Fresh Target (Fanfic)

Welcome to the Warder Yards. This is the place for Warder and Trainee roleplays. Informal non-training interactions take place here, as well as some extended role plays.
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Welcome to the Warder Yards. This is the place for Warder and Trainee roleplays. Informal non-training interactions take place here, as well as some extended role plays. Yet these events may take place at any area of the Tower, and sometimes outside of it, since the images to the left merely serves as inspiration towards the sceneries of your stories. Channelers are always welcome, and might even find his or her bondmate through the threads that are displayed below.
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Lugh
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Joined: January 5th, 2018, 4:51 am

Fresh Target (Fanfic)

Post by Lugh » January 10th, 2018, 1:17 am

Beron Faim Beron walked through the Warder Yards, a quiver once more secured to his belt as he made his way from the Armoury. It had been a few days since Beron had arrived at the Grey Tower, singing his name in the book and taking his first steps as a Drin’far’ji.

He nodded to a few of the other Drin in the Yards, many of them practicing strengthening on the sands of the Warder Yard. He would have stopped to acquaint himself better with the others, but he knew time to spend with a bow would be harder to come by.

He had been allowed to keep his bracers, the thick leather good for protecting his arm from the force of the string; he had seen too many scars from someone who had grown to eager in practice back home in Saldaea, and he was glad to have his. His own weapons had been left with his family, the bow and sword he would need after proving himself would come from the Grey Tower. In some ways, it reminded him of the army. Work hard, avoid angry officers who hunted for shirkers and everything else was provided.

Arriving at the targets, Beron chose his place away from the others practicing, and prepared to fire. First came a quick inspection of the bow itself; the wood seemed in good repair and while he doubted the Armoury would leave a weapon damaged, he had seen what weather and time could do. The wood was smooth, well oiled and blemish free so he grabbed an arrow from the quiver and checked it as well.

Whistling in appreciation, he had to admit that the Grey Tower clearly had at least one master fletcher within it’s walls. The feathers and their glue were pristine, applied with care and precision and Beron felt himself grinning. This bow was well beyond what he had used as a scout, it would be a joy to simply use it.

He had avoided the longbow due to its size; although a childhood of weapons drills had most likely given him enough draw strength, the size of arrow required for such a bow seemed awkward to Beron. And so he chose a mid range target, and quickly strung the waxed string over the nock of the bow. The motions were smooth and sure, a rhythm gained by afternoons of practicing under his mother’s stern eyes.

Laughter and giggling broke him out of his train of thought, and he shook his head at the antics of a couple of Accepted who had chosen to practice. They had neglected the proper gear and judging from the way one cursed, she had failed to account for her bosom and gotten stung. Still the laughter and the ease of the practice made Beron consider for a moment the safety enjoyed at the Grey Tower.

As the girls settled down, Beron chose his target, adopting an easy stance and shifting his feet to get a feel for the ground. Even appearing smooth, a slight divet in the sand, or an unseen stone could roll an ankle and ruin a shot. Satisfied he breathed and settled his mind into a calmer focus, and then drew and loosed arrow after arrow.

When he had fired his fourth arrow from the quiver, he stopped and ensured the rest were finished firing before retrieving them. As he approached the target, he was glad to see none had fired too wildly. He was near the target even if he had not struck true every time, which gave him a sense of the bow’s crafting. It had also warmed his muscles to the strain of the bow once more, and he knew he would need to make further time for practice to truly do well.

The next time he lined up his shot, he allowed muscle memory to take him through the draw and stringing of the arrow, pulling the shot into line. A moment to consider the breeze and distance had his adjust his shot slightly and he loosed at the target.

A loud thunk of the pile hitting wood was his reward, and he was pleased to see it within the second ring. After that Beron fired a few more times at the target, missing only once when an unexpected gust had thrown his shot high and wide. He was striking the target, and glad for the refresher; however Beron knew the targets were far more forgiving than when hunting or in combat. And with an Aes Sedai standing behind him one day, he might not be able to afford a miss, still he was in high spirits when he unstrung his bow and returned it to the Armoury.
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