[Sanctuary] We Will Pluck Yew!

[Razkar]

26th of Fall, 512AV

Sanctuary was looking better, Razkar thought as he and Mrrko cantered under the archway and into the main courtyard. The piles of debris that had been bonfires were cleared way. The very stones his horse walked on were twisted and molded into spike to fight their enemies. Now they had returned to their proper shape, innocuous and innocent.

Razkar smiled down at them as he dismounted Mrrko. Like a cat's claw, as the scholar said. You'd never know it was there, unless you'd seen it in action.

The smell of the place hit him hard, like it always did. A combination of herbs, manure, animal hide of all kinds. Horses whinnied in the stables to his right, a high sound made mournful by the echo in the wooden building. Grunting and snorting juddered into his ears from the south, pigs and goats adding to the symphony.

The Myrian tied up his horse and surveyed the place that was a battlefield not long ago. Much blood was spilled here. Many trophies were taken, and he saw much that would give him cause for pride later on. And not just in himself.

Razkar chuckled softly to himself and fingered his new necklace. One would assume they were chicken bones, at a distance. Without that distance, however, they would be revealed for what they were.

Finger bones. Zith fingers, to be specific.

Razkar hefted his shortbow from off the back of Mrrko's saddle and draped it over his back, along with his quiver of arrows. His ax and gladius were at his belt, as always, but he had trained with them already. Especially with one man in particular. For now, their business with more... close quarter weapons was concluded and each man had learned much from their sparring days before. But now Razkar was eager to learn with the bow.

And who better to teach him than Vanator the Dryska, who had offered his expertise in this artform?

He secured his weapons and marched off into the clinic to find the man in question.

[Vanator]

Vanator had stopped by the Within kitchen, snagging up a pear. It seemed the Drykas always had a piece of fruit in hand. The Zith never gave him fresh fruit, and Kavala seemed to make sure there was always a supply available. Van liked pears especially, but they were Tasival's favorite too, so Van made sure he left some in the wooden fruit bowl for his little nephew. Sinking his teeth into the juicy pulp, he made his way through the gem studded tunnels to the Top. Van had spent the early morning helping turn out the herd, then cleaning up in the Cave Shelter. Now he would see what he could do to lend a hand in the compound.

He cleared the tunnel entrance into the sunlit courtyard, immediately spotting the Myrian heading into the clinic, draped with weapons. Ever the warrior.

"Razhar!" He yelled out, "Over here!"

The Drykas made his way across towards the clinic to meet up with the visitor, a broad smile on his face. "I am glad you came by. I have been hoping you would take me up on my offer." Seeing the bow and quiver across his back, Van knew he was here to practice some archery. He held out his hand in greeting, clapping the tattooed warrior on his shoulder.

"I will have Aweston take care of your mount, she will be in good hands. Follow me."

The Denusk lead Razkar back to the Entrance to the Within, and down the tunnel. Vanator would not take a stranger into the belly of the Sanctuary, but the Myrian had not only helped defend Kavala and then the facility from the Zith assault, the strange westerner had become a friend. Besides, Van was immensely proud of the Within, a work of wonder in his eyes, carved out by Kavala's magic and splendidly adorned. The two men stopped at the armory, where Van pulled a short bow off of the rack and slung a quiver of arrows over his back.

Winding through the tunnels further, Vanator lead his guest to the Cave Shelter. A large round archery target rested against the stony wall near the exit. Handing the wooden stand to Razkar, Van rolled the target out of the cave and onto the beach. Moving a little ways north, the Myrian helped him set up the target. The face of the target was painted with concentric circles, white and red, with a solid red circle at the center. Then he moved about fifty paces back down the beach.

The Drykas swung his arms and scrunched up his shoulders, loosening the muscles he would employ to draw the bow. "Now Raz, I am by no means an expert. I am able to pick things off at closer ranges," They both had done that to bring down low flying Zith as they attacked, ..."but I was not a primary hunter in the pavilion, so the focus of my training was on other tasks, I can show basics, but we are kind of learning together here."

He drew an arrow from the quiver and laid it across the bow, nocking it to the string. Raising the weapon, he pulled back until his thumb brushed against his chin, aiming the iron head at the center of the target downrange. His fingers flexed a fraction, letting the string snap. The arrow sped off, but veered to the right considerably when the stiff sea breeze caught it, barely catching the edge of the target. "Shyke, didn't compensate for that wind." He glanced over at Razkar with a small grin and a shrug.

"Want to take a warm up shot?"

[Razkar]

Razkar made a classic mistake: he got overconfident. He'd used his shortbow before, both at home and here, mere days before, and had slain several enemies with it. Of course he would like a "warm up" shot!

It never occurred to him the distance was nearly twice what it had been in the Sea of Grass.

The Myrian got his stance right, at least. Sideways to the target, left shoulder and side facing it, feet planted firmly and his left foot pointed towards the target. He held his bow flat, drew an arrow and notched it.

Then he raised it, pulled the string back and righted the bow in the same movement. Two fingers straining slightly as he the powerful pull of the string yanked at his fingers, he sighted down the arrow, so assured that he didn't even bother to breath properly, and loosed-

Easy as-

-the arrow flew straight and accurate for half the distance... and then veered off high and to the left and slammed into the cave wall.

There was a long and pregnant silence. Razkar willed his face not to reveal his emotions... up until he saw Vanator standing to one side, hand covering his lower face but eyes smiling, smiling, smiling...

The Myrian sighed and placed both hands on his bow, coming very, very close to looking sheepish.

"Has been while..."

[Vanator]

"The gods must of guided our arrows that night my friend, because I don't know if either of us could hit the side of a chicken coup if we tried!" Vanator laughed. There was no longer an issue of pride between the grasslander and the jungle-dweller. They had endured the heat of battle together, have tried and tested each others strength and weakness as sparring partners.

"Well...good thing its just us down here. Lets see if we can fix that. But first, I am going to loose a couple more practice shots...to find my groove." He smiled, drawing another arrow from the quiver. Setting it against the string of his bow, he took a moment to get his mind right. Windage... Van noted the direction and strength of the breeze. He raised the bow, his left arm gripping the wood lightly. He tended to hold it so tight that sometimes it rolled the bow to the side a bit. The Drykas bent his arm slightly, to clear his forearm of the string. Drawing back, he held his breath as he aimed again, compensating for the traitorous sea breeze. With a flinch the string was released, and Vanator's eyes followed the arrow as it sped towards the target. Appearing dead on at first, it dropped a bit and made its impact well below the bullseye. Stepping back, he took a moment to go over his stance to determine how to make corrections.

"Why don't you take another shot."

[Razkar]

TRazkar's lips contorted and he nodded a few times, impressed with the Dryska's improvement. From missing entirely to getting on target. Not bad. It would not have been a kill shot, perhaps, but it would have easily punched through a leg. He'd watched the big, blonde warrior as he drew, found and made his shot, and decided Van would be his model.

"Why don't you take another shot?"

"Good idea."

Raz held his bow steady in his left hand, and notched an arrow. He planted his feet as before, drew the string back as he raised the bow... but now, he took his time. His right arm - well-muscled and oft-used - took the strain of the taut string easily, feathered quarrel nearly brushing his cheek as he pulled it all the way back. The shortbow's wicked curve added even more power to it, but that power needed direction... and care.

The Myrian felt the wind smack against his face. It was harsh, and high... but fading... he sighted in on the target, breathed slowly, shallowly, until his hands no longer trembled. But he couldn't wait much longer: a pulled bow is does not stay taut forever. So he waited, picking his moment, until the cold blow against his face ended-

-and he let go of the string with the lightest straightening of his fingers.

The arrow show from his bow and rocketed towards the target. Towards the end it dropped and the wind cruelly kicked up a second time, knocking it off course and away from the bullseye-

-but sticking out the target maybe a foot to the right of it.

Razkar lowered his bow and cocked his chin towards his arrow, pride and mirth on his tattooed and pierced face. He winked at the Dryska.

"Not bad for savage, eh?"

[Vanator]

Vanator watched the Myrian draw back on his bow. It was a beautiful weapon, a composite of several materials and formed with a beautiful recurve. It provided much more punch than the rank and file short bow he had acquired for the armory. As he watched Razkar's arrow thunk into the target, Vanator vowed he would start looking in Riverfall immediately to find such a weapon for himself.

"No, not bad wildman." Van teased. "How about a bit of a wager, first one to hit the bullseye gets to hear a song from the loser." He gave the Myrian a wide grin.

Stepping up to the mark, Van drew another arrow. He checked his feet, made sure the toes of his boots drew a line to the target. He craned his head to the side until his neck popped audibly. He nocked the arrow, and raised the bow while two fingers drew back the string. The weapon creaked as he reached full draw, remembering to let the grip settle loosely, giving most reisistance at the crux of his palm and thumb. Drawing in a deep breath, Van aimed. At the last moment, he remembered a habit he had been trying to break before he was taken away. Feeling his left shoulder shrugged up, They Drykas relaxed a bit, lowering it. Gauging the wind at his face, he adjusted, lining the head up with the target. Fingers released and the arrow zoomed away, sinking into the target to the left of the bullseye, almost directly opposite of Razhar's last shot.

"Hmmm..." Van hummed as he stared at his arrow, assessing what he needed to do to correct for his next shot.

[Razkar]

"How about a bit of a wager, first one to hit the bullseye gets to hear a song from the loser."

Razkar gave a lopsided grin and scratched under his chin, pondering the wager as he gazed at the target. After a few moments he nodded... and watched Van come very, very close to winning.

His eyes narrowed, glaring at the offending arrow that was worringly close to the red bulls-eye at the center of the target. The Drykas' form was improving with every shot; even Razkar could see that. The bigger man stepped aside and let Razkar step up. The Myrian slipped easily into his stance, toes pointed towards the target. He notched an arrow, drew the bow... and remembered to drop his shoulder.

He'd been watching Van carefully, after all.

He sighted down the arrow, breathing slow and steady. The gleaming metal tip quavered before his eyes, shaking minutely under the distant target. He took his time... breathed carefully... until it had all but stopped. His skin tingled with the breeze coming from the west, heady with the scent of seawater and fresh grass...

He took a breath... saw his arrow in that bulls-eye... held it, and his hands stalled, stopped, leveled-

-he let the arrow fly.

It flew in a perfectly straight line, taut string sending it shooting across the distance in the blink of an eye. But even then the wind was still his enemy, and with mere inches to spare, it buried itself next to the bullseye.

The Myrian did not swear or curse or kick the ground or throw his weapon to it. Such behavior was petulent and he would not insult himself nor his... friend? No. He would not. They were learning, training and they were sweetening the experience with a wager. So...

When he stepped aside and Vanator replaced him before the target, he leaned over slightly, words murmured and low but carried with the weight of what he hoped was wisdom.

"See arrow in bullseye," he said, "Want it there. Know it will go. Wait. You have time. Then when time is good... is perfect... that is sign." His eyes flickered upwards briefly, and the Drykas truly did not know if this "wildman" was sincere or mocking or both or neither. "... that arrow is ready."

[Vanator]

Vanator frowned. The Myrian had recovered quickly, seeming to make the right adjustments to sink his arrow just inches from the bullseye. He glanced over at Razkar as the exotic warrior stepped back from the firing line. The Drykas started to wonder what song he would sing after the the jungle man put an arrow in the center of the target.

Politely, Vanator listened to his friend's heavily accented words. It was true Van did not know for sure if the Myrian was serious or teasing him. One thing he certainly had not figured out was Myrian humor. The horseman gave Razkar a grin and nodded. That response seemed appropriate regardless of what the man meant.

"Do Myrians even know how to sing?"Vanator jibed. Honestly, he was curious. The more he learned about Razkar's people, the more curious Van became.

The Denusk stepped forward, drawing another arrow. Lining up his feet again he nocked the arrow and held it against the rest. In one breath and motion, the Drykas again drew the string and raised the bow. His last shot was closer, but was probably over compensated for the wind. Van consciously relaxed his shoulders, kept his left arm straight, his grip loose.

Wait. Angle. He remembered an important lesson. Van adjusted his grip until his knuckles were at an angle to the bow, the handle resting on the ball of this thumb and not his palm. This automatically forced the elbow of his bow arm to point out rather than down. It also tilted his arm out of the way of the string, which he tended to bend a bit to avoid. It felt better.

So, set, Vanator took aim, lessening his windage compensation. Van laughed at himself as he found that he was heeding the Myrian's words, waiting, imagining the arrow in the target's center. Finally, he released. The arrow flew straight, thunking into the target right and lower than his last shot, but much closer to the bulls eye, just a couple finger widths away.

He stepped back, smiling at Razkar. "See arrow in bullseye." He repeated with a wide grin.

[Razkar]

Razkar's eyebrows shot to the top of his head as he watched Van's last arrow think onto the target a hair's breadth from the bullseye. Squint a little and he might have thought it was a bullseye. But not quite...

The Drykas stepped back and surrendered the line to the Myrian. Razkar readied his bow... drew an arrow...

"See arrow in bullseye."

Razkar just smiled back at his own words. He notched an arrow, and once again, learned from his rival. He'd learned long ago that while originality was all well and good, copying your enemy to defeat him worked just as well. Either way, victory was victory. What did it matter how it was gained?

He pulled back the string and let the handle of the bow settle against the ball of his thumb, just as Vanator did. Right away he saw the benefit of doing so. The grip was a little more tenuous, but the bow was far more steady. He drew the string further back with two fingers, until his fingernails brushed his cheek. His breathing slowed, steadied... until it was shallow and the tremble vanished from his hands...

Then he concentrated. Relaxed as best he could, but focused all the same on that distant little bloody circle. The more he stared at it, willing the sight of that arrow impaling it... the more he felt his aim drift towards it, inexorably...

His arm began to tremble almost imperceptibly, and he let the arrow fly.

[Vanator]

Vanator watched as the Myrian took to the firing position. Razkar took his time, and the Drykas smiled slightly when he saw his friend adopt some of the techniques he himself was trying to remember. And the warrior waited. It seemed an inordinate amount of time, so long that Vanator thoroughly examine the strange bone piercings thrust through the man's ears and nose, the designs etched into his skin, surely symbols of some significance.

The sea breeze seemed to stop just for Razkar. No sea bird called out. Only the sound of the perpetual surf filling the salty air. Finally, the Taloban released the bowstring with an imperceptible flinch, and Vanator watched the arrow zoom towards the target, straight at the target, and into the prized bulls eye.

"You son of a..." Vanator swore through a smile, leaning on his bow. He knew the bow was not the Myrian's primary weapon, and he had expected the match to last a few more volleys.

"Alright, I owe you a song...but we are not finished yet! He cleared his throat, as if to prepare for a grand performance. Vanator had not sung in seasons. He had no need or desire in the depths of the Zith colony. There were many bawdy songs he knew, drinking songs that filled the pavilion of the Trough in Endrykas. Then, a subtle, warm smile crossed his face. He chose an unlikely song. It was one a woman he once loved used to sing in the tavern. Larik and Cadra's mother, Pygmy, was a performer in Endrykas. It was a tune usually sung by a woman, but Van changed the lyrics to a man's perspective.

"The red sun rises,
against the blue moon,
my heart on the horizon,
I pray to see you soon,

My dear I've gone and left you,
fighting distant wars,
I will long for you,
I will be always yours,

And that red sun o'er the river,
is it an omen yet?
I throw away the tea leaves,
I refuse to bet,
because,
That red sun o'er the river,
it is less a curse than me,
and I will fight for you,
with all the powers that be."

Vanator's singing voice was not bad, but no match for Pygmy's. He paused for a thoughtful moment at the fond memories, before giving a shallow bow to to the Myrian.

"Now...give me a chance to redeem my wounded Drykas pride."

His smile widening, Vanator stepped up to the line. Lining up his feet, he drew another arrow, set it to the string and raised the bow while drawing back in one motion. Relaxing into his stance, checking his grip, elbow rotation and shoulders, he lined his dominant eye up in a line that passed through the broadhead and into the center of the target. Van's lungs filled with air, and he held it. When he felt every motion of his body steady, he released the string. The arrow flew true, but not true enough. It landed close to his last shot, close to the bulls eye, but not even grazing the red circle.

"Shyke." He muttered. He was starting a nice grouping, but he needed to adjust his aim just a hair to send his missiles into the red.