Flashback A day with a crossbow

[Roderick]

20th of Spring, 512 AV Roderick bounced up and down in the saddle heavily, wincing each time his backside connected with the leather. Every now and then he would release a string of curses as the gelding he was riding on galloped after he accidentally clicked his knees against its sides - something which happened too often. Rubbed raw by the day's ride, the horse took his pain into mind and decided to slow down, then wander off to some bushes and begin grazing quietly. "Petching beast..." he complained, untangling his feet from the stirrups and swinging himself about in the saddle. The landing was hardly graceful; he landed on one foot and began to lose his balance, before the second touched down and he started dancing around on that one. Clutching at the saddle hurriedly, he just barely avoided falling over. Of course the horse decided to move again. Roderick stumbled along with it, losing his balance again and this time landing on his rear, which set him howling and shouting angrily; "You stupid, mangy, no good excuse for a horse!" There were a few chuckles and smiles from the other members of the caravan, who watched in bemusement as the hunter scrambled to his feet and marched his way over the horse to swat irritably at its neck; the horse blew air out of its nose and shifted its footing, but otherwise ignored the angry hunter completely. That was what he got for buying and riding a horse within the space of a few days; his poor riding skills mixed with not knowing the horse properly had caused all kinds of pain for him. Roderick tied its reins to a branch and slumped himself down in the shadow of a nearby tree, scowling sourly at the beast as he started nibbling at some bread from his pack. A man nodded in greeting as he passed and Roderick returned it and carried on eating angrily. Their group - made up of about 17 people, from what he'd counted - had been going forward at a steady pace, never too fast or too slow. All the same the journey had been chafing at Roderick, who'd never had to travel for this long or for this far - at least as far as his memory went back. Hunched up under a shared tent the night before, the hiss of the calm wind hadn't been enough to smother the snores of the man he'd been sharing the tent with. Eventually he'd grown tired of the noise and spent the night wrapped in his cloak beneath the night sky. Waking the next morning with a numb arm, he'd made a mental note to avoid sharing a tent with the man again. With the caravan having halted in its progress the hunter decided he'd stretch his muscles a little and practice with one of the weapons he'd brought along for the trip; a light crossbow. He was no master with the thing, but having it in hand each night when he slept had put his mind at ease, given he could shoot off a bolt the moment someone tried to attack him; such a thing wasn't possible with a longbow. They wouldn't be moving on for a while, so now was as good a time as any for him to have a good at using the weapon. He found a man called Ivan that was willing to show him how to use it properly, so the two of them collected the man's target from one of the wagons and set it up near the edge of the camp. With that task completed Roderick collected his crossbow and filled his quiver up with bolts and then, weapon in hand, turned about and faced the target, waiting for Ivan's instructions. The other man adjusted the straps of his leather armour and then made his way over to Roderick, standing beside him, "This bit's the stock." he ran his fingers along the wooden length of the weapon, skin sliding along cleanly, "over here you've got the trigger. Keep your fingers off that or you'll fire the crossbow. Do that without a bolt in place and you'll shake the thing to pieces." he tapped a fingernail against a little piece of metal on the stock, "This is the nut. You click the string in there - pull the trigger and the bolt'll move off at your target." Roderick put that down in his memory as Ivan continued, "The metal part near the front is the stirrup. Sit that against the ground and set your boot through it, then grab the string and pull it back 'til it clicks behind the nut." "Then aim and pull the trigger?" Roderick interjected, receiving a nod from the other man. Nodding to himself he bent forward to hook his boot through the stirrup so he could draw the crossbow. Wrapping gloved fingers around the string he began pulling upward, finding a slight amount of difficulty in it as the weapon moved around. "Push down with your feet to keep it steady." Ivan's instruction worked when put into use, and the hunter quickly found the string moving upward into place. With a slight click it set itself in place. Straightening Roderick drew a bolt out and set it in place on the groove that ran the length of the stock, lifting the weapon up and looking over to where the target stood - only a few feet away, guaranteeing an easy shot - he frowned at the piece of metal in his view, "The sights." Ivan explained shortly. Nodding to show he understood, the Zeltivan looked over towards the target again and slowly curled his fingers around the trigger, gradually applying pressure until the weapon shuddered and the bolt went sailing away into the bushes. Frowning Roderick turned towards Ivan questioningly. The other man gestured for him to try again. Reloading was a little easier, though still rather awkward. After the string clicked into place he loaded a bolt and brought the weapon to his shoulder, staring down the sights at the target. Ivan moved around him, poking and prodding at him to fix his stance - it was rather similar to the one Roderick was used top; Ivan's tips would help him with his normal shooting, the hunter imagined. Normally he breathed gently as he was loosing, but in this case Ivan told him to hold his breath so the crossbow wouldn't shift back and forward. The bullseye floated slightly in his view; he let his aim hover slightly over it and then pulled the trigger, holding his weapon more tightly to deal with the recoil. On this try the quarrel did not veer away so greatly, landing in the middle regions of the third ring. A horrible shot, but at at least he'd hit it. He bent again to draw the string back for a third try. After it had clicked into place and he had loaded a bolt, Roderick brought the crossbow back up to his shoulder and aimed it toward the target. As the weapon shook in his hands and the string thrummed, the bolt took off through the air and jammed itself into the outer ring of the target, opposite the other one that had landed. Sharing a look with Ivan, who seemed rather amused by his new companion's failed attempts, the hunter bent his back again to draw the string into place, then straightened up to draw a bolt out and load it. "You're worrying about the recoil and it's making you jump with it." the other hunter told Roderick, "Just relax yourself." Taking that to heart he set the stock against his shoulder and looked out towards his target, exhaling to calm himself and then drew some air back in, holding it there and setting his arms as he pulled the trigger. Shuddering in his arms, the crossbow didn't jump just as much as it had before and the quarrel had edge its way closer to the second ring. Dissatisfied with the poor quality of his shots, Roderick sighed heavily and wondered if he'd have more luck hitting the target if he just threw the crossbow at it.

[Roderick]

21st of Spring The leaves beneath his boots made a satisfying crunch as he walked between the trees in search of the bolt; it had gone quite deep into the undergrowth - farther than he'd have thought. Returning it to his quiver he walked back towards where he had set the target up - though walked wasn't quite the right word; the time he'd spent in the saddle had left him rather raw between the legs, so instead of his normal strolling gait he had something of a hobbling shuffle. Spending the entire day in the saddle had greatly soured his mood and when the caravan had stopped to set up camp he had been inclined to just sit down and wallow in his pain. Instead he'd run into Ivan shortly after dismounting and the other hunter had convinced him he should continue his practice. So here he was, stalking through the trees as he made his way back to the target. When he had limped his way back to where he'd left the damned horse - which idly chewed on some grass while it watched him - he stood opposite the target again and turned his side towards it; Ivan gave a few prods again to straighten his stance, and then, shoving the stock further against his shoulder and sighting down the target, he pulled the trigger and felt the weapon kick in his hands; with the stock braced at his shoulder and his hands holding it the bolt found its way to the target, biting into the very edge of the third ring. Slow progress, but progress all the same. Roderick was certain his back would become permanently hunched by all the bending he had to do to cock the string into position. When he straightened he felt slight twinges of pain in his back, but he ignored them and readied the crossbow against his shoulder once more. No longer having to worry about keeping the bowstring in place as he would with his longbow, the hunter was surprised by the amount of time he had to aim. Staring down the sights, Roderick lined up the center of the target and let his aim hover over it, then pulled the trigger. The recoil of the crossbow sent his arms up slightly, so that the bolt jerked upwards. Allowing his aim to hover was meant to allow him to hit his target more easily, without worrying over landing a hit. In this case it set the bolt just within the second ring of the target; not that impressive, given he was only a few feet away from it. Ivan had left him alone to do the work, heading away to find something to eat. Not having him there was a blessing and a curse; Roderick didn't feel half as embarrassed when he failed. On the other hand if the other man had been there he could have explained why things weren't working for him. Bending over again, Roderick's back complained more noticeably this time when he straightened, and the hunter took a moment to stretch his back and groan before he brought the crossbow to his shoulder and took aim. This time he released the bolt too quickly, so his aim was off; the bolt hurtled off into the undergrowth again. Roderick marched off after it after glaring at his horse - the thing just stared him down blankly, uninterested. After a chime or two of walking beneath the overhanging canopy of leaves he wandered into the middle of a clearing, no doubt having passed by his bolt at some point; he doubted he could have sent it this far. He'd loaded a quarrel before he set off and so he had to be careful not to accidentally pull on the trigger; the last thing he wanted was a iron-tipped shaft of wood embedded in his foot. Sighing he was just about to turn around and head back to the camp when he heard a slight rustling away in the bushes. From the undergrowth came a trio of slinking beasts, fur brushing the leaves as they surrounded him, calmly eyeing their would-be meal. Remembering the weapon in his hands, Roderick clutched at it more tightly and started backing away, boots scuffing the dirt. He came to an abrupt stop as his back connected with the trunk of a tree, startled by that, his fingers tightened and his weapon shuddered, hurtling the bolt off through the air in the rough direction of one of the animals. As it sank deep into the ground Roderick quickly dug one boot into a knobbed root at the base of the tree and leaped upwards into the air, hooking an arm around the nearest branch. Dangling there for a few moments he heard the wolves descending on the tree and he hurriedly hauled himself upwards, struggling with maintaining his hold on both the branch and his weapon. One of them reached him before its packmates and it started snapping up at him, managing to wrap some of its teeth around his boot. Kicking out roughly he felt the blows hitting air, then finally connecting with it. Yelping it clung on more tightly, but another kick dislodged it; as soon as that happened it went right back to snapping up at him and he redoubled his efforts at escaping from it. As his belly came to rest against the bark he lifted one leg over and straddled the branch beneath him, gripping it with his legs. The wolves waited below, staring up at him hungrily. As Biter snarled and growled below he started wondering about what exactly he was going to do now. How was he meant to load it up here? He doubted he would be able to keep his balance if he raised a leg to shove his boot into the foot rest. He stared at the crossbow for a few tics, puzzling over how he could use this unfamiliar weapon. Slowly and awkwardly, the hunter held the weapon in place with one hand while drawing back the bowstring with the other. The crossbow shook in his hands, slowing things down; the growling from below didn't help. When the string finally clicked into place he was so grateful he nearly dropped the thing. Clutching it desperately, his fingers closed around the trigger, sending a violent shudder through the wood, jolting it in his grip even more. Somehow he managed to keep a grip on the weapon. This time around, when he cocked it, he made sure to hold the crossbow firmly. Adrenaline sent tremors through him as he brought the stock back against his shoulder. Aiming at a wolf is a far more dangerous thing than trying to hit a target; when he pulled the trigger, the crossbow shook itself in his grip, sending a bolt meant for one of the clawing wolves head into it's back. Either way the beast yelped in pain and backed away, flailing its head as it attempted to pry the bolt from its hide. Succeeding in drawing it out somewhat, it abandoned the effort in place of stalking around the tree again, growling furiously up at him, though keeping its distance now. The beast's packmates did the same. Loading the crossbow was becoming a serious trial for Roderick, whose hands shook to the point where he just barely kept the weapon from falling to the ground below. Stopping for a moment he calmed his breathing; as long as he stayed up here he was safe. With that thought in mind he readied the stock against his shoulder, then took aim at the same wolf as before, remembering the shudder the crossbow made and adjusting his aim. He was disappointed when the bolt went right past the beast and stuck itself into the ground. It seemed to take an entire bell for him to reload his weapon. When he had finally slid a new quarrel into place, he brought it up to his shoulder and took aim at the same wolf, willing his aim to be true. From out of nowhere a bolt suddenly struck the wolf - taking it in the side of the face and unleashing a stream of red down its muzzle. Howling and yelping in pain, it slunk away into the bushes to hide. Staring in surprise, Roderick looked around for the person that had fired the quarrel; his own weapon was still loaded and ready for firing. The other two halted in their assault of the tree and whirled about to face their new attacker. Advancing towards a pair of tall oaks they stopped and bared their teeth as something moved about behind the cover of the sentinels. Bringing the weapon to bear on the wolf that had gone into the bushes to help its injured mate, he pulled the trigger and felt his heart sink as the bolt missed the animal completely. "Caiyha, please help me..." the prayer spilled from his lips, unwanted and unbidden. All the same he found the wish taking root in his chest; his desperation transformed into anger and, slowly, determination. His mind went blank for a moment, then suddenly he saw one of the wolves below was yelping and spinning and backing away from him, a bolt stuck in its side; the crossbow was up at his shoulder, his hands holding it steady. Even an impious man could have a little faith, it seemed. While he was drawing the string back into place one of the wolves started scrabbling furiously,

[Roderick]

The wolf he'd just hit stood near the base of the tree, howling up at him furiously, jaws snapping. "Shut it, you mutt!" he barked back down at it, the hit he'd scored lending him some courage. His arm was aching furiously as he wrenched the string back into place and felt it click; laying the bolt down and bringing the weapon up again, he aimed for the injured wolf below. Breath. Just breath. When he pulled the trigger, his hands had started trembling again while his heart pounded in his chest. Holding the crossbow still, it shuddered in his hands, throwing his shot off again, but the death grip he held it in stayed the shot and he smiled victoriously as the bolt took the wolf in the eye; it dropped like a sack of potatoes. "Not so loud now, are you, ya filthy animal!" he spat at it and then started to reload. With its brothers gone, the last wolf seemed to become more hesitant in its assault; slowly, it began to back away from the tree, leaving the corpses of its brethren lying in growing rivers of blood. Roderick felt his heart leap as he realized he had run out of quarrels; they were all on the forest floor. Bark scraped against leather as the hunter shifted about the tree, fingers clutching handholds while his boots kept him as steady as they could. His movements were fairly sure, but quick too, hurried. Falling the last few feet to the ground, the hunter rose and drew his crossbow from his back, grown use to the feel of it in his hands, vaguely confident in using it. He snatched up the bolt he'd missed with a few minutes ago. As he'd expected, the wolf broke of its retreat and lurked in the bushes nearby, watching him. As Roderick's boots touched down on dirt, the wolf began to advance, slowly. The hunter cocked the string back towards the rear of the stock, his foot driven into the stirrup quickly. The bolt clicked down into position. The wood of the crossbow pressed into his shoulder. The sights lay before his eyes. The wolf charged, leaping forward in great bounds as he finished his preparations. It growled and snarled. Snapped at him. Hurtled forward, jaws open to devour him. The hunter aimed - felt his heart hammer his ribs. He couldn't miss; he would die if he did. Hit it. Kill it. Hit it. Kill it. His mind screamed and howled for his body to act, but on the outside everything was calm; the hunter's eyes stared the wolf down as it rushed at him. At last, the pull of the trigger. The bolt took the wolf in the side of the neck, spearing through flesh and muscle and spraying blood across the dirt. The beast didn't stop - it barreled into the hunter - crossbow thrown aside, forgotten. Roderick felt its pelt rub against his flesh - smelt the blood flowing down its fur - the bitter stench of rotten meat and death pouring from its muzzle. Sharp teeth snapped at his face - while claws scrabbled for purchase. The beast's claws met flesh - it sank its barbs in - sharp pain across his face - the almost tickling feeling of his blood running down his cheek. Roderick fought like a beast - grunting and growling beneath the wolf's bulk. It was no longer the case of a man fighting a wolf - the will to live had claimed them both; one would die - its corpse bloodied and broken. The other would rise and feast. He felt the knife in his hand - felt its point stabbing - piercing muscle - rending flesh. The beast's hot blood poured forth, unchecked; the hunter's neck became a red, sticky mess. Still the wolf fought - its claws jerking about - teeth open - drool and blood dripping down onto his face. At last it gave a vicious spasm and began to still. The hunter pushed - felt its weight being flung weakly to the side, heard the thud of its body striking the dirt. He closed his eyes and wheezed - felt the air coming back into his lungs. Slowly everything came back in a rush. The knife in his hand - once shining steel - now a red ruin smeared with blood. His hands and wrists scarlet. The wound on his face. He felt blood dribbling from his chin, but his arms refused to wipe it away. It melded with the wolf's blood, with the clinging wetness of his shirt. Sticky with blood, Roderick lay in the dirt and filth of the forest as the wolf died beside him.

[Radiant]

I came to the conclusion that this thread has a few things that are fundamentally wrong with. Until I've worked out all of the problems I can see this post should be ignored - or deleted, if that's how these things go.

As requested, Roderick. I'm putting this temporary intervention to mark the thread to not be graded until you alter it and resubmit it in the grading request.