Beron made his way to the range, the riding quiver he had requisitioned finally finished, he had planned to take advantage of the practice yard and begin to familiarize his muscles with the new draw required for where his quiver would sit. He knew there was little point in practicing on a mount until he was more comfortable with the quiver and bow he had selected, fumbling around in the saddle would only annoy the animal beneath him.
With that in mind, he had arrived earlier in the day, figuring chores and classes would have made the range quieter. That way he could practice without taking spots needed by Drin or Ji’val as they worked towards the fancloak. He was wearing his today as well, the flowing cloak another layer that he would need to accustom himself to as he learned.
Choosing a target down the line of targets, Beron took a moment to check the bow he had brought with him. He was familiar with the short recurve bow, as it was small enough to be fired from horseback, and also fared well in the fields. Checking the wood and string of the bow, he could see that they were all in good repair and well maintained. He had expected nothing less from the Armoury, still it never hurt to check he thought as he looped the string deftly around both ends of the bow.
Taking a moment, he checked the new quiver he wore on his belt, the design slimmer and less bulky than the one he had usually drew from. Standing it felt smooth and easy to grab the arrow out of the quiver, the rest slotted to prevent them from banging around. After that Beron worked through the process of notching and drawing his arrow backwards. At first the cloak weighed awkwardly on his shoulders, the length of the colour shifting cloth making it less instinctual and more a motion he had to work through.
With the patience and determination common to all Gaidin, Beron kept at the practice, moving his body and weapon through the motions required until they flowed smoother and smoother each time. It’s like Unfolding the Fan all over again, Beron thought to himself as he drew an arrow, nocked it upon the string and drew the weapon back, a subtle shift of his shoulders and body alllowing the cloak to flow out of his way. Sinking into the Void, he noticed right away the focus it afforded him. The world reduced and his focus sharp, Beron once more struck the target with a series of three shots. Each shot was a little wide of where he hoped for but with speed he reasoned that was likely to happen. The Void left no room for worry or regret and so with determined effort he drew back the bow again and again, forcing his eye and body to work together. Finally he struck the center of the target, the strain of his body letting him know archery was a skill he had let go soft.
Knowing that was not something he could afford with Isla’s plan to attempt the rescue soon, Beron decided he would simply work on building his skill and stamina. Clearly riding and archery would have to wait, though the Void took the regret he felt and slid it off as unimportant. Kneeling he practiced a few different shooting positions, each time trying to imagine himself hunting, or taking aim on a Whitecloak Outrider. He knew that in many cases the first shot of an exchange would be one of the few clear ones afforded to him.
He also recalled the fight with the bandits at Tar Valon, the brutal efficiency Lysira Gaidar had shown when she slew several men in a matter of moments. Knowing that his bow would loose an arrow with enough force to strike down lightly armoured scouts, he found himself making a mental note to ask about the varying heads he could grab from the Armoury. Surely they stocked a good bodkin or similar style of arrow, something with enough point to burst through chain and breastplates. He could feel his mood turn grim and serious, the training was harder when you knew it was with the purpose to kill rather than protect. Still as he thought of Isla and the harm they had wrought on her, he found it hard to pity any Whitecloak who found themselves before his bow or blade.
To that end he moved along the targets until he arrived at the silhouette targets. A talented carpenter turned Soldier had suggested them Beron had heard, as a way of helping the Warder trainees practice both their aim and eyes against a more lifelike target. Choosing one of a man riding, Beron once again drew his arrows and this time practiced aiming for the chest and shoulder of the rider. There was little point in striking the mount, although it could chaos and possibly throw the rider it would do little to silence them. With this plan, he practiced against the silhouette until his arrow was able to find the target consistently. He knew enough to know conditions were never this perfect in the field, but he felt better knowing he had shed a lot of the cobwebs.
With that in mind, he had arrived earlier in the day, figuring chores and classes would have made the range quieter. That way he could practice without taking spots needed by Drin or Ji’val as they worked towards the fancloak. He was wearing his today as well, the flowing cloak another layer that he would need to accustom himself to as he learned.
Choosing a target down the line of targets, Beron took a moment to check the bow he had brought with him. He was familiar with the short recurve bow, as it was small enough to be fired from horseback, and also fared well in the fields. Checking the wood and string of the bow, he could see that they were all in good repair and well maintained. He had expected nothing less from the Armoury, still it never hurt to check he thought as he looped the string deftly around both ends of the bow.
Taking a moment, he checked the new quiver he wore on his belt, the design slimmer and less bulky than the one he had usually drew from. Standing it felt smooth and easy to grab the arrow out of the quiver, the rest slotted to prevent them from banging around. After that Beron worked through the process of notching and drawing his arrow backwards. At first the cloak weighed awkwardly on his shoulders, the length of the colour shifting cloth making it less instinctual and more a motion he had to work through.
With the patience and determination common to all Gaidin, Beron kept at the practice, moving his body and weapon through the motions required until they flowed smoother and smoother each time. It’s like Unfolding the Fan all over again, Beron thought to himself as he drew an arrow, nocked it upon the string and drew the weapon back, a subtle shift of his shoulders and body alllowing the cloak to flow out of his way. Sinking into the Void, he noticed right away the focus it afforded him. The world reduced and his focus sharp, Beron once more struck the target with a series of three shots. Each shot was a little wide of where he hoped for but with speed he reasoned that was likely to happen. The Void left no room for worry or regret and so with determined effort he drew back the bow again and again, forcing his eye and body to work together. Finally he struck the center of the target, the strain of his body letting him know archery was a skill he had let go soft.
Knowing that was not something he could afford with Isla’s plan to attempt the rescue soon, Beron decided he would simply work on building his skill and stamina. Clearly riding and archery would have to wait, though the Void took the regret he felt and slid it off as unimportant. Kneeling he practiced a few different shooting positions, each time trying to imagine himself hunting, or taking aim on a Whitecloak Outrider. He knew that in many cases the first shot of an exchange would be one of the few clear ones afforded to him.
He also recalled the fight with the bandits at Tar Valon, the brutal efficiency Lysira Gaidar had shown when she slew several men in a matter of moments. Knowing that his bow would loose an arrow with enough force to strike down lightly armoured scouts, he found himself making a mental note to ask about the varying heads he could grab from the Armoury. Surely they stocked a good bodkin or similar style of arrow, something with enough point to burst through chain and breastplates. He could feel his mood turn grim and serious, the training was harder when you knew it was with the purpose to kill rather than protect. Still as he thought of Isla and the harm they had wrought on her, he found it hard to pity any Whitecloak who found themselves before his bow or blade.
To that end he moved along the targets until he arrived at the silhouette targets. A talented carpenter turned Soldier had suggested them Beron had heard, as a way of helping the Warder trainees practice both their aim and eyes against a more lifelike target. Choosing one of a man riding, Beron once again drew his arrows and this time practiced aiming for the chest and shoulder of the rider. There was little point in striking the mount, although it could chaos and possibly throw the rider it would do little to silence them. With this plan, he practiced against the silhouette until his arrow was able to find the target consistently. He knew enough to know conditions were never this perfect in the field, but he felt better knowing he had shed a lot of the cobwebs.
