"Cold Steel"
10th of Winter / 516 AV
Fourteenth Bell
10th of Winter / 516 AV
Fourteenth Bell
The crossbow felt lighter than Aislyn remembered it.
She moved it between her hands, the smooth wood and chipping paint just barely tangible through the material of her gloves. Technically, she was wearing the ones she had previously stipulated to be Thief’s, but for the moment she'd made an exception. She didn't like sharing clothing between illusions, but she had only two pairs of gloves, and only one of them would have been suitable for the occupation of firing a weapon. The others were white silk, and none too accustomed to Anjani’s life of crossbows and crosstalk. So Thief’s it was.
That morning, just as every fifth day went, Aislyn had arrived at the Sanity Center to move to the Sheathewhisps Headquarters with the waning number of returning members that attended the meetings regularly. The building had positioned itself in the heart of “Riverfall”, as distasteful as it was, but the illusionist had moved on nonetheless. From there groups were divided, and, almost as displeasing as the city it was dropped in, Aislyn found herself designated as one of a handful of others left behind to train. To her fortune, however, the illusionist was the only bow user to have stayed at the headquarters on that particular day, making the day out to consist of a blissfully solitudinous few bells. The equipment of the Sheathewhisps, though convenient, was well-used and few in number, making obtaining a training target to shoot at without the danger of actually lodging an arrow in any passerby a rather rare occurrence. After all, she wasn’t the only archer- if she could call herself that- and there were plenty of others that would gladly utilize any target put in front of them if given the chance. So, many times, Aislyn had been left to her own devices, which made for quite a lot of time she ended up spending scratching small designs onto the wood of her crossbow.
By now, the weapon was covered in emblems, both in charcoal that wore off as time went on, and as paint that was a tad bit more permanent. It was, admittedly, a pastime she enjoyed more than actually using the bow for what it was meant for. That being said, more than one sharp-tongued ‘whisp had remarked on more than one occasion that if “Anjani” spent more time shooting than scribbling perhaps she’d actually be able to hit something for once.
That was, of course, a downside to having an acknowledged presence in the world.
“Anjani. Newcomer at the front, wants bow lessons.” Looking over her shoulder, Aislyn found that a man had come up behind her; one of the swordsmen, judging by the unnecessarily large blade hanging from his side. She had been in the midst of notching an arrow, her foot in the stirrup and hands pulling back on the string. There were callouses on her hands the repetitive motion, marks only revealed above her illusions when ‘Anjani’ was active. The interruption was unprecedented.
“Abigale?” Abigale- whom Aislyn had at first, admittedly, found off-putting was the usual go-to for a bow teacher. Aislyn, on the other hand, was not. She was quite content to walk about and sit with the crowd, but to participate was a different story. She was there for Alvadas, not for the betterment of its people.
As much as the distinction might have blurred, there was most certainly a difference.
“On patrol.”
Aislyn said nothing as she let the tension of the bowstring relax, removing the arrow before it was notched. Of course, she had known Abigale wasn’t available. There would be no reason for “Anjani” to be sought after otherwise.
Mechanically, Aislyn moved over to her target, wrapping her fingers around one of her successful shots; she wasn’t going to let good bolts go to waste. Pulling at the wood of the arrows, Aislyn dislodged several from the dummy before picking up the ones that had bounced off the brick of the wall behind it. The woman didn’t bother with the ones that had shattered upon impact- of which there were quite a few. Crossbow bolts were made for quantity, not quality, which Aislyn wasn’t one to complain about.
“Is the silence a yes or a no?”
It was strange to have people speak to her so familiarly. Before the Sheathewhisps, there were only strangers and friends, the former of which she had many and the latter she could count on one hand. Now there was a middle ground, where a handful of Alvads lay. She knew their names and they knew the name she had given them, but she wouldn’t going out of her way save their skins anytime soon. Or to conversate with them. Or, really, interact at all. She was doing this for Alvadas. Sometimes, she had to remind herself of that. For Alvadas. For Ionu.
“I’ll be there in a moment.”
She moved it between her hands, the smooth wood and chipping paint just barely tangible through the material of her gloves. Technically, she was wearing the ones she had previously stipulated to be Thief’s, but for the moment she'd made an exception. She didn't like sharing clothing between illusions, but she had only two pairs of gloves, and only one of them would have been suitable for the occupation of firing a weapon. The others were white silk, and none too accustomed to Anjani’s life of crossbows and crosstalk. So Thief’s it was.
That morning, just as every fifth day went, Aislyn had arrived at the Sanity Center to move to the Sheathewhisps Headquarters with the waning number of returning members that attended the meetings regularly. The building had positioned itself in the heart of “Riverfall”, as distasteful as it was, but the illusionist had moved on nonetheless. From there groups were divided, and, almost as displeasing as the city it was dropped in, Aislyn found herself designated as one of a handful of others left behind to train. To her fortune, however, the illusionist was the only bow user to have stayed at the headquarters on that particular day, making the day out to consist of a blissfully solitudinous few bells. The equipment of the Sheathewhisps, though convenient, was well-used and few in number, making obtaining a training target to shoot at without the danger of actually lodging an arrow in any passerby a rather rare occurrence. After all, she wasn’t the only archer- if she could call herself that- and there were plenty of others that would gladly utilize any target put in front of them if given the chance. So, many times, Aislyn had been left to her own devices, which made for quite a lot of time she ended up spending scratching small designs onto the wood of her crossbow.
By now, the weapon was covered in emblems, both in charcoal that wore off as time went on, and as paint that was a tad bit more permanent. It was, admittedly, a pastime she enjoyed more than actually using the bow for what it was meant for. That being said, more than one sharp-tongued ‘whisp had remarked on more than one occasion that if “Anjani” spent more time shooting than scribbling perhaps she’d actually be able to hit something for once.
That was, of course, a downside to having an acknowledged presence in the world.
“Anjani. Newcomer at the front, wants bow lessons.” Looking over her shoulder, Aislyn found that a man had come up behind her; one of the swordsmen, judging by the unnecessarily large blade hanging from his side. She had been in the midst of notching an arrow, her foot in the stirrup and hands pulling back on the string. There were callouses on her hands the repetitive motion, marks only revealed above her illusions when ‘Anjani’ was active. The interruption was unprecedented.
“Abigale?” Abigale- whom Aislyn had at first, admittedly, found off-putting was the usual go-to for a bow teacher. Aislyn, on the other hand, was not. She was quite content to walk about and sit with the crowd, but to participate was a different story. She was there for Alvadas, not for the betterment of its people.
As much as the distinction might have blurred, there was most certainly a difference.
“On patrol.”
Aislyn said nothing as she let the tension of the bowstring relax, removing the arrow before it was notched. Of course, she had known Abigale wasn’t available. There would be no reason for “Anjani” to be sought after otherwise.
Mechanically, Aislyn moved over to her target, wrapping her fingers around one of her successful shots; she wasn’t going to let good bolts go to waste. Pulling at the wood of the arrows, Aislyn dislodged several from the dummy before picking up the ones that had bounced off the brick of the wall behind it. The woman didn’t bother with the ones that had shattered upon impact- of which there were quite a few. Crossbow bolts were made for quantity, not quality, which Aislyn wasn’t one to complain about.
“Is the silence a yes or a no?”
It was strange to have people speak to her so familiarly. Before the Sheathewhisps, there were only strangers and friends, the former of which she had many and the latter she could count on one hand. Now there was a middle ground, where a handful of Alvads lay. She knew their names and they knew the name she had given them, but she wouldn’t going out of her way save their skins anytime soon. Or to conversate with them. Or, really, interact at all. She was doing this for Alvadas. Sometimes, she had to remind herself of that. For Alvadas. For Ionu.
“I’ll be there in a moment.”
