Bullseye!

[Ronan Frostfawn]

Mithryn Outpost, The Garrison
7th Bell, 26th of Summer, AV 514

It could have be the sunlight streaming into the dormitory that woke Ronan up, or it could have been the sound of the birds singing their songs outside the window, more likely it was the gruff old man who towered over his bunk, resembling a grouchy billy goat far too well it was almost sinister. "Up and out" He barked as Ronan groaned and rolled out of bed, literally smacking the floor as his tried brain wasn't fast enough to tell his arms to stop him.

"Smart move, you'll go far" Erik, his patron knight, said with a smile touching his lips as the corners of his mouth twitch "Anyway, I'm not here to play wet nurse. I'm heading out on patrol soon but you're not ready for the wilds, you've got more to learn so it's time to train yourself."

"Can't I follow?" He asked in his broken Common, pulling himself to feet before leaning against the coarse wooden wall for support as he rubbed his forehead, tending to the pain as Erik shook his head and over the short time they had known each other he had learnt that truly was a end to it. "Sorry lad, I don't think you're ready and here every man does their duty so I have to go on patrol. It'll be good for you, 'bout time you learnt how to train on your own. I'm not just here to train you, I'm here to make you into a knight and unless you can hone your skills yourself I'll make you into a dead knight instead." He explained and truthfully Ronan knew he was right, even if he didn't want to admit it.

He can grown rather... lax when Erik wasn't around barking orders at him, relying on him keeping him in shape rather than himself, his dad would give him a sharp slap around the back of the head if he ever got in a state where his skills had become rusty and left him exposed. "Yes Sir" He mumbled in reply, mostly out of tiredness but partly out of a sour mood. "Good lad, now the Mithryn Outpost is different to Stormhold, it's more exposed, more dangerous and the people here will reflect that so just do as you're asked and stay out of trouble" He advised before adding "Now get dressed, get some food in yer gut and break a sweat, I'll see you later" and with that said he left without waiting for Ronan's reply and left him alone.

With some food in his stomach and clothes covering his decency, it was too hot to bother with armour today and without Erik around he figured he could risk it without getting into some shit. He had brought his bow, quiver and a handful of arrows along with him to practice, in truth it was probably the skill he needed to put the least amount of time in but he wanted to do something familiar, something to remind him of home and this was the closest thing he could find.

It was a pleasant enough day, the bright sun could be seen beginning its ascent into the clear, blue sky except for a few small clouds, its rays of light warming the cold stone that surrounded. The air was warm, a bit too warm for the Vantha, and with no wind to be felt it was left without a bitter bite to it much to Ronan's dismay. The training grounds here were a lot smaller and quieter then in Syliras, just a few gruff old knight and fresh young squires sparring in the yard.

The archery range was a lot less formal, in fact it was a couple of targets tucked in the corner to avoid accidentally shooting some simpleton who stumbled in front of the target. With a strung bow and arrow ready he felt himself slipping into the stance as if he had done this over a hundred times, which he hand.

His eye was clenched shut, his breathing stopped and fingers slackened as the arrow flew free.

Speech in Vani
Speech in Common

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick clutched the soft cloth of his pillow and cracked a bleary eye at his neighbour, while the man traded words with his Patron. The older knight reminded Marrick of a Hen trying to coax one of its chicks to keep up while it walked. It was a sight all-to familiar and memorable as it had only been two seasons since David Whitevine had begun his own training. The Raven haired squire rubbed the sleep from his eyes and swung his feet out of his bed, touching the grain of the floor. He yawned deeply, only to groan when he exhaled. His bones still ached, from yesterdays practice. Somewhere in the back of his head he heard the young man ask his Patron if he could accompany him on patrol. It brought Marrick back to last winter when he followed his Patron around like a new born pup. A little private smile blossomed on his face as he stood and began his day with a stretch. With a shallow leap he grasped a low beam and pulled himself to the rim with a grunt. Down-breathe and up exhale, again and again as he lifted himself bodily to the rim of the beam. He executed his pull ups until his arms ached and his brow was slick. When he could suffer no more he dropped to his feet with a thud. With light hands he quickly stripped his evening shirt and wiped the sweat away, tossing the soiled linens into his trunk before he slipped his gambeson. After a few snaps, and ties he tugged at the lower rim, making sure it was snug and secure. Yet that was never enough for Ser Whitevine. Marrick had gotten used to his routine of armouring up, regardless of how uncomfortable it made him. He left his heavy armor behind, and reached for his chain mail instead. It slid on like a comfortable hug. His gorget fitted over the light armor with a snap. It was a routine Marrick knew and it brought him an odd comfort with his Patron away in the city. Geared up at last, he made his way from the dormitory. As he walked, he hummed the dancing tune he heard his first night as a squire. A merry little ditty, full of echoed memories that rumbled from his throat. Until that is, he found his way to the great hall. The Kelvic eyed over the incredibly appetizing meal set before him on the tables, but all Marrick had time for was a handful of bread. He wanted to hit the field early, and get some longbow practice in before he brushed down Kiter for some time in the saddle. Besides, the Kelvic knew that lunch could be so much more interesting if he were elsewhere in the Outpost. Like some feral animal he tore off chucks of bread as he made his way to the Bailey. Each mouthful was a tap of his boots against laid stone work and wood. The place was empty yet, save for one or two of the order on guard duty. So the Kelvic got to work. He held the heel of bread he had pilfered in his mouth whenever he needed both hands to setup targets. As his heel disappeared his task grew to fruition. Until at last he nibbled at the nubbin of bread, while he stood at the loosing line, eyeing the target. A corner still poked its way from his mouth as he stroked the feathers of the first shaft he notched on a practice longbow. Marrick eyed his target and set his feet, just as Ser Whitevine had taught him. Then with one swift and fluid motion he drew in his breath, and lifted the bow and arrow so that his eye looked down the shaft. As the arrow and his eye aligned with the target, he held the string for less than a tic before he loosed with an exhale. The arrow glided its short graceful arc into the top of the target and Marrick chewed on the hardened heel. “Least Oi even hit the bloody theng.” He half mumbled through the bit of bread. Not daunted, the Kelvic took another shaft from the barrel in front of him and drew the arrow just as he had before. He waited just a little longer, trying to aim for the targets center ring. The Kelvic engulfed the last bit of bread in his mouth just as he loosed. The arrow flew, and the target arrows head buried itself south of his previous shot. Again not where he had intended, but the Kelvic was determined to land at least one arrow in the inner ring. Marrick fired off a few more with the last arrow flying wide and landing somewhere behind the target. With a growl of frustration he marched past the Loosing line and recovered the arrows from the target. He gathered them into a bundle as he removed each one from the target, and set about finding the last one. He parted the grass in places, each time coming up empty until at last there it was, lying almost serenely just below the target. “Now how the bloody blazes did yeh get down there, yah wee pecher.” The Kelvic mumbled as he reached for the arrow. Almost as if he were jolted by an electric shock, Marrick felt an instinctive tingle rush up his spine. The feeling forced him to crouch as low to the ground as he could manage, just in time to see an arrow burry its shaft halfway through the back of the target. Its sharp head poked menacingly out, and into the empty space where he was standing. “OI OI! HOLD YER STRING!” Marrick shouted over the back of the target. “YEh HAVE A MAN DOWN RANGE! Don’t shoot!” Marrick bellowed loudly as he carefully peaked over the rim of the target with his hand raised. OOCGreat post Ronan! Shit=Shyke here in Miz if you wanna get all immersive and stuff.

[Ashar]

Ronan
Experience

Skill	XP Earned
Weapon: Shortbow	1

Lores

Wilds: Dangerous Realm
Mithryn: Hardier than Stormhold

Marrick
Experience

Skill	XP Earned
Body Building	1
Weapon: Longbow	2

Lores

Bows: Setting Your Stance

Additional Comments

These opening posts were well-written and interesting. Shame that it was cut short - I would have looked forward to reading the rest.

Don't forget to edit your grade request, and if there's anything about the grade you want to discuss don't be afraid to send me a PM!