Spring 43
Garland was one of the most experienced squires in Syliras, he wasn't the oldest, in fact he was relatively young compared to older squires that have been in squirehood for years, but most have only been doing patrols, and training.
For Garland, his squirehood had been one whirlwind of adventure to another since day one. From the attack on the gates to the trip into Alyasa Caverns to having kids to being taken by slaves and breaking out of their camp.
And by Garland's knowledge there's a hit on him given that this season every time he's left the city, a group of bandits jump him, each of them met with a gruesome end by Garland's sword, fist, foot, head, random rocks, fire and just about anything Garland could get his hands on.
Yet for all his accomplishments and experience, he still can't shoot for shyke.
"Petching arse biscuit!" Garland cursed as he fired his crossbow at a target sixty feet from where he was. The bolt had missed completely, the target was stationary, the wind was calm, he had been trying to hit the target for almost half a bell now but he just didn't seem to get any closer.
The day was hot, like midsummer days and the heat, and frustration of not hitting his mark just made him... irritable right now. The training grounds was so hot that most of the younger squires had been feeling dizzy, a few had passed out from the heat, so the grounds itself was relatively free compared to most training days.
Garland was at the moment, very frustrated and angry. He pulled back the string of his crossbow, he was doing it faster now at least, reloading that is. Garland clicked the string in place and placed the bolt into the groove and fired again.
As expected, the bolt went wild. Garland could hit a target at forty feet most of the time, but so far sixty seemed to be impossible for him to hit.
Garland was one of the most experienced squires in Syliras, he wasn't the oldest, in fact he was relatively young compared to older squires that have been in squirehood for years, but most have only been doing patrols, and training.
For Garland, his squirehood had been one whirlwind of adventure to another since day one. From the attack on the gates to the trip into Alyasa Caverns to having kids to being taken by slaves and breaking out of their camp.
And by Garland's knowledge there's a hit on him given that this season every time he's left the city, a group of bandits jump him, each of them met with a gruesome end by Garland's sword, fist, foot, head, random rocks, fire and just about anything Garland could get his hands on.
Yet for all his accomplishments and experience, he still can't shoot for shyke.
"Petching arse biscuit!" Garland cursed as he fired his crossbow at a target sixty feet from where he was. The bolt had missed completely, the target was stationary, the wind was calm, he had been trying to hit the target for almost half a bell now but he just didn't seem to get any closer.
The day was hot, like midsummer days and the heat, and frustration of not hitting his mark just made him... irritable right now. The training grounds was so hot that most of the younger squires had been feeling dizzy, a few had passed out from the heat, so the grounds itself was relatively free compared to most training days.
Garland was at the moment, very frustrated and angry. He pulled back the string of his crossbow, he was doing it faster now at least, reloading that is. Garland clicked the string in place and placed the bolt into the groove and fired again.
As expected, the bolt went wild. Garland could hit a target at forty feet most of the time, but so far sixty seemed to be impossible for him to hit.
