7th trial, Cylus, 720
Storm's Edge
Morning
Storm's Edge
Morning
The sound was a consistent thing across the courtyard. Not constant, given the nature of it. Often drowned out or muddled by other activities, of which there were many. But if a man stopped toiling long enough, or listened hard enough, and he'd detect that separate thread of noise underlying everything else. For over a break, maybe longer, there was that same sound, broken up by spans of time usually in the trills, occasionally in the bits.
A hard one to guess, though, unless you were already familiar.
SHUNK
The Raggedy Man lowered the bow and glowered at the quivering shaft. Still off, and by quite a ways. It would probably have been a body shot, so would likely have disabled a man... but the first few attacks had shown him men would not be their enemy. Not even anything that walked on two legs or was comparable to a human being. Now it was beasties and monsters and abominations that prowled and slunk and lunged and stalked. On four legs. Kasoria was capable of killing pretty much anything put in front of him, given time and effort, but his expertise was with his own species... and mayhap a couple of others he'd had the dubious pleasure of testing himself again.
Better another Naerikk than more of these things. Even a clutch of scalies would be better.
The Etzori sighed and chased the thoughts away, drawing another arrow. There were already a dozen of them turning the target under the wall into a pin cushion. Only one was near the bullseye. Kasoria beat down his irritation and just... breathed. In and out. Rise and fall. Full and empty. Two states of being, nothing else. Once he was happy the world had been emptied of all save them, he nocked another arrow.
Feet static, but not inflexible. Draw as you raise. Inhale as you draw... aim... exhale as you-
SHUNK
Kasoria permitted himself a slight smile. Getting closer. Getting easier, too, which he hadn't been expecting. After so long doing the same motions, stretching and yanking and holding steady, his shoulders were starting to ache. Which at least told him he was doing it right: if his arms had been hurting, he'd know he was using the wrong muscles. He flexed his back a few times and nocked the last arrow in the quiver. Wouldn't that be fitting? Last shot, last arrow, last chance... bullseye.
We'll see.
The man everyone called Karim went through the motions. Added another thin layer of muscle memory to his body and his mind. That was the true purpose of all this. Not just accuracy or form or speed. Familiarity. Same as with blades or fists or ax or cudgel or anything else. His mind could understand it, but his body needed to know it. Had to have the motions carved into his bones through repetition. So now it was easier for him to nock, and draw, and aim and-
SHUNK
Kasoria looked... over his own arrow. He hadn't fired. A new arrow was quivering in the center of the target. A masterful shot, and he guessed before he even looked around-
-and sighed. A dozen profane greetings and retorts came to mind, but he stifled them. He was required to be... sociable, on this job, and she was a wellspring of information about what he sought to know. Spewing foulness at her was not a solid means to get her to spill it. Instead he turned back to the task at hand, aiming roughly for where her own arrow was ceasing to move... exhaled... and as the arrow tip stilled-
SHUNK
Better. But not quite a bullseye.
"Mornin'."
