Contest For Curiosity

[Ixzo]

Word Count: 924

75th of Autumn, 515AV
4th Bell, Evening
War Storm Pavilion

Curious, the lioness approached the Pavilion. Still fairly knew to the strange society, she was unsure whether the weapon training she had observed was open to her. Among the Myrians, mothers trained daughter, and weapons were learned through family. As far as she could tell, perhaps it was slightly different here. After a little searching, Ixzo had found the training Pavilion, and afar a days of hesitation, she was finally approaching it.

Quietly slinking into the one tent, Ixzo nodded to someone she made eye contact with. He was a short man, at least short compared to her. Instead of bothering with the stranger, Ixzo looked towards a particular curve of wood that caught her eye. It was a simple bow, a long bow, which was easily her size. But the only reason it caught her mind was because it looked strikingly similar to the one at home. The wood was much paler, made from whatever trees were around the sea. It wasn't like the dark reddish wood around her home. Yet the polish and shelf of the bow looked almost identical to the style she had learned from.

When she looked away again, silver eyes in awe at the collection of weapons, she heard the man approaching her. Unsteady, Ixzo turned her head, keeping her eyes on him as he approached, hands behind his back as if he was admiring her choice in weapon. "Look familiar?" He asked, and Ixzo hesitated before nodding. "It was crafted for us by a Myrian traveler." He informed her and the realization was evident on her face as she turned back towards her bow, yet the Kelvic didn't say anything. She didn't need to know how he knew she was raised among the Myrians.

"You can try it out if you'd like." He said, and she turned to see him nod towards the weapon. This time, Ixzo didn't hesitant. Gently, she gripped the middle of the bow, pulled it from it's rack. It was silly, but a wave of excitement washed through her to feel her favorite weapon in her hand once more. She grinned, pulling the bow down to her hips. With one long finger, she picked the string, watching the thick string vibrate with her movement, quickly reverting back to stillness once her touch was gone. She stepped back from the man, raising the bow up, she grinned wider.

With her right hand, she pulled the string back, automatically straightening her back and fixing her elbow up. Pretending there was an arrow in her hand, she closed one eye, pulling her thumb up to rest just under her cheek bone, and let the string go. The pain of the rebound on her arm was little to bear when she caught the wink of the man. "Not the best form, but I'll teach you." He said, shrugging and Ixzo's smile lessened. That was rude. But Ixzo would have loved to shoot a bow. She knew she wasn't the best, and perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to have some help.

"Yes." She complied, before her thoughts processed the pay of it. "Cost much?" She asked, and the man shrugged.

"Five gold for a lesson, three if you want to practice on your own." Ixzo hesitated, she could afford it, but she didn't want to give up what little money she did have. After a tick of mulling it over she nodded, which split the Drykas' face into a quirky grin. "Lesson or on your own?"

"Alone." She said, she would have liked the lesson, but of course she would go for the cheaper option.

"I'll grab you some arrows." He grinned, and she signed a thank you to him, turning the bow in her hand with a small amount of pride about being able to handle the things. It was only a tick of waiting, while she wandered to the various oils that would aid in keeping up the bow. As if she could buy it.

When the man did return, handing her a full quiver, she sprung the question on him anyway. "Cost much?" She asked, accepting the quiver and motioning with the bow.

"Seventy-Five golds." He nodded, and Ixzo lowered the bow, there was no way she could get this anytime soon. "You want to buy it?" Ixzo shook her head, no way.

"Where can… use?" She asked, looking outside the front of the open tent. He merely motioned her forward and she followed him out to the edge of the training area, out of anyone's way. And for good reason, she supposed. Archers who were just starting out had a better chance of being struck by lighting than hitting the target, and if someone was nearby… well the positioning of the archer's targets was pretty self-explanatory.

Ixzo nodded graciously, fingers tingling as she rested them to the quiver at her hip. Once the man had turned away, she wasted no time in slipping out of of the arrows. For only a second, she admired the arrow, but was quickly hooking the nock on the string of the bow. She hadn't shot one in years, and when she lined up her first shot, it was evident before the arrow flew. Too excited to take her time, she let the arrow fly within ticks of loading it and the light weapon bedded itself into the ground just below the target.

It felt so good to have the power of a weapon in her hands once more. Aside from hunting, she wasn't particularly good at anything else, but she was good with a bow, and that was enough for her.

Myrian | Pavi "Speech" Sign | Common | PC/NPC "Speech" Sign

[Ixzo]

Word Count: 328

Ixzo swiped another arrow from the quiver, lining it up. This time she took her time before she let the arrow fly, watching it embed itself in the outermost ring of the target. A small grin lit her lips and she pulled out one more. This time, as she was about to let it fly, a chatter of Pavi, closest to her, brought her attention away.

With the bow still loaded, Ixzo's sensitive ears turned her head, and subsequently her body as well, towards the word that caught her attention. 'Night Lion'. Worried for a moment, that they were talking about her, she lowered her bow. But her eyes caught sight of the midnight black fur, and knew it wasn't her. Yet, a pang of sorrow flowed through her and she completely lowered her bow, removing the arrow from the nock.

It was true she felt more connected to the humans who were at least willing to allow her to scrape by in their city. The night lions she had encountered were far to protective of their pride and land to allow a lone cat like herself in. But she was perhaps worried for her own safety. Of course being a lion would not go over so well with most people, but was her kind actively hunted around here?

Ixzo watched, and waited, eyeing the man to finish his conversation, before approaching. Slipping the loose arrow back into her quiver, she slung the bow over her shoulder, the dark string contrasting to her simple wool sweater. "You hunt this?" She announced her approach, slinking closer to the man. Silver eyes were no longer on him, but instead carefully watching the pelt. She did her best not to show emotion, but the cat had never been one for subterfuge. It wouldn't be hard to see the crease in her brow as she hooked her left hand on the string of the bow on her stomach and waited for an answer.

Myrian | Pavi "Speech" Sign | Common | PC/NPC "Speech" Sign

[Dravite]

He had been so beautiful in the spring; yes, that was the word his mother used. Tall, though just above average as far as Drykas went and nowhere near as long limbed as the lioness at his back. His hair was the colour of sunned wheat and the skin on his bare arms weathered, but dark; Dravite was a man who spent most of his time outside, not sitting in political meetings or playing the social game a lot of Ankal's did and were expected to do. In fact, to look at him now and having known him in the spring, one could almost cry.

Dravite was no longer the 'mighty steed' he had been nicknamed early on in the summer, and thin stock weren't known for surviving the winter. His cheeks were pinched in around the bone, eyes squinted, shoulders dropped, and his waist too thin. The stringy tendons in his arms portrayed the state of his current health while his clothes and the large, black Night Lion pelt that dressed his back and shoulders disguised the worst of his shrinking frame.

The watchman's life had been turned upside down and his family's turmoil was taking its toll on his inner peace, ravishing his mental stability where broken bones, infection, and the weight of something terrible had stripped him physically. To square him up was not to stand in awe at a young man who might fancy himself a master of his trade, but look on slack jawed and wonder, how does a mouse take down a lion?

"Look at the head," one of the younger boys who had approached him reached up to try and paw at the well preserved face of the lion.
Dravite got down on one knee and lifted the mask of the beast over his own, his shoulders dressed with the long, shaggy mane, "beautiful is he not?"
The boy beamed and hid behind his older brother as their father took a step back, "his eyes look so lifelike."
"Yellow and black glass," Dravite informed the man, "I wanted them to preserve the head as best they could."
"You hunt this?" A stern voice at his back inquired and the young Drykas man rose slowly, pulling the head of the lion back to look the woman in the eye.
He could tell, though curious, she did not seem all that impressed but his feat, "and his brother," the horse lord admitted, "with help," a part truth; his bigger brother had been riddled with arrows by their hunting party while the lion on his back was all his doing.

When he glanced over his shoulder the young boy and his father had moved back to their training, leaving him to his own. In one hand Dravite carried an expensive short bow and in the other, his father's spear crafted from bone, though which it was hard to tell without knowing. At his left hip, he wore a quiver of arrows, and the lengths of his black, leather trousers disappeared into a pair of well-worn riding boots. Every inch of his tabard was covered in Ixam scales that looked strong enough to stop an arrow, and on his belt an assortment of smaller weapons were fixed; a hatchet, daggers, and the hunting knife he had used to gut the nomadic brothers that had taken his friend's Strider.

Dravite took one of the arrows from his quiver and fixed it to the short bow; he lined up a shot, dropped his elbow a little, put some space between his feet and tipped the bow to one side slightly. As he drew breath through nose he looked down the sights of the arrow to the target and slowly released the air his lungs were done with through his mouth. The loosed arrow flew straight and arched down to catch the very outer edge of the painted straw target. A long shot, he thought, I am standing too close for shots like that.

As he lowered his bow he realised that the stranger at his right had made no attempt to move and seemed to still be hawk eyeing the pelt on his back. As the second skin restricted his movement and had only been set there for the trip home from the markets, where he had just been to pick it up, Dravite removed the lion pelt from his form and set it down neatly a few feet away from where he had taken his shot from. He put his bow down on top of the pelt and removed the quiver from its keep in one of the leather loops through his belt; took his spear in his right hand and covered two powerful strides towards the target before launching the weapon through the air.

The lightweight bone spear cut through the air a lot slower than any arrow could and when it struck the target, embedding the pointed head deep within the straw, the shaft and tail end wagged on power of impact; its location a single circle off the bull's eye. Without saying a word he took another look at the tall, dark vixen beside him with eyes that seemed to challenge her intimidating look and stature; anything more to say with lips that do not move and eyes that say too much?

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[Ixzo]

Wordcount: 1,011

"And his brother, with help." The man replied to her and Ixzo twitched. Pressing her lips together, the thin Kelvic crossed her arms behind her back, keeping the clenched fists out of sight until she could relax enough to release her fingers. She wanted to be angry, but in reality it was simply a spike of fear that caused the involuntary reaction.

Struggling with the weight that settled into her chest, the Kelvic took a step to the side, staying back from the man, but she couldn't stop watching him for the moment as the questions began. Two male lions? Was he insane? He had help. But did that mean he had actively hunted them? Or had be been protecting himself. Was this normal for the Drykas? Distraction was easy with Ixzo, and in the time it took her to collect her thoughts she had waited too long to reply. The man seemed done with the conversation as he pulled out his own bow. She recognized it, even with the foreign craftsmanship, as a short bow. Defeated, Ixzo's thin finger flew up to hook itself on the string of her bow that she had so easily slid around her shoulders with habit. A thought floated in the back of her head reminding her that this wasn't her bow.

After seeing where his bow landed, her usually absurd self-confidence would have smirked if she was less distracted. Even in her emaciated state, her movements were distinctly feline as she took the few steps back to where her post was, unable to keep curious eyes from him. He was clearly done with the conversation, not thinking as much of the slaughter as her. But Ixzo rolled over what few words he had said to her. He didn't seem overly prideful of the kill. Either because he was such an experienced hunter that a kill like that was under his expectation of an achievement. Or he was humble because he didn't kill it by himself. Perhaps she was reading too far into it.

Ixzo ducked through her bow once more, bringing the long weapon up. With ease she pulled an arrow from the quiver, lining up the nock on the string. She couldn't help one last glance his way before she raised her bow. You are paying for your time. She reminded herself, leaning into her back heal and angling the bow so that the arrow rested easily on the shelf. The rustiness was wearing off quickly and Ixzo let her breath out, slowing her movements as she tilted her right hand ever so slightly to adjust the angle. Letting the arrow fly and curving her fingers back towards her ear, silver eyes squinted when she saw the arrow land on the bullseye, much stronger than she had intended, although her aim was far off. She was determined to hit the center today, although realistically she wouldn't. But the arrow lay in the inner end of the second ring, only missing the bullseye because it had veered too far to the left. A continuous issue that Ixzo remembered from her childhood…. An issue she had yet to resolve.

But her thoughts were quickly distracted after her shot and she looked over once more. Sensibly the man had lowered his bow in favor of one of the multitude of other weapons on his person.

She blinked a few times when she watched the spear land dead on, with a force that shook the frame of the target for only a tick as the head of the weapon dove deep into the depths of the hay. Instinctively, Ixzo crouched, wide eyes watching him carefully. She seemed to forget that there was a weapon in her hand, as her lioness form screamed for release in the split second that she reacted. He was not nearly as good with his shortbow as his spear, and she really didn’t want to be on the other end of his spear.

Composing herself, she lowered her bow once more, finally deciding to approach him. She was far more sensitive to this stranger's actions because she saw him as a threat. That would need to be fixed or confirmed if she was going to continue on.

Greetings. She gave the generic sign, stepping forward, as if she hadn't just spoke to him. With no effort to hide the very obvious fact that she had been watching him. "You kill with spear." Slaughter. She supplemented her assumption, finding kill to be too soft of a description. In her small arsenal of signs, that one had been learned quickly after the Paille begun to show her what became of those who weren't useful in Kenash. "Or bow?" The first rough words of Pavi were a statement, but the second came as more of a question.

Her own bow still was clutched in her left hand. The right loosely holding the arrow she had not yet strung. In an effort to keep her chilly fingers moving and to refrain from setting the bow and letting the arrow loose, she flipped the arrow in her hands, looking down at it for a split second. It distracted her limbs from moving without the consent of her higher conscious. But like any good predator, Ixzo didn't let her eyes leave his face for too long, scrutinizing his every move. He had weapons, plenty of them. Armor and clothes equipped for the weather she was not. To her, the man was not distinctive from the rest of his kind. However the very prominent and comforting detail that she gathered looking down to him was that his was easily as skinny as her. Although it was clear sickness was not far off, he wasn't currently fighting the threat of dropping from the smallest cough. Perhaps he hadn't spent three seasons alone, but he wasn't doing particularly well himself. She could take him in a fight. The over-confidence returned with relaxed the prideful cat a small amount as she waited for his answer, feline pupils jumping back towards his face expectantly.

Myrian | Pavi "Speech" Sign | Common | PC/NPC "Speech" Sign

[Dravite]

The young boys watching their father shoot targets both piped up, impressed by the show and it was then the horse lord questioned his own actions; had he been showing off? No. Something about the woman felt daunting to him, it wasn't her height, though he seldom stumbled upon women that towered over him quite like she did, and though he had seen many a foreigner, none had been quite as coloured. The rich ebony of her skin, though beautiful, was not if these lands, and difference, as it had come to in the past, still put him on edge. The shot, if nothing else, said back off, I am dangerous, and yet, that look in her eyes; that unwavering pride, as if it were her right to question his ethics, to get under his skin and crawl around like quick moving fire ants.

Like a dog with his hackles up, Dravite felt a tightness form between his shoulders where the muscles stiffened and caused the ends of his fingers to itch. Why did she look at him like a snake in the grass, watching for the perfect time to strike, tasting the air, testing the strength of her prey as she lay in wait?

Just as his skin bore the markings of his culture, faith, and family, this stranger looked to be decorated too, perhaps as a warrior. As she approached him to extend a common greeting, Dravite took note of the raised lines and scarification that had been etched across the flesh, enhancing the tattoos that surrounded them. He felt his own skin burn sympathetically; the extent of the Drykas custom that had scared parts of his flesh black for life was surely nothing in comparison to the pain of intentional, planned removal of hide. The idea alone caused a healthy mixture of curiosity, intrigue, and disturbance to unfurl within his mind; what, when, how, and why?

The huntress spoke, but not to start over, no, something like that would require a proper greeting, an exchange of names and houses, clans and titles; this one was, however, still skirted the fact that he had hunted the hunter and won, and whether by his own hand or many, those eyes blamed only him. Slaughter, she had signed, fully aware of the word’s meaning, for the gesture was bold and accusing. Suddenly the horse lord felt as if he were being charged with the murder of an actual person; why was she so hung up on this particular kill, would she come across the same over the death of a rabbit or deer? The mass, or rather lack of attire did not seem to suggest as much, for she wore items of clothing that were bound to be crafted from hide.

"For his bigger brother, my bow," the man spoke in Pavi, pleased that the foreigner was not forcing him to converse in common, quick, mass, planned, he crafted the words with expert precision, this the language of his heart and people, as natural and fitting to him as his own skin, "three, we hunt together," he admitted before moving to fetch his spear.

As the family of three were the only other people in the shooting range, Dravite bid for their attention with a wave before walking forwards to pull the weapon from the straw target and collect his arrow while he was there. Upon his return he knelt down on one knee to fix the quiver to his left hip once more and rose to stand with the short bow leant against his right side. Later, he began, "I followed the trail of his younger brother and told my hunting party to return home," doubt, fear, weakness, he waved; those traveling with him had been too on edge to see the hunt through, and so he had gone on alone, determined to see that the job was done, however mad they deemed him to be for doing so, "with this I struck his heart," the man thrust his spear as if to mimic the actions of that day, or intimidate the woman that felt too close, even as a safe, respectable distance, "and he told me fair well, good game," the horse lord raised his arms after setting the spear aside to show the woman the scars of the hunt, four distinctive marks on each forearm where the lion's claws hand gone in as Dravite delivered him his death.

Dravite made the sign for his goddess Caiyha and looked skyward as if to count his blessings and thank her once again for the feat over such an impressive beast. The watchman didn't feel he needed to ask the woman's weapon of choice, with just a glance he was able to surmise that she travelled light and that her long, sleek body was perfectly suited to the weapon in her hands; a long bow not of Drykas craft, though there was little in the way she held it to suggest ownership and the colours that donned one end claimed it as the Warstorm pavilion's own. He wonder then, if the long bow was the only weapon this stranger was well versed in; something about her question seemed to challenge him, why was it important to know which weapon he chose to kill, to slaughter with?

It was only then that he decided to take a look at the target she had been firing arrows at long before his arrival. The result was a mix, neither here, nor there in terms of accuracy, though her more recent shot caused him to question his own skill. Dravite had been using the short bow all season and struggled to believe he would ever get that near to the bull's eye, and still, her presence caused him to want for nothing more than to show her up at her own game. A slow, almost menacing smile graced his lips momentarily, pushing the left side of his mouth up slightly higher than the right. Curious, he signed, "where did you learn to shoot?" Dravite had taken one or two lessons before with experts, lessons he had paid good gold for, but still felt some days as if he were learning his own hands when it came to the least preferred weapon in his possession, "perhaps you will shoot better than me," he chimed as if to tease her.

The horse lord then raised his bow with arrow threaded and at the ready, taking up the relaxed position his cousin of all people had taught him, and when the arrow was set free after a quick glance down the sights, it sailed straight and just by chance, licked the inner circle closest to the bull's eyes. Securely buried in the target of painted straw, Dravite's own surprise barely registered, though for a brief, fleeting moment he felt a flutter in his belly, he fought the tell-tale lift of his brow and turned to the dark huntress to raise a hand and gesture, "then again, maybe not."
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[Ixzo]

Word Count: 683

As the lioness listened to his story, understanding bits and pieces of his words and even less of his signs, she thought she understood most of what he said. The fact that the hunt was planned was upsetting, but it comforted her a bit to know the man had at least respect for Caiyha. Still she eyed the pelt warily. When he paused the story to collect his arrows, Ixzo was tempted to just walk away. She wasn't fond of listening to this any longer, but the man intrigued her, at the very least. He seemed like a warrior. And even though Endrykas was not lacking in those, the Myrian-raised woman hadn't gotten a chance to speak to any. If she truly wanted to understand this city, perhaps it would help to know who protected them.

But by the time she had almost returned to more or less a calm manor, the man thrust his spear at her. It was feigned, in no way meant for her chest, but an instinctive snarl rippled through her teeth in defense and Ixzo swiped the bow forward, prepared to block any offense. She coughed, suddenly a bit embarrassed by the reaction. She was slowly gathering that he may be more tense than her, which was raised her own hackles, whether she knew it or not.

She listened longer, unable to keep the slightly worried face from showing as she watched him carefully. It wasn't until he challenged her that she got a little more confidence back.

She couldn't help it. Ixzo was determined not to embarrass herself, but she didn't want to seem weak to the man. He thought he was better than her.

Uncertain that her aim was very good, Ixzo slipped an arrow from her quiver. Still facing him, she raised her bow quickly, adjusting her aim only barely before pulling back the nock as far as she could. Her position came with ease now, and Ixzo let the arrow fly. For what she lacked in aim Ixzo made up in power, partially due to the fact that her long bow was intended for a much farther target. The arrow shuddered in his target, buried deeper than his last one. It was much closer to the bullseye, for coming in at an angle, but it wasn't much more accurate than his.

"Long time, no… work." She added the last word, coming up blank for a sign to supplement the statement. She had to force the grin down, the man didn't need to know that that was actually one of her better shots. "Learn from father." She answered, shrugging. A pang of nostalgia reminded her how much she missed the old bat. At least her parents weren't aware of her fate. If they were still alive, they would still beleive she was... on her original track. Ixzo veered her thoughts from the events of her past, knowing how easily she could distract herself. She squinted at him, a new thought poking into her head. She knew, and he might've as well (although she hoped he didn't), that even though they had different bows, she might have had a higher skill than him. She allowed a sly grin to edge into her lips as she looked down to, silver feline eyes grazing his bow knowingly.

Challenge. She signed, almost sure she might've accidentally signed something for corn or maze, but hoping she got the right hand movements. She decided to behave confidently, just in case he looked at her like an idiot. "We shoot…. Looser pays." She said carefully, trying to get the idea through her thick accent. She was used to the deep calls and guttural growls of the Myrians. Pavi was more fluid than any language she knew, and so it took some effort to speak in the way they did, it being so different than what she was used to. "Agreement?" She held out her hand, if he took it she would gripping with what little power she still had hiding in her frail arms, grinning with a little more confidence than necessary.

Myrian | Pavi "Speech" Sign | Common | PC/NPC "Speech" Sign

[Dravite]

Her reaction to the single thrust of his spear was almost animalistic; in fact, Dravite struggled to recall a time when he had ever bared his teeth at another person. He scrutinised the woman with a look while her bow was raised and her attention was pointed elsewhere. A subtle change in the breeze carried a strange and yet, rather familiar scent to his senses and the man's curiosity was sated; she was a Kelvic, of course, now it all made sense. That must be how she got into the city, he rationalised, but it still didn't explain her interest in the lion... A wolf Kelvic, for example, would not threat over the death of a rabbit, but of another wolf.

Dravite studied the woman while she took her shot. She was long limbed and graceful in her movements, foot falls measured, shoulders straight, her hands were not overly large but there lay a power in the strength of each, elegant finger, as if specifically crafted for the current weapon of his choice. He shook his head, he must be wrong; Kaitanu was a Kelvic and though some of his smells and mannerisms suggested such, he would have never guessed without seeing with his own eyes that the young man could take the shape of a horse. Savage, he decided! She was probably from one of those faraway tribes in the places the Drykas told stories about, where women held the power and people learned to fight with their hands.

He missed what the stranger said then, too lost in his own thoughts, something about work or not working? The man disguised his misunderstanding with a slow smile and when she divulged that her father had been the one to teach her the bow, the smile softened and seemed warmer. Self taught, the man signed, or at least, for the most part he was save for that lesson he had paid for with his cousin Sparrow and that one time she had looked over his shoulder for free; how embarrassing.

The woman presented him with something all men found hard to pass up then, a challenge. The left side of his mouth crept higher than the right as an amused smirk manipulated his features; Dravite knew his chances of winning were slim, but if the luck of his last shot had not impressed her, he was interested to see what this female warrior was made of. Before accepting, he glanced across at where her last arrow had gone and shrugged as if to state silently that he was not intimidated by her skill and raised the composite short bow at the ready, "loser pays," he agreed, intrigue, amusement, focus, he waved as if to pinch the words out of thin air so that his hand could form them.

The horse lord fixed one of the sleeves on his shirt to see that it would not roll down before slipping an arrow from its keep below his left hip where the quiver hung heavily, packed with arrows, though not so much so that they grabbed and pulled at one another whenever he sought to take one. Dravite raised the arrow to his tipped bow and fixed it slowly to the string before seeing to it that the arrowhead sat in the right spot. He lined up a shot and repositioned the feathered end between his fingers to adjust the line of flight; if his first shot from this distance had been too low and he repeated that stance, how could he expect different results?

This one will be too high, the little voice in his head chimed, mocking him; but unwilling to doubt his correction now, Dravite took the shot and sure enough the arrow, though straight, struck one of the outer rings on the target. Dravite laughed and suddenly, that wall he had up all came tumbling down, the song of his laughter boyish, playful, and highlighted his humility at the terrible shot. He touched the coin pounce on his belt, somehow he knew it would be a lot lighter than he intended by the end of this lesson; still, if he could not win, perhaps he would be able to pick up on a few helpful hints to aid his training attempts by watching the foreigner take her own shot.
"I was aiming for that one," he jested, "Bull's eye next time."

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[Ixzo]

Word Count: 449

She watched skeptically as the man took his shot. She was no expert, but she would have liked to point out that his simplest issue was impatience. But she wanted his money, so the Kelvic wouldn't risk explaining that to him. Not until she got his money, at least.

Easily distracted and very reactive to emotions, Ixzo couldn't help but emit a chuckle of her own at the shot. She had to remind herself that now was not the time for pride. She knew she might've been better than the stranger before her, but she could not gloat of being and expert with her weapon, although she would have liked to.

"Yeah, yeah… impatient." She observed, taking the few necessary steps back to her own target. Pulling one of her last arrows from her quiver, Ixzo hooked the nock on the string. She was confident enough she knew she didn't need such a rigid stance, but she still took her time, adjusting her elbows and shoulders so she wouldn’t hurt them. Normally, when her joints were cushioned with muscle and fat, she worried less about this. But in her state, she didn't mind take the precaution. Pulling her bow up, she pulled the string back as soon as she raised the bow, making sure she found her anchor. Using the technique she had grown used to, she let out all the air in her lungs before taking aim.

This steadied her arms considerably which allowed her to pinpoint where she wanted the arrow to go better. Although not doing her breathing was not such a large difference, she wanted to believe the patience helped. Without warning, although she took longer than the stranger had, Ixzo released the arrow, curving her fingers back towards her ear. She waited until the arrow buried itself deep in the target, barely licking the edge of the bullseye. And much to her disappointment, the arrow still was too far to the left, and a little lower than she needed.

"Ixzo." She lowered her bow to the side, stepping back towards him slightly as she patted her chest with an open palm. Then she nodded towards the man, giving him an expectant look for his name. Her previous hostility had cooled with the very brief focus that archery allowed. It was a calming weapon, that was one of her favorite reasons for choosing the bow.


"You must... Calm." She said, waving towards his bow. She opened her left palm, looking down at the outstretched digits for a moment before she found the signs she was looking for. Learn, patience. She supplemented, before switching the bow to her other hand, motioning now with her right. "Go."

Myrian | Pavi "Speech" Sign | Common | PC/NPC "Speech" Sign

[Dravite]

Ixzo, in her own way, was telling the watchman to slow down when it came to his shooting. He had never liked ranged weapons, preferring the adrenaline rush that came with getting up close and personal in battle, but with his injuries over the last few seasons there came a slowness; like old age, it would one day creep up on him and force him to survive on tactics rather than brute strength. Dravite said the woman's name quietly as if to test it on his tongue, it didn't sound like one of those common names, nor could he place it within his own culture.

She seemed to wait expectantly, obviously hoping the horse lord would give up his own name. He smiled when she told him to slow down before laying a hand flat against his chest, "Loser," he smirked, using the common word, for he was sure Ixzo had this one in the bag.

The watchman drew another arrow from his quiver and fixed it to the string before lifting his bow. As he drew back the string he went over some of the tips Sparrow had given him, righted his stance and breathed in and out through his nose slowly. Gently he tipped the bow and checked the sights before undoing all of his hard work to take a few steps backwards. Close range shooting didn't seem to be his cup of tea. Satisfied with the new position and stance, he checked the sights again, dropped the level of his shot by no more than the width of a finger and released the arrow, holding his stance this time until the arrow was long buried in its target.

The shot, though somewhat improved, was nothing in comparison to that made by Ixzo, and Dravite drew the length of his forearm across his face as if to wipe away his shame with the motion. He scratched his hairline and threw his bow down against the lion pelt; clearly, he wasn't accustomed to losing. "Blackwater," he touched his chest again, so that she might recognise this new word as a name, "Dravite Blackwater," he used the common equivalent before repeating the name in Pavi with its particular hand sign which looked a lot like the individual signs for dark, rock, night, and water blended together.

"Ixzo," he smiled and formed the signs for tall, huntress, and long bow. He looked back at the pelt then and made the hand gesture for lion; perhaps if she had recognised the sign she might understand the accusation, or rather, the observation he was making. Was it an insult to ask someone if they were a Kelvic? She didn't have any familiar markings like the others that claimed her as a former slave of the city of Ravok.

When they were suddenly interrupted by one of the men from the Warstorm pavilion that helped run and maintain the shooting range and borrowed weapons, inquiring about how the bow was doing, Dravite fished around in the coin pouch on his belt and counted out six gold pieces quietly before holding them out to the man.
"You lose a bet or something?"
Dravite laughed, "Something like that."
"Well, you're free to continue working with your bows if you like."
"I might have seen enough torture for one day."
The man smiled, "don't let pride get in the way."
The horse lord fell quiet but offered acknowledgement in the form of a simple nod of his head.

Ledger6gm for the lesson (3 for Drav, 3 for Ixzo).

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[Ixzo]

Word Count: 736

Loser. She nodded, trying to commit the strange name to memory. She hadn't understood the common tongue enough to know the word, and instead wrote it off as a weird human name, which was easier for her. She gave a lopsided grin at the name, not ashamed to find it funny and propped a fist on her hip. She shifted her weigh to the opposite foot to watch the man.

She watched him set his stance and reposition. He chose a different anchor than her, but Ixzo supposed it wasn't really important to the shot, so long as he was comfortable. She would never had done that though. Then again she was much longer than he was, and taller too. Silver slated eyes drifted back from his stance to better look at the man. She had already taken in the assortment of weapons, which had lead her decision that he was no wuss. But now she really looked at him. The ink, while mostly covered by his warm clothes, peaked over his collar and crawled up his neck. Thick scrawls of tattoo, unlike the thin lines that the Myrians used, painted a picture she couldn't see. Did his markings mean something to his people like hers meant to her own. Absentmindedly, a hand flew up to brush across her clavicle. The slug heart that her mother had chosen for her was easy to trace with light fingers.

She had never understood why her mother had chosen such a mundane herb to represent her. She was no healer, so it meant nothing to her trade. But as her mother, she was the one who chose the representing scar, and Ixzo had suffered the pain to earn it, even having never gotten a proper explanation. She was a warrior, a hunter! And yet… She wore a flower on her chest to show herself to others. So did his neck ink mean something to him? Was his chosen for him? She had not missed the obvious signs of tattoos across most of the Drykas' chests and arms, even legs, and perhaps underneath their clothes as well. She knew that Injal got quite a few business, and that the event of the first tattoo was not a solidary or light action. Injal hadn't explained, and she hadn't asked, about what the tattoos meant to these horse people. But from this thin, but heavily equipped man, she wanted to know his story. What did Loser's tattoos mean to him.

She was about to ask, once he had finished shooting, when he spoke. He had another name? She narrowed her eyes, not willing to play games. "Loser or Dravite Blackwater?" She crossed her arms, and as she said the name, she faintly recognized the word 'Blackwater', although not from where. She watched his signs, hoping for a clue on it, but she found none. Where had she heard that name before? But just as easily as the thought had appeared, she was distracted once more when he spoke her name. She recognized the sign for huntress, only faintly, among others. Automatically the lioness raised her chin, straightening her shoulders. She liked that title.

When he spoke to the man she had spoken to earlier, she saw the exchange of money and didn't attempt to hide the smug smile that pulled her lips taut. At least he was honest. With a little confidence from the exchange, she lined an arrow on her bow once more. Ignoring the Drykas with two names, she focused her easily distracted mind on the target. Straighten up, loose joints, breathe in, breathe out… Ixzo released the arrow, curving her fingers back towards her ear to watch the arrow hit it's target. This time she fought the grin, seeing the long arrow bury itself just inside the center circle. It was not yet near the dot that signified a bullseye, but it was closer.

Horses, curious. She signed suddenly. She had forgotten her distrust, now that she was curious. She had him here for a bit, so what harm could it be. "They are…" She drifted, rubbing her hands together as she looked for a word. Important, didn't seem to nearly cover it. Worshipped, magical, family, those words would have been more accurate from what she had seen, but she had no Pavi equivalent for them. "Special?" They didn't freak out if she passed by, so they must be.

Myrian | Pavi "Speech" Sign | Common | PC/NPC "Speech" Sign