Arrows of the Drykas

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

7th Fall, 512 A.V. Sama'el loved his family, but he was happy to take this time to himself. He had apprentices now in the Watch, Mealla and Ronan, and he knew that if he was responsible for their training, he would have to maintain, if not improve, his own. So he was here near the Sayaph's pavilion, the clever bends of his composite shortbow flexed as he pulled the string back to his ear, callused fingers holding it there, arrow nocked and steady. He didn't look like much physically, as the outspoken Mealla was only too happy to point out, but while he was skinny, he was tall and those skinny bones were corded over with lean muscle. The hard life of travel had worn away his baby fat though he was still young. Youth was a flexible matter among the horseclans. His first Strider had chosen him at seven years old, and then he was considered in some ways a man; at least, a full-fledged member of the Drykas community. If one is good enough for the Striders, one is good enough for the Drykas. His arm tensed with the effort of holding the arrow ready, but he was pushing himself, both to wait until he knew he had his shot and to build the endurance of his limbs. If a flock of Zith flew down on him while he was riding the Sea of Grass with only his Strider, they would not wait for him to rest his arms. They would have to be strong at need and on command. But finally, his slow breathing and focus paid off, and he was as likely to hit the target as ever. He released the arrow as he released his breath, a trick his father had taught him back before everything. It buzzed through the air and planted in the target, no bull's-eye, but no shaming miss either. He permitted himself a small smile, but only that before he drew another arrow. There weren't any other Watchmen about at the moment, but it was early yet. He had his dagger and his scimitar, and he hoped to get a bit of sparring in as well. Perhaps it wouldn't even be with one of his colleagues among the Watch; many Drykas came to hone their skills among them. The Watch was the first line of defense, but every Drykas had to know how to defend themselves and the ones they loved.

[Akarn]

Akarn glanced around the pavilions and in whole the tent city. Even though the encampment brought with it safety and the company of his fellow Drykas, he longed for the solitude of the plains. Perhaps that is why his tent lingered on the outskirts of Endrykas. He was also about regaining the honor he believed he had lost and he knew he could not simply do that by drifting about the Sea of Grass. He needed to prepare for the day when he meant his uncle again, which meant he had to practice and perfect the skills for that endeavor.

He remembered coming to the city of tents when he was a young boy. His father would take him to War Storm Pavilion to train with the other Drykas. Akarn had hoped the pavilion still existed. So today he found himself weaving through the mass of tents looking for the place of his childhood memory. Bow in hand and battle axe across his back, Akarn marched through the makeshift streets of the pavilion city. He stopped and exhaled in frustration. Surely being older and bigger now the navigation of Endrykas would be easier then when he was a boy. Then again, maybe not he thought to himself.

In his frustration and trying to get his bearings that is when Akarn noticed another Drykas warrior practicing with his bow. He could see the man's intensity within the exercise and could discern a confidence about his demeanor. Akarn's emerald eyes watch the trajectory of the arrow as it sailed through the air and hit the target. He was impressed, the man before him was definitely a better shot then he was.

Akarn found himself walking up towards where the other Drykas warrior was practicing, since he obviously could not find the War Storm Pavilion. Akarn knew the other warrior was better than he was, but he would not get better unless he challenged himself. "May, I?" Akarn asked as he held up his bow. He knew it would probably be taken as a challenge, he just hoped the other one would take it for it was, a friendly challenge.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

For his next shot, he tried to make it more difficult for himself. It was one thing to find one's inner stillness while aiming at a target, but the reality was that in most situations one wasn't allowed to take one's time. So he sped through the process, and at the last moment, dropped to one knee, realigning everything between one heartbeat and the next, loosing his arrow, and hitting the hay upon which the target was hung, but not the target itself. His mouth twisted wryly. This was why one practiced, after all. He stood up, attempting to figure out where he had gone wrong. It was so easy. One little miscalculation could throw off the entire maneuver. But his introspection was interrupted by a voice, and he turned to see who it was. Another young Drykas, this one a touch shorter, but more sturdily built. Sama'el smiled a friendly welcome. "Certainly," he said. Noticing the axe peeking over his shoulder, he wondered if they would be sparring before the day was over, too. He much preferred the dance of blades to the skill of archery, but he knew they were both important. Once he felt more certain of his ability with the shortbow the Drykas favored in use on horseback, he intended to purchase a longbow and continue where he had left off with that. There might come a time when the longer reach would be necessary. "I'm Sama'el Sunsinger," he said. It felt strange to say the name again, after it had been dead ashes in his gut for so many years. But it was true. He was Sama'el Sunsinger again. The road had been long and difficult, and still he would not let himself rest on those laurels. The pavilion was alive again, but it had to thrive.

[Akarn]

Sama'el Sunsinger, Akarn realized he had heard the name around the encampment recently. The man before him was able to resurrect his families lost pavilion. The Drykas warrior could not help but wonder that if one day if he ever did challenge his uncle if it would destroy his families pavilion. He pushed back his long dark hair as if trying to push the thought from his mind.

Then he looked to Sama'el. "I am Akarn." He said simply, knowing that not giving his last name usually caused suspicion but really at the current time he had no last name to give. Most Drykas did not ask about his last name but just assumed for some reason he was ashamed of his pavilion or he had fallen from grace and then they would usually distance themselves from him after their first encounter.

Akarn had dealt with that for the past two years and had kind of grown accustomed to meeting a person only once, then never seeing them again. That would happen later for now he had a sort of unspoken agreement with the Drykas in front of him for a short practice session.

So with what Akarn was sure to be an uncomfortable silence, he took up a shooting stance. He hooked the arrow with his two fingers and nocked the bow. He carefully brought up the bow, taking his time he sighted down the arrows length. He let loose his first arrow, quickly followed by another and then another. All three arrows hit the target but none had hit near the center. The staggered pattern left little to be desired. The grouping was not even close. Akarn shrugged and his mouth twisted in disappointment and he let out an exhale. At least all three hit the target, he thought even though one was out of the last ring.

He then turned to Sama'el. "Not as good as yours," He said honestly. Any other statement Akarn would have been lying to himself and there was no honor in that.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Had he been any other Drykas, he might have assumed things, but Sama'el had been just Sama'el before, or Sama'el of the Sapphire Clan. Before returning from his exile, he had only been Sam, and tried to speak his Common without the Drykas accent, derived from speaking Pavi his whole previous life. People had assumed things about him, some better, some worse than the truth. He chose to actively not judge this Akarn, who was young as he was, and just trying to live his life. But Akarn was quick to head off further conversation, drawing his bow and sighting the target. His technique was not bad, but he didn't seem very confident in it. He probably just needed practice, though Sama'el was not some wonder with a bow that he could make snap judgments. He laughed softly. "Well, my first one was good. My second one... not so much. I'm a fair shot under good conditions, but on the Watch, conditions are generally piss poor. So I'm trying to make it harder on myself." That said, he drew an arrow, nocked it, sighted, and loosed it all in one, relatively fluid motion. He had done it so many times, that it was merely a matter of following the choreography, hitting each step along the way, and speeding up the process. With the draw backward against the tension of the gut-string, he inhaled, and exhaled with its release. The arrow sped through the air and hit the target, but was not so close to the center as even the worst of Akarn's. He smiled wryly. "It's a good thing that target isn't a zibri, nor me starving."

[Akarn]

The Watch, those words echoed through his mind when Sama'el had spoken them. They were the protectors of Endrykas. From what he had seen and heard of them they were very skilled at riding and fighting. He could understand why Sama'el was trying to make his shots more difficult. It was a noble effort and duty Sama'el performed in the service of the Watch. Akarn had spent the last few years just taking care of himself and making sure he survived the Sea of Grass.

Akarn looked the other Drykas as he spoke, "But you would have wounded it sure enough." He said, turning his attention back to the target. "Besides Zulrav has given you enough strength to endure your life so far." He could hear his mothers wisdom in his words. Akarn was not sure if he was saying that for Sam's benefit or his own. Either way it was already said and there was no retrieving them back.

Akarn walked to the target and pulled the arrows from it, even helping Sama'el retrieve his own. "Well my friend, thank you for letting me intrude upon your morning." He handed Sama'el back his arrows. The young Drykas knew he was out of his element in both shooting skill and being around the Watch. Not that he thought he had done anything wrong but his past was a complicated mess and he was not sure how far his uncles lies had spread.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"That is true enough," he said, making a ritual gesture of respect that a Drykas would associate with Zulrav. He counted his blessings: Dohaina, the Strider who had walked out of the teeth of a Cyphrus storm to bond to him; the time he had guided and guarded that blasphemous dwarf who had cursed Zulrav and been cursed in return. Sama'el yet lived, though he was cursed by Oriana, but that was another story. The stylized solar orb around his eye marked him as someone the sun-goddess thought worth keeping tabs on, and that was a fortuitous thing for a man named Sunsinger. But few knew that he actually did greet each dawn with a song, and say farewell to each evening with the same. The songs he sang were passed down from Kasb'el, his impossibly old ancestor, returned in the form of Caelum the Ethaefal. He didn't know how to react to Akarn's gathering of the arrows. Sama'el had more, and so did he, already in their quivers, but he accepted them with all due thanks. "You oughtn't go," he said. "We haven't practiced nearly enough, but we've blades if you are already bored..." It was a friendly sort of challenge. The Watch needed to stay on top of their game, and those they protected ought to be able to protect themselves if the Watch ever failed. He smiled.

[Akarn]

Akarn stopped and looked back to the other Drykas. "Nah, not bored Sama'el Sunsinger. Ankal of the Sunsinger Pavilion and member of the watch." The young Drykas tried to make sure he covered all of the other warriors accomplishments. "Truth is I could use the practice in bow and axe."

Then he paused and looked back at the man before him, He could only hope one day he could find his place in the world as Sama'el had. Then Akarn shook his head and took in a deep sigh. With his thick fingers he pushed back his long black hair that had intruded upon his forehead. Then he closed his eyes as he spoke. "Same'al, my reputation can only tarnish yours." It was the harsh truth and Akarn did not want to bring shame to anyone else.

The Drykas warrior cast his emerald eyes out amongst the tents of Endrykas. He thought he at least owed the other man an explanation. So he nodded in realization. "Sometimes the choices of life are robbed from you." He said solemnly and he longed for his family.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

The knowledge of his story made Sama'el shake his head modestly. Though the struggle to get where he was long and difficult, now that he had achieved at least some of what he desired, it felt like it had been too easy; but then he would remember the loss of his wife, the ursine shape of his son, and the curse of Oriana. There was still much to overcome. But when the man spoke ill of himself, it made Sama'el angry. "Bullshit." But the anger wasn't directed at Akarn, really, but the self-defeating attitude that had threatened to stymie his own progress. He hated to see other people afflicted by it. "My reputation is my business. I don't know your story, Akarn, but if you had broken one of our laws, you would be dead or exiled on foot." He didn't ask outright, as that would be inexpressibly rude among the Drykas, but they clearly had something in common, and he would not ignore a fellow Drykas who needed to speak his mind. "Life is full of choices," he opined. "Sometimes none of them are good ones."

[Akarn]

The young Drykas stopped and glanced back at the other man he had been shooting bow with. Bullshit, rang deep within Akarn's ears. He could tell the anger was not just no meant for him alone, was Same'al battling some of his own past? Though Akarn knew of the Sunsingers present accomplishments it occurred to him that was all that he knew about the man.

After all what had Same'al had to endure before he was able to resurrect his pavilion. He raised his brows in thought, to resurrect something meant it had to be dead. This meant then that his whole family had perished if the pavilion had been destroyed. For the other warrior to want to resurrect his family name he had to at least know them. So they had that in common, he thought, they were both without the family they had grown up with.

There was also a truth within his statement about choices, Akarn had made a choice. A choice he felt that was forced upon him but it was still a choice. So the dark haired warrior turned back towards Same'al and nodded. Perhaps there could be an unspoken understanding between them. A silent amnesty that would allow each of them to hone their skills and not have to answer anything. Akarn was sure Same'al's other duties in the watch and as leader of his pavilion would not be so peaceful.

With a silent resignation, Akarns intense gaze studied Same'al for a moment before he spoke. "So then shall it be bow or blade?" He asked with no harsh intent. Instead it was more of a signal to show the other warrior that he had been right without even saying it. That actually each other's lives with their own business. He was actually leaving it up to Same'al if the sparring session would continue or not.