The Grey Tower

"Archery," said Lorrisande Gaidar, "is as much a matter of the mind as the body. There are techniques we will teach you to improve your form, your aim, and your focus, but for now let us concentrate on the weapons itself. Bows come in a variety of lengths and are used in a variety of ways; you should select one that suits your intentions. While the specific design counts for a lot, shorter bows are generally quicker to draw and loose, usable from horseback, and easy to carry and stow. In exchange, they lack punch -- they simply do not hit as hard. Longbows can send arrows across impressive distances, to land with devastating effect even against armor, but are essentially unusable from horseback. Mid-sized bows bridge the gap, but needs must be sized to fit their archers."

Illanova Restrov nodded as the woman spoke. She'd known all along that the dagger in her boot, no matter how deadly it might be, wouldn't be sufficient to make her a Warder. Shooting things at range, or from hiding, seemed ideal to her -- especially given her knack for hiding herself away. She'd need to know how to wield a sword as well, but that was a different issue. Stealth, ambush, dirty tricks... those were the things she could offer to an Aes Sedai or Asha'man, if she could find someone who appreciated them.

Beside her, Safaire held up a hand. "We use shorter bows on the ships, Mistress Warder," she pitched in. "Between ropes and sails, there's little room to move around -- and if another ship gets close enough for arrows, it's very close indeed."

"Excellent point," said Lorrisande Gaidar. "We're well inland, but given the information you've just been told I suggest that you try a variety of bows and see how they fit your needs."

OOC: If anybody's looking to do an Archer training thread, feel free to jump in.

The feel of the short bow was so vastly different than that of the makeshift club she had tried to use. Then again, it had felt different than of a ladle, different than a broom even. The girl frowned annoyingly, as she realized the comparison she herself had just made in her mind had been utterly pointless, complete nonesense. The mismatched green and brown gaze of the girl rested upon the weapon questioningly, the irritation fading from her features, leaving something different quite entirely. After a brief moment of moving her arm around, the girl's eyes glinted with understanding. By sheer accident, she found the proper grip for the weapon, things had just suddenly gone from feeling wrong and uncomfortable down the tendon in her arm, only to find herself feeling the weapon like it was meant to be felt.

She knew nothing of weapons, but she had been forced to take an elective course with the Warder yards, all because some Green Aes Sedai had been offended by Senna's lack of self defense skills. A complete lack of martial intellect, the grey haired green had complained. To the Novice's perception, it had felt more like abuse of power by a mistress who had a personal dislike for her. She didn't understand it, didn't like it, but she had zero choice in the matter.

A wave of self doubt and uncertainty crashed upon her, breaking that slightly proud look she had a moment ago for figuring out something quite so simple, yet very much complicated for someone like her. She lowered the weapon, and looked down at the feet of Lorrisande Gaidar, not able to will herself to meet the older woman's gaze, nor any of the other strangers present. There were tears in her eyes, but there was no sadness there. There was anger behind those tears.

The Novice wanted to let go of the short bow, but the girl beneath the white dress, Senna, her, she would not let go. Her small feminine hands gripped the weapon tight, the complection of her hand white as the flesh of the dead. Her gaze was like a sad forest glade, with a little rabbit hiding within who just won't give up for some reason. But that little rabbit was alive, and wanted to survive.

Lorrisande nodded as the last if her students reassembled. It wasn't a large class, six young men and six young women, most of them on track to become warders but one Novice and one Dedicated. Most had chosen mid-length bows, which made a certain sort of sense; the extremes of either long or short had very distinct advantages and disadvantages, while something in the middle provided some balance.

Illanova watched as the older woman nocked an arrow and drew her longbow back. "Basics of technique," she said, loud enough to be heard but not looking back at her students. "You will hold the bow itself in one hand, and grip the arrow with the other. Which hand you select for each task will depend on which eye you use to sight your target. You're all just beginning, so if you feel like you can't aim properly try switching hands."

She eased her grip on the arrow. "What I'm doing now is a three-fingered grip, holding the nock of the arrow itself. The nock is the part that fits back against the bowstring. If you aren't strong enough to manage this, you can use a two-fingered approach instead -- hooking your fingers over the bowstring itself, with the arrow between them. That makes for an easier grip, but may throw your aim off when you release. You'll want to be standing with your back straight, and your footing stable as well."

She lowered the bow without loosing the arrow. "Form a line, and come forward. I'll have a look at your form, and then we'll take turns at the first row of targets."

Illanova nodded and came forward; there was nothing to be gained by holding back. She'd take a long-ish bow, and settled herself as she'd seen archers do in the Warder Yards. Sarai was just behind her in line. She drew an arrow, nocked it, and pulled the string back. The target was maybe fifty strides downrange; the arrow would drop a little, so she raised her arrow to compensate.

"Not bad for a complete beginner," Lorrisande said. "Can you manage a three-finger draw?"

"Not yet," Illa admitted. She was sighting with her right eye, using her artificial left arm to hold the bow and her flesh-and-blood right to draw it back. "But I will."

"Good," said Lorrisande. "If you intend to be primarily an archer, you'll need to."

Unbeknownst to the Novice, the wheel had a tendency to spin her threat in odd unexpected ways, or so the child deep within liked to believe. Often, she found herself to be the very literal opponent towards her own personal goals and self interests. She made mistakes, more than the rest. She was quite the opposite to the ways of the other girls she had met throughout her life, the more she had fought for the very basics that were essencial and owed to her, the harder she found for her very 'self', the more difficult she had in turn made life itself for her very survival.

Senna tried some of the different mental exercises that had been taught to her and the other girls, weird little tricks to try and curb the distraction of intrusive thoughts, which could be sharper than any blade. There was a glint of a smirk on her lips as the girl tried to wage a mental battle on what the student knew was right, but the impulsiveness of that child still in her insisted on getting in the way.

With effort, thought, she would have to really admit that the mental tools the teachers were trying to teach their students really did help. This was an important lesson, and seeing how the instructor looked before everyone, she thought they looked incredibly focused, enough to go war that very moment, and the sight drove her to take a step forward. A part of her mind shouted for her to watch the demonstration weapon, but Senna instead took a moment to look at the instructor's feed first.

She placed her feet a shoulder's length apart, left foot leading, and turned her torso to the left side. She grimaced as muscles she had been unaware had existed before a moment ago had felt to the child just wrong, for the lack of a better explanation to the girl's mind. It just felt wrong, and uncomfortable. She did her best to mimic the stance, but she felt self conscious about it.She wasn't sure what she was doing wrong.

She focused now on the weapon itself, and replayed in her mind what had been said. It was clearly implied that the three fingered method was the better way, so she did not even bother considering the two fingered approach. Going through the motions, her fingers did not want to cooperate. She had strong hands, having likely been working since she was weaned, so the practice itself would be no harder than for anyone else. It was getting those fingers to work in a precise way that was a concern to the little flame of confidence that wanted to catch and burn brighter.

When it came to Senna's turn, she hesitated when her name was called. But she grit her teeth, looked to the dirt and took some steps forward. Once she arrived in place, she spaced her feet shoulder length apart, as observed, and turned her torso to the side, this time a little more smoothly than the previous attempt. The tendon's in her hip had not protested this time, it had felt to her something more akin to 'not wrong, but not quite right'.

Arrow knocked against the tight cord of the short bow. Three fingers working to pull the nock of the arrow, if her memory served her right that was it's name. The way her left hand was gripping the bow felt strange, she could not help but note inwardly. She released the arrow, feeling such a strange rush wooshing through what felt like her fingertips themselves! The arrow shot forward, it had been somewhat badly aimed but it did shoot straight and true, into a relatively safe pile of hay further bac in the range itself.