his stomach and radiating outwards. He sat like this for a while, until his mind was at the tips of his fngers and toes.
It was at this point that he usually got bored and stopped listening, and let his mind wander to more entertaining things, or opened his eyes and watched what was going on around him instead, and today was no exception. Amaric watched Breezeflank at rest, grinning warmly, as he fingered the arrows and inspected them, soaking up every detail.
They were long- at least the length of his arm- and he marvelled at how straight they were. It did not occur to him that family members at various times had tried to teach him this craft, if he would only sit still- to Amaric, it may as well have been magic.
The tips were narrow and leaf shaped, cast in dark, cold iron. He relished the sensation, enjoying the indentations they left in his thumb as he squeezed them. They were unbarbed, made to pierce deep and to fly accurately. Amaric shut one eye and held them up to the sun, squinting and trying to see the arrow point at its thinnest, but it was too bright.
Each arrow was fletched with three trimmed feathers. The cock feather on each was dyed dark green, and painted with two thin, diagonal black stripes- Uncle Samal had told Amaric that this was his mark, so that he would always know, after a hunt, which trophies were his. Amaric thought it somewhat boring. When he had a bow, his mark would be elaborate and impressive and intricate. Everyone would marvel at his prowess. He set his jaw in determination, and stood.
Still excited, he wasn't quivering anymore. One by one, careful not to break them, and intensely aware of where his bare toes were, Amaric stuck three of the arrows into the ground an inch or so deep, so that they stood around him like the beams of a tiny pavilion. He held the fourth loosely in his right hand, allowing it to dangle at his side, as he turned his attention towards to copse of trees, were small animals made tracks in the grass and nested amongst the roots.
He stripped his shirt off and wiped his face with it, stuffing it carelessly into his yvas, and pulling out his waterskin to take another swig. He poured a few handfuls out and held them out for Breezeflank, and wiped his hands on his trousers again.
Setting the bow down carefully in the grass, treating it as a fragile, precious object, and without daring to take his eyes off of it, Amaric drew four pilfered arrows from his yvas too. Holding them at arms length, point down, almost fearfully, Amaric sprang back to where the bow lay nestled in the grass. He felt as though he were vibrating all over with excitement, as though anyone looking at him would see only a green, pink and yellow blur. He could hear hs blood racing in his ears.
Amaric sat down before the bow, where he could see Breezeflank. He was too excited and full of nerves to start anything yet, so he just sat and watched the horse graze. Trying to calm down was like trying to learn webbing. He imagined the state of mind he was supposed to be in, pulling off his boots and feeling the lush summer grass warm between his toes. His feet were sweaty, and he wrinkled his nose a little at the smell, crossed his legs, and imagined his mother's words as she tried to guide him through an awareness of every part of his body, starting from his stomach and radiating outwards. He sat like this for a while, until his mind was at the tips of his fngers and toes.
It was at this point that he usually got bored and stopped listening, and let his mind wander to more entertaining things, or opened his eyes and watched what was going on around him instead, and today was no exception. Amaric watched Breezeflank at rest, grinning warmly, as he fingered the arrows and inspected them, soaking up every detail.
They were long- at least the length of his arm- and he marvelled at how straight they were. It did not occur to him that family members at various times had tried to teach him this craft, if he would only sit still- to Amaric, it may as well have been magic.
The tips were narrow and leaf shaped, cast in dark, cold iron. He relished the sensation, enjoying the indentations they left in his thumb as he squeezed them. They were unbarbed, made to pierce deep and to fly accurately. Amaric shut one eye and held them up to the sun, squinting and trying to see the arrow point at its thinnest, but it was too bright.
Each arrow was fletched with three trimmed feathers. The cock feather on each was dyed dark green, and painted with two thin, diagonal black stripes- Uncle Samal had told Amaric that this was his mark, so that he would always know, after a hunt, which trophies were his. Amaric thought it somewhat boring. When he had a bow, his mark would be elaborate and impressive and intricate. Everyone would marvel at his prowess. He set his jaw in determination, and stood.
Still excited, he wasn't quivering anymore. One by one, careful not to break them, and intensely aware of where his bare toes were, Amaric stuck three of the arrows into the ground an inch or so deep, so that they stood around him like the beams of a tiny pavilion. He held the fourth loosely in his right hand, allowing it to dangle at his side, as he turned his attention towards to copse of trees, were small animals made tracks in the grass and nested amongst the roots.
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Amaric Singspear - Player
- Posts: 25
- Words: 16797
- Joined roleplay: September 16th, 2015, 5:08 am
- Location: Cyphrus
- Race: Human, Drykas
- Character sheet
Lessons
by Amaric Singspear on October 10th, 2015, 2:13 am
Amaric stood for a long time like this, watching and waiting, listening to Breezeflank's footfalls as she padded around, at a loose end. Her patience for things that did not interest her was no better than his. Once or twice she came to nuzzle him, snorting gently in his ear, urging him to ride, to go fast, to sing and pay attention to her. He pushed her way, affectionately but with increasing annoyance, and felt a pang of guilt each time. He hoped that the strider's fidgetting would not scare away the game; that the animals here would be used enough to zibri grazing around them.
The sun was hot, and quickly became unbearable. As it moved across the sky, it shone more and more in Amaric's face, and seemed to burn more fiercely as it did so. He rubbed his eyes, realising that he had not blinked for a long time now- he did not know how long. He quickly stared back at the copse of trees, hoping that he had not missed his chance, blinking quickly several times, impatient for the fog to clear from his vision. He did not dare to mop the sweat from his brow or to look away long enough to fetch his waterskin again from Breezeflank's yvas. It was nearly empty anyway.
He did not dare move his limbs, or risk making any kind of sound, and so it was not long before his joints began to ache. It was dull at first, but soon intensified, until he felt his skin was crawling, and his eyes watered from the pain. He was accutely aware of the position and muscle tension of every inch of his body; like some kind of awful involuntary meditation, and just when he felt he must cry out in frustration, to excise this discomfort, he finally saw it- movement in one of the tracks.
Amaric dropped stiffly into a crouch and almost sighed with relief, as a twitching, nervous nose and downy fur in brown and white emerged tentatively onto the pasture. Stock still, he coaxed the small creature further out in his thoughts, practically pleading.
It was a rabbit, inching slowly further out, ears low across its back, leaning up on its hind legs after every couple of steps to test the air with its tireless, animated nostrils, before stretching out its neck and body to reach the shorter grass, trimmed by the zibri to the tenderest part of the stem.
When the rabbit was several body lenghts out of the tall grass and seemed comfortable with its surroundings, Amaric dared to stand up again, as slowly and smoothly as he could. He rubbed his thighs, trying to unknot them, and squared his feet, before raising the bow in his left hand.
His fingers trembled in excitement, and Amaric held his breath; puffing out his cheeks and furrowing his brow. He lifted the arrow awkwardly, resting it against his fingertips on the draw side of the bow and nocking it clumsily against the string. The arrowhead jumped around wildly as he adjusted his position on the bowstring, at one point shivering with vibration as the nock slipped from the string altogether and the shaft bounced off the bow.
Amaric aimed the whole thing downwards, careful not to lose his place, and took a few deep, slow breaths to calm himself before trying again.
He raised the bow again, screwing his left eye closed to try and sight- it was hard to see the small rabbit past the body of the bow, and it was at least twenty strider-lengths away. The small boy felt his elbow and shoulder creak and pop as he strained with all his skinny might to draw the string. The bow wobbled and danced as he tried his best to keep his bow arm straight, and his neck and jaw hurt under the exertion. He was holding his breath again, and clenching his teeth. He released the string.
The string snagged on his index finger. The arrow shook along its length as it flew, and landed harmlessly in the grass, wide and short. In all, Amaric had shot no more than ten paces. The rabbit bounded back into the long grass and disappeared. Amaric felt a sharp crack across the back of his head and fell forwards onto his face; ears ringing.
He rolled over, holding his head to feel the tender lump that was forming already, to see his uncle Samal standing over him, fierce and angry, fixing him with a disappointed stare. In his hand was the bundle of sticks which Amaric had slipped into the leather sheath of his uncle's bow; so that he would not notice the missing weight.
"Which shall I punish first?" Samal wondered, imperiously. "Your behaviour, or your form?"
The sun was hot, and quickly became unbearable. As it moved across the sky, it shone more and more in Amaric's face, and seemed to burn more fiercely as it did so. He rubbed his eyes, realising that he had not blinked for a long time now- he did not know how long. He quickly stared back at the copse of trees, hoping that he had not missed his chance, blinking quickly several times, impatient for the fog to clear from his vision. He did not dare to mop the sweat from his brow or to look away long enough to fetch his waterskin again from Breezeflank's yvas. It was nearly empty anyway.
He did not dare move his limbs, or risk making any kind of sound, and so it was not long before his joints began to ache. It was dull at first, but soon intensified, until he felt his skin was crawling, and his eyes watered from the pain. He was accutely aware of the position and muscle tension of every inch of his body; like some kind of awful involuntary meditation, and just when he felt he must cry out in frustration, to excise this discomfort, he finally saw it- movement in one of the tracks.
Amaric dropped stiffly into a crouch and almost sighed with relief, as a twitching, nervous nose and downy fur in brown and white emerged tentatively onto the pasture. Stock still, he coaxed the small creature further out in his thoughts, practically pleading.
It was a rabbit, inching slowly further out, ears low across its back, leaning up on its hind legs after every couple of steps to test the air with its tireless, animated nostrils, before stretching out its neck and body to reach the shorter grass, trimmed by the zibri to the tenderest part of the stem.
When the rabbit was several body lenghts out of the tall grass and seemed comfortable with its surroundings, Amaric dared to stand up again, as slowly and smoothly as he could. He rubbed his thighs, trying to unknot them, and squared his feet, before raising the bow in his left hand.
His fingers trembled in excitement, and Amaric held his breath; puffing out his cheeks and furrowing his brow. He lifted the arrow awkwardly, resting it against his fingertips on the draw side of the bow and nocking it clumsily against the string. The arrowhead jumped around wildly as he adjusted his position on the bowstring, at one point shivering with vibration as the nock slipped from the string altogether and the shaft bounced off the bow.
Amaric aimed the whole thing downwards, careful not to lose his place, and took a few deep, slow breaths to calm himself before trying again.
He raised the bow again, screwing his left eye closed to try and sight- it was hard to see the small rabbit past the body of the bow, and it was at least twenty strider-lengths away. The small boy felt his elbow and shoulder creak and pop as he strained with all his skinny might to draw the string. The bow wobbled and danced as he tried his best to keep his bow arm straight, and his neck and jaw hurt under the exertion. He was holding his breath again, and clenching his teeth. He released the string.
The string snagged on his index finger. The arrow shook along its length as it flew, and landed harmlessly in the grass, wide and short. In all, Amaric had shot no more than ten paces. The rabbit bounded back into the long grass and disappeared. Amaric felt a sharp crack across the back of his head and fell forwards onto his face; ears ringing.
He rolled over, holding his head to feel the tender lump that was forming already, to see his uncle Samal standing over him, fierce and angry, fixing him with a disappointed stare. In his hand was the bundle of sticks which Amaric had slipped into the leather sheath of his uncle's bow; so that he would not notice the missing weight.
"Which shall I punish first?" Samal wondered, imperiously. "Your behaviour, or your form?"
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Amaric Singspear - Player
- Posts: 25
- Words: 16797
- Joined roleplay: September 16th, 2015, 5:08 am
- Location: Cyphrus
- Race: Human, Drykas
- Character sheet
Lessons
by Amaric Singspear on October 11th, 2015, 2:42 am
Samal Singspear was a somewhat short man, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. His stockiness belied his nature, and he carried himself with a natural litheness and grace of movement earned over thirty years of hard riding and scouting across the Sea of Grass.
His hair was a dark, rich brown, tied back into a ponytail for unhindered peripheral vision. His fringe was braided around the back of his head in intricate knots, covered in woven sheaths depicting the sun and moon. Three further braids hung loose from his scalp, and a small gemstone hung from the end of each. One was a sapphire, two were diamonds- one to represent each of his wives, and her clan. Feathers in various sizes and colours were worked into his hair as it hung down his back.
His trousers, shirt and cloak were all lush green, and his shirt was adorned across the chest with a sewn outline of a leaping wolf in silver. The pattern was beautiful, but faded by wear and weather. A simple necklace of grassbear teeth hung from his neck.
“Be glad it was only me that hit you” he said angrily, as he watched Amaric sit up with tears in his eyes, rubbing his head. “How many times must you be told? Until you know better, you can assume that everything out here wants to make a meal of you. And will do so easily, if that is how you shoot.”
Amaric stood, balling his fists in anger. “I'd eat them first!” he spat. “I'd eat a glassbeak.” His head throbbed, but his uncle's words stung more. Samal couldn't help but laugh fondly at the small boy's indignation, although his visage remained cold and disapproving.
“And how do you plan on doing that when you can't even hear your creaking old uncle walking up behind you, let alone the poor strider that has to gallop over the grass under his weight?” he sighed, exasperatedly.
Amaric had no answer for this. As stealthy as his uncle was, he should at least have heard his mount. He would have, if he hadn't been so focused on that lousy rabbit, with his heart pounding in his ears. Amaric made a silent vow- he would be alert at all times; even in sleep. His uncle would never creep up on him again. Amaric would thwart him every time, and then lecture him about it. He stared back at Samal as hard as he could, and squared his feet.
“Did you stop to think for even a moment how dangerous this could have been, Amaric?” Samal asked; angry again, although his voice remained low and steady. “Not just for you, but for me, when I realised mid-hunt that my bow was not in my yvas? For the other hunters, who I had to leave a brother short? Did you consider how worried your parents and aunts would be, when they searched the web and realised that you were alone, out on the Sea of Grass?”
Amaric held his ground defiantly at first, but his uncle's look grew immediately sterner, and it was clear his anger was rising. The small boy relented.
“Sorry uncle” he said dejectedly, unclenching his fists and averting his gaze. Samal sighed again, but his expression changed to one of kindness and relief at having found his wayward nephew.
“Well, since this is probably the last time you'll be permitted to step more than five paces from the pavilion, or trusted to do anything more than muck out the zibri... I suppose we'd better take a minute to fix your shooting.”
Amaric's eyes lit up.
His hair was a dark, rich brown, tied back into a ponytail for unhindered peripheral vision. His fringe was braided around the back of his head in intricate knots, covered in woven sheaths depicting the sun and moon. Three further braids hung loose from his scalp, and a small gemstone hung from the end of each. One was a sapphire, two were diamonds- one to represent each of his wives, and her clan. Feathers in various sizes and colours were worked into his hair as it hung down his back.
His trousers, shirt and cloak were all lush green, and his shirt was adorned across the chest with a sewn outline of a leaping wolf in silver. The pattern was beautiful, but faded by wear and weather. A simple necklace of grassbear teeth hung from his neck.
“Be glad it was only me that hit you” he said angrily, as he watched Amaric sit up with tears in his eyes, rubbing his head. “How many times must you be told? Until you know better, you can assume that everything out here wants to make a meal of you. And will do so easily, if that is how you shoot.”
Amaric stood, balling his fists in anger. “I'd eat them first!” he spat. “I'd eat a glassbeak.” His head throbbed, but his uncle's words stung more. Samal couldn't help but laugh fondly at the small boy's indignation, although his visage remained cold and disapproving.
“And how do you plan on doing that when you can't even hear your creaking old uncle walking up behind you, let alone the poor strider that has to gallop over the grass under his weight?” he sighed, exasperatedly.
Amaric had no answer for this. As stealthy as his uncle was, he should at least have heard his mount. He would have, if he hadn't been so focused on that lousy rabbit, with his heart pounding in his ears. Amaric made a silent vow- he would be alert at all times; even in sleep. His uncle would never creep up on him again. Amaric would thwart him every time, and then lecture him about it. He stared back at Samal as hard as he could, and squared his feet.
“Did you stop to think for even a moment how dangerous this could have been, Amaric?” Samal asked; angry again, although his voice remained low and steady. “Not just for you, but for me, when I realised mid-hunt that my bow was not in my yvas? For the other hunters, who I had to leave a brother short? Did you consider how worried your parents and aunts would be, when they searched the web and realised that you were alone, out on the Sea of Grass?”
Amaric held his ground defiantly at first, but his uncle's look grew immediately sterner, and it was clear his anger was rising. The small boy relented.
“Sorry uncle” he said dejectedly, unclenching his fists and averting his gaze. Samal sighed again, but his expression changed to one of kindness and relief at having found his wayward nephew.
“Well, since this is probably the last time you'll be permitted to step more than five paces from the pavilion, or trusted to do anything more than muck out the zibri... I suppose we'd better take a minute to fix your shooting.”
Amaric's eyes lit up.
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Amaric Singspear - Player
- Posts: 25
- Words: 16797
- Joined roleplay: September 16th, 2015, 5:08 am
- Location: Cyphrus
- Race: Human, Drykas
- Character sheet
Lessons
by Amaric Singspear on October 13th, 2015, 2:49 am
“First of all” Samal began, disapprovingly; “if you steal arrows such as these from me again in order to shoot at rabbits and small game...” He plucked up the arrows which Amaric had staked into the earth, and wandered out into the pasture, letting the sentence hang infuriatingly as he retrieved the arrow which Amaric had shot. “...I shall use you for my own target practice, and Caiyha shall condemn you and your wastefulness.”
He knelt down before Amaric, and clasped a huge, calloused hand on the boy's shoulder. The weight of his grip was so much that Amaric tilted to one side and nearly lost his balance. Samal held one of the arrowheads up for Amaric to see.
“Shoot a rabbit with this; you'll tear through all the flesh or hit the liver, and leave nothing worth skinning and eating. And, you'll have wasted an expensive arrow and cost me two days on a trip to the Feather Run and back”. As he finished, he squeezed the boy's shoulder until he squirmed in pain- but he did not cry out. Samal smiled. “Foal steps. For now, we're going to work on your stance, and your draw.”
Samal handed the shortbow and one of the arrows back to Amaric, and bade him take up the position he had been shooting from earlier. Amaric grasped the bow's leather grip again with relish, and tried to mimic his uncle's stern, dour attitude about the whole thing. He had once laughed with eagerness during a swordsmanship lesson, and his uncle had ended the demonstration on the spot, and refused to teach Amaric again for several days, 'until the boy could be trusted to take it seriously'. He lifted the bow at arm's length and planted his feet a shoulder's width apart, when his uncle prodded him in the back of his knee with the bundle of sticks. Amaric's leg folded and he fell to his knee.
“No.” Samal said, emotionlessly. “One foot behind the other. With your feet side by side like that, you're drawing across your body, and solely from your back.” He lifted Amaric's foot, and placed it roughly behind the other, toes pointing forwards, then held Amaric's shoulders from behind; twisting his body in demonstration as he spoke. “That's why you struggled to draw the string. This way, you draw from your waist, which gives you strength, and you draw along your body, so your draw shall be smoother. Now, nock.” Samal stepped away, to observe Amaric's form, but immediately stepped back in as Amaric took the arrow and rested it against the draw side of the bow.
“What happened when you nocked last time?” he asked curtly. Amaric pressed a finger to his forehead. He wished that his uncle would just tell him how to do it correctly, and not turn everything into some test he had no interest in passing. He was quiet for a moment, until he was certain that Samal would not answer for him, before drumming his fingers on his forehead and trying to remember.
“Um... The arrow wouldn't stay against the bow. I couldn't hold it straight with just my fingers.”
“And when you took aim at the rabbit?”
Amaric began to sigh moodily, but stopped when he saw Samal's eyebrow raise.
“I... The bow wouldn't stay still, and it was in the way. I couldn't see the rabbit.
“Tilt the bow to the draw side- just a little- and nock against the bow side” Samal instructed, miming the action and nodding approvingly as Amaric complied. “That's right, rest the arrow against the groove between your fingers, rather than your fingertips. You see how much more stable it is?” Amaric said nothing- Uncle Samal already knew he was right; he resented being asked to admit it. It felt like being told he would never have his own bow with his own feathers and his own tall tales.
“Now lift the bow and aim- don't draw yet! Not until you've sighted your target” Samal continued, obliviously.
“I don't even have a target!” Amaric protested. He was hoping that Samal had something more fun than this planned; more bloody.
“Foal steps” Samal chided again, annoyingly. “Pick a spot in the copse of trees over there fr now, and we'll shoot towards it. It should be easier to sight, now that you're not wrestling the arrow. You see how this way, it's less unwieldy? The arrow leans against the bow by its own weight. It should be easier to sight, now, too.”
Amaric thought that at least here, he would excel. He could hit a stew pan with a fruit stone at twenty paces, and be on the other side of the pavilion before his aunt had yelled his name. However, after a moment of watching the small boy's head weave around awkwardly, tongue stuck out in concentration, Samal put an end to the boy's misery and stepped in to physically guide him once again.
“Do not sight along the bow. Sight along the arrow. Line it up so that you can see both the fletching and the arrowhead, and only the tiniest sliver of the shaft. Then line that up against your target.” His instruction was kinder now, less impersonal somehow. This was not a disappointing student; this was his nephew- disappointing as he may be.
“Now you draw...” Samal drew the word out, guiding Amaric's elbow back smoothly, “And when you release, don't jerk the string. Raise your fingers one by one, and let the string slide off your fingertips...”
Amaric did as instructed, holding his breath, brow furrowed in concentration. He released the string...
The arrow flew, so fast Amaric's eyes could not follow, and disappeared in the long grass by the copse of trees, inches from where the rabbit had fled earlier. Amaric could not contain himself any long, leaping and throwing a fist into the air and wooping for joy; startling Breezeflank from her grazing.
“Better” Samal said, ruffling the boy's hair. “You might make an archer yet.” Amaric looked up at him, and saw his uncle smiling affectionately. “Now; go and fetch my arrow. There's a long way to go yet.”
He knelt down before Amaric, and clasped a huge, calloused hand on the boy's shoulder. The weight of his grip was so much that Amaric tilted to one side and nearly lost his balance. Samal held one of the arrowheads up for Amaric to see.
“Shoot a rabbit with this; you'll tear through all the flesh or hit the liver, and leave nothing worth skinning and eating. And, you'll have wasted an expensive arrow and cost me two days on a trip to the Feather Run and back”. As he finished, he squeezed the boy's shoulder until he squirmed in pain- but he did not cry out. Samal smiled. “Foal steps. For now, we're going to work on your stance, and your draw.”
Samal handed the shortbow and one of the arrows back to Amaric, and bade him take up the position he had been shooting from earlier. Amaric grasped the bow's leather grip again with relish, and tried to mimic his uncle's stern, dour attitude about the whole thing. He had once laughed with eagerness during a swordsmanship lesson, and his uncle had ended the demonstration on the spot, and refused to teach Amaric again for several days, 'until the boy could be trusted to take it seriously'. He lifted the bow at arm's length and planted his feet a shoulder's width apart, when his uncle prodded him in the back of his knee with the bundle of sticks. Amaric's leg folded and he fell to his knee.
“No.” Samal said, emotionlessly. “One foot behind the other. With your feet side by side like that, you're drawing across your body, and solely from your back.” He lifted Amaric's foot, and placed it roughly behind the other, toes pointing forwards, then held Amaric's shoulders from behind; twisting his body in demonstration as he spoke. “That's why you struggled to draw the string. This way, you draw from your waist, which gives you strength, and you draw along your body, so your draw shall be smoother. Now, nock.” Samal stepped away, to observe Amaric's form, but immediately stepped back in as Amaric took the arrow and rested it against the draw side of the bow.
“What happened when you nocked last time?” he asked curtly. Amaric pressed a finger to his forehead. He wished that his uncle would just tell him how to do it correctly, and not turn everything into some test he had no interest in passing. He was quiet for a moment, until he was certain that Samal would not answer for him, before drumming his fingers on his forehead and trying to remember.
“Um... The arrow wouldn't stay against the bow. I couldn't hold it straight with just my fingers.”
“And when you took aim at the rabbit?”
Amaric began to sigh moodily, but stopped when he saw Samal's eyebrow raise.
“I... The bow wouldn't stay still, and it was in the way. I couldn't see the rabbit.
“Tilt the bow to the draw side- just a little- and nock against the bow side” Samal instructed, miming the action and nodding approvingly as Amaric complied. “That's right, rest the arrow against the groove between your fingers, rather than your fingertips. You see how much more stable it is?” Amaric said nothing- Uncle Samal already knew he was right; he resented being asked to admit it. It felt like being told he would never have his own bow with his own feathers and his own tall tales.
“Now lift the bow and aim- don't draw yet! Not until you've sighted your target” Samal continued, obliviously.
“I don't even have a target!” Amaric protested. He was hoping that Samal had something more fun than this planned; more bloody.
“Foal steps” Samal chided again, annoyingly. “Pick a spot in the copse of trees over there fr now, and we'll shoot towards it. It should be easier to sight, now that you're not wrestling the arrow. You see how this way, it's less unwieldy? The arrow leans against the bow by its own weight. It should be easier to sight, now, too.”
Amaric thought that at least here, he would excel. He could hit a stew pan with a fruit stone at twenty paces, and be on the other side of the pavilion before his aunt had yelled his name. However, after a moment of watching the small boy's head weave around awkwardly, tongue stuck out in concentration, Samal put an end to the boy's misery and stepped in to physically guide him once again.
“Do not sight along the bow. Sight along the arrow. Line it up so that you can see both the fletching and the arrowhead, and only the tiniest sliver of the shaft. Then line that up against your target.” His instruction was kinder now, less impersonal somehow. This was not a disappointing student; this was his nephew- disappointing as he may be.
“Now you draw...” Samal drew the word out, guiding Amaric's elbow back smoothly, “And when you release, don't jerk the string. Raise your fingers one by one, and let the string slide off your fingertips...”
Amaric did as instructed, holding his breath, brow furrowed in concentration. He released the string...
The arrow flew, so fast Amaric's eyes could not follow, and disappeared in the long grass by the copse of trees, inches from where the rabbit had fled earlier. Amaric could not contain himself any long, leaping and throwing a fist into the air and wooping for joy; startling Breezeflank from her grazing.
“Better” Samal said, ruffling the boy's hair. “You might make an archer yet.” Amaric looked up at him, and saw his uncle smiling affectionately. “Now; go and fetch my arrow. There's a long way to go yet.”
-
Amaric Singspear - Player
- Posts: 25
- Words: 16797
- Joined roleplay: September 16th, 2015, 5:08 am
- Location: Cyphrus
- Race: Human, Drykas
- Character sheet
Lessons
by Tribal on October 13th, 2015, 8:31 pm
G R A D E S
Amaric Singspear
Amaric Singspear
Experience
Lore
Notes
Wonderful solo, Amaric; I really enjoyed grading this for you. When it comes to weapons I can’t award points unless you actually fire or use them, so keep that in mind next time. I love that song you made up, it’s really good! If you have any questions about the grade or feel I missed something, feel free to PM me. Enjoy the rewards, young archer!
- Riding, Horse: 2
- Singing: 2
- Animal Husbandry: 2
- Bodybuilding: 2
- Cleaning: 1
- Grooming: 1
- Observation: 4
- Endurance: 1
- Wilderness Survival, Plains: 1
- Meditation: 2
- Hunting: 1
- Weapon, Shortbow: 2
- Socialisation: 2
- Logic: 2
Lore
- Breezeflank: Strider mare
- Riding: Staying on the horse
- Animal Husbandry: Cleaning a horse
- Observation: The smell of a horse
- Bow: Stringing a bow
- The heat of an Endrykas summer
- Samal: Amaric's Uncle
- The Sea of Grass is dangerous
- Glassbeak: Apex predator
- Caiyha: The First Witch
- Bow: Arrow types
- Bow: One foot behind the other
- Bow: Draw along the body
Notes
Wonderful solo, Amaric; I really enjoyed grading this for you. When it comes to weapons I can’t award points unless you actually fire or use them, so keep that in mind next time. I love that song you made up, it’s really good! If you have any questions about the grade or feel I missed something, feel free to PM me. Enjoy the rewards, young archer!
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