Dalavesta Stalinsa
The Bronze wood was aptly named, it’s leaves dark and beautifully metallic in nature, though on this afternoon they seemed ablaze with bright light as the sun’s rays caused them to glitter and glisten as the slight breeze coming in from the west caused them to sway. It was an hypnotic sight and one which Dalavesta had watched for the last few chimes with unreserved appreciation. She knew she should have been concentrating on her training, perhaps even one earning a little gold for personal expenses, but she wasn’t able to pry herself away prematurely.
Such beauty in the world could only exist within the domain of Syliras, order brings beauty. It’s the only thing that can she reasoned, noting that the forest appeared chaotic it was merely the same few templates repeated a thousand-fold.
“Yes, order of a sort but order nonetheless” she whispered as she broke her gaze, pushed her raven black hair from her face and concentrated upon the task at hand.
She had come to the Bronze Wood to try to hone her archery skills which were sadly far more than lacking – they were practically non-existent. To aid her in the endeavour she had borrowed a Shortbow from the armoury along with a quiver and forty standard arrows. The heads were simple an effective. Or they would have been had her skills been more improved. At the moment she seemed more able to hit herself than a target. Two feet wasn’t really a ranged distance. She sighed and tightened her grip upon the bow with her left hand. She had been waiting for something alive to come along, a rabbit perhaps, but was beginning to believe that it would never happen.
Still…I have some ‘targets’ she told herself as she gazed at a thick tree trunk some twenty feet ahead of her – four hands across it was and tough she was poor at archery she could still hit the damned thing…most of the time.
“Another reason why I prefer this place until I am improved…” she let that trail off, the idea of voicing her shamed embarrassment at appearing anything less than exceptional to her peers and superiors jerking her chest slightly in panicked pain.
She snarled at that momentary weakness and drew and arrow from over her shoulder in what was an attempt at smoothness of motion but in her anger was jerky and awkward. She forged onwards and nocked it to the string, drawing the bow up so that her arm was horizontal now – body turned sideways. She pulled the string, heaving it back towards her chin and squinting down the fletching…whatever it was called…to try to aim. She let her fingers slip off of the string and watched the arrow soar all the way past the target and embed itself into the trunk of the tree behind the one she had been aiming at.
NO! Nononononono! Have to be better Ves, what are you? A Brock? she snorted internally as she drew another arrow.
This time she concentrated, her anger spent with the last poor performance. The motion of drawing the arrow was smoother this time but still far from perfect. It was difficult for her and she kept pulling it too hard, too quickly or catching the arrow head on its way out of the quiver. She couldn’t think of a way to improve it apart from constant repetition – she resolved to spend a single damned day just practising the drawing from the quiver as chastisement for her foolishness. The arrow was nocked but she did not draw. Her ears has caught a faint rustle, a movement this time and not a breeze.
“Not alone…” she told herself and whipped around ready to fire if necessary.
45th - Summer - 512 AV - Bronze Woods
The Bronze wood was aptly named, it’s leaves dark and beautifully metallic in nature, though on this afternoon they seemed ablaze with bright light as the sun’s rays caused them to glitter and glisten as the slight breeze coming in from the west caused them to sway. It was an hypnotic sight and one which Dalavesta had watched for the last few chimes with unreserved appreciation. She knew she should have been concentrating on her training, perhaps even one earning a little gold for personal expenses, but she wasn’t able to pry herself away prematurely.
Such beauty in the world could only exist within the domain of Syliras, order brings beauty. It’s the only thing that can she reasoned, noting that the forest appeared chaotic it was merely the same few templates repeated a thousand-fold.
“Yes, order of a sort but order nonetheless” she whispered as she broke her gaze, pushed her raven black hair from her face and concentrated upon the task at hand.
She had come to the Bronze Wood to try to hone her archery skills which were sadly far more than lacking – they were practically non-existent. To aid her in the endeavour she had borrowed a Shortbow from the armoury along with a quiver and forty standard arrows. The heads were simple an effective. Or they would have been had her skills been more improved. At the moment she seemed more able to hit herself than a target. Two feet wasn’t really a ranged distance. She sighed and tightened her grip upon the bow with her left hand. She had been waiting for something alive to come along, a rabbit perhaps, but was beginning to believe that it would never happen.
Still…I have some ‘targets’ she told herself as she gazed at a thick tree trunk some twenty feet ahead of her – four hands across it was and tough she was poor at archery she could still hit the damned thing…most of the time.
“Another reason why I prefer this place until I am improved…” she let that trail off, the idea of voicing her shamed embarrassment at appearing anything less than exceptional to her peers and superiors jerking her chest slightly in panicked pain.
She snarled at that momentary weakness and drew and arrow from over her shoulder in what was an attempt at smoothness of motion but in her anger was jerky and awkward. She forged onwards and nocked it to the string, drawing the bow up so that her arm was horizontal now – body turned sideways. She pulled the string, heaving it back towards her chin and squinting down the fletching…whatever it was called…to try to aim. She let her fingers slip off of the string and watched the arrow soar all the way past the target and embed itself into the trunk of the tree behind the one she had been aiming at.
NO! Nononononono! Have to be better Ves, what are you? A Brock? she snorted internally as she drew another arrow.
This time she concentrated, her anger spent with the last poor performance. The motion of drawing the arrow was smoother this time but still far from perfect. It was difficult for her and she kept pulling it too hard, too quickly or catching the arrow head on its way out of the quiver. She couldn’t think of a way to improve it apart from constant repetition – she resolved to spend a single damned day just practising the drawing from the quiver as chastisement for her foolishness. The arrow was nocked but she did not draw. Her ears has caught a faint rustle, a movement this time and not a breeze.
“Not alone…” she told herself and whipped around ready to fire if necessary.
