[Training] The Treebranch Bends with the Storm - Ogrim

[BlueberryKitty]

Outside, Hawkmoon made his way around to the back of his shop. There, set up behind the wooden building was a makeshift archery range. Certainly nothing spectacular, it was simply about sixty meters of free space stuck between the back of Hawkmoon's and the building beside it. Bales of hay, paper targets, and other odd targets stood waiting for someone to use them as practice.

He waited for Ogrim to follow along, before continuing the lesson. "You'll need to acquire something to protect your fingers and forearm from the string. That bowstring is enough to sting even your thick hide, Orc." The only offering Hawkmoon had was a thick piece of leather, tied in place.

"Now, which hand do you use primarily, the left or the right?"

[Ogrim]

Ogrim was oblivious to the Hawkmoon's annoyance. Almost as if he were a child with a new toy his attention was completely given to the weapon, his customised bow. As the Elf began to explain to his Orcish student the intricacies of the bow, Ogrim was focused fervently on his words, as only an avid apprentice could be.

With wide eyed observation, the uruk aped Hawkmoon in the re-stringing procedure. Of course his effort fell well short of what could have been deemed perfect but after several more attempts a satisfactory effort was accomplished, not that the Elf was impressed, of that alone the green-skin was sure. Still, his personal strength was of tremendous benefit. Bow stringing required either immense strength or perfect technique, luckily Ogrim had the former in abundance and due to his bows composition it would take every ounce of said strength to restring such a mighty weapon. Even he, an inexperienced student, could identify this particular bow as being a powerful tool of warfare. The arrows propelled from it would pierce an armoured man as if it were miniature ballistae, exactly as Ogrim had planned.

Once the initial familiarisation was done with, Hawkmoon beckoned Ogrim to follow him outside. Behind the shoppe was a target range of sorts, a place to hone ones skill, mostly likely for bow initiates such as Ogrim. It would be hard to believe that Hawkmoon could find much satisfaction in shooting at stationary targets after all.

Again instruction was proffered and again Ogrim did his utmost to absorb, decipher and utilise the information shared. Luckily said information was hardly complicated. Hawkmoon merely wished to know which hand Ogrim preferred to rely on, for whatever task. Answering without prejudice or bias for he knew nothing about the pros and cons of strength over accuracy, Ogrim’s reply was simple.

”Well, I use my left hand to write so I suppose that hand I use primarily, Hawkmoon.”

As the Orc answered he attempted to strap the offered piece of leather to his hand and wrist as Hawkmoon had done, though again his effort was lacking any for of experience or finesse.

[BlueberryKitty]

As to the reasoning for the small range behind the shop, some archers didn't care to purchase goods without giving it a test go. Archers were a notoriously picky lot, once they got their hands on the perfect bow it would take fire or destruction to get them to give up their beloved weapon; not that they were far different from those swordsmen who got so attached to their blades they even named them. Perhaps, in the deep recesses of Hawkmoon's mind, he had even named his longbow too.

A bow wasn't useful unless it could fire. Sometimes, Hawkmoon used this little range for testing his creations, and in between customers there were even brightenings where he did come back here to loose a few arrows. One had to do what one could to stay in practice and there could be challenge created even in stationary targets.

Hawkmoon left his bow situated against his foot, with one end on the ground and the other rising to his chin. His hands were wrapped around the weapon possessively, holding it close against his shoulder as he gazed at Ogrim. "Then you will want to grasp the shaft with your right hand, Orc. The arrow and string will go in your left." The elf reached a delicate hand into the quiver of arrows he carried, and removed one. Holding the shaft in the middle with his fist around it, he held up the end that had feathers on it.

"Take note, that not all the feathers- the fletching, look the same." The arrow shaft was notched at the end, and inserted skillfully were half-feathers to aid it in flight. One of the three fletchings had a band of colour across the feathers, while the other two were plain. "This is for a reason. When you hold the arrow..." With a slight toss the arrow moved into the air a few inches from Hawkmoon's hand, and when it came down again the elf caught it between the thumb and first finger of his right hand.

"Don't hold the feathers themselves. Your grip will crush them, and the arrow will not fly straight. Hold it nearly at the tip, though leave enough room to fit the butt of the arrow against your arrow string. Let me see you do this." He nodded to Ogrim.

[Ogrim]

As Hawkmoon taught, Ogrim nodded his head in a slow, concentrated motion, the same way an engrossed child would at the foot of a sage story teller. It was always the same with the green-skin when learning of new methods to kill. Who knew whether it was part of his races inherent need to make war or a personality quirk? Truth be know, it was most likely a mixture of the two but the definitive answer was hazy at best. Also, it was a question he never bothered to ask, that he was so interested was good enough for him.

So, without reflection upon the deeper meaning of why he was absorbed in the lesson, he attempted the task asked of him. To begin with it was difficult. His hands were large, far larger than Hawkmoon’s and far less dexterous and therefore gripping what appeared to be a mere nub of wood took time. After a sustained effort and several dropped arrows, Ogrim finally managed to complete the first step in his archery training. Gingerly, so as not to spoil the fletching that lay precariously close to his iron clasp, Ogrim extended his arm and held it out straight for Hawkmoon to critique. He knew it was far from perfect and in all likelihood he’d never be a master archer, but for his first effort the uruk felt it was more than adequate. The trick would to be to bring consistency to this first step of many.

”Any good, eh?”

Succinct as usual. And hopefully correct.

[BlueberryKitty]

Archery wasn't merely a new way to kill, it was an artform to the elf who was teaching. Of course, that might only make it that much better of a way to kill. The elf bent close, peering at the grip the Orc held on the arrow before him. Like the rest of the set-up, everything had been custom made for Ogrim's size and strength. The arrow looked like a twig in the massive green hands, but had Hawkmoon held it, it would have looked like a short spear.

The elf watched Ogrim fumble with the shaft, knowing there wasn't anything he could do for the moment. He simply had to grasp this one on his own. Once he had a grip on it, Hawkmoon nodded. "It gets easier with practice, and that's what you need most. Practice. Now, bring the arrowshaft up to the string of your bow. There's a groove on the end, fit the string into that groove. Raise the bow. Hold your right arm straight, rigid. Don't draw the arrow back just yet, though. I want you to look down the arrowshaft at the target. Any target, for the moment, at the end of the range. Now, close your left eye and see if the target moves. Try with your right as well. The target should stay aligned with one of the eyes, when it moves with the other. Try and see."

[Ogrim]

Quietly pleased that this, the first step in learning to wield the bow in its basic guise was successful; Ogrim afforded himself a brief smile of satisfaction. Rather, it was more akin to an ugly tooth filled sneer, the uruk was sure that his kind lacked the proper musculature to actually affect a “smile” or what it commonly represented.

However, this smile was short lived as Hawkmoon instructed him to sight along the arrow, with both of his eyes. Ogrim was temporarily stunned at this comment. Did the Elf actually forget he only had one eye, or was it that the pointy eared git had made a joke for the first time since the green-skin had known him? Who knew? Ogrim decided not to mention it.

Nocking the arrow was relatively easy, he had seen it done before and followed the basic motion in what was a comfortable enough action. Then, sighting along the arrow with his solitary eye, Ogrim found that he did have to adjust his arm and head position to compensate for his left dominant field of vision. Once the arrow was perfectly level and dead centre of one of the targets, Ogrim tensed his muscles visibly to hold the position for a criticism. Of course, no matter how awkward or natural the stance looked, it was whether the arrow found its mark or not that was the ultimate question.

[BlueberryKitty]

Well, Hawkmoon hadn't expected his student to win any congeniality contests. He was just hoping that he'd come out of this without any arrows stuck in his elvish torso. The grimace that spread across the Orc's face remained uncommented upon, but Hawkmoon hadn't a clue if that was a grimace of frustration or pleasure. Either way, moving on.

The elf could tell that the orc had targetted one of the targets with the arrow, but they weren't quite ready to go loosing the shaft just yet. There was still the principle of gravity and weather for which to compensate. "You've sighted on the target. Good." Hawkmoon ignored the missing eye on the Orc, letting him put his own interpretation on his earlier instruction. "If you loosed the bolt right now, it would likely pass below the target. When you drop something, it falls to the ground, and the same thing happens even on an arrow in flight. Therefore, you have to adjust your aim so that the arrow flies in an arc. This is a skill that will only come with practice, don't expect to hit the target very often at first. Also, you have to take the wind and weather into consideration- if the wind is blowing strongly in one direction then you have to aim into it, to compensate once again." Behind the store, the wind wasn't blowing very hard at all. That likely wouldn't affect Ogrim's first ever shot, but gravity assuredly would.

"Be sure you keep your fingers out of the way of the feathers, the fletching. They are absolutely capable of slicing away your fingers at the speed with which they move. Now, loose the arrow when you feel comfortable with it."

[Ogrim]

Nodding only slightly as Hawkmoon commented at his progress thus far, Ogrim was loath to upset any form that he had achieved unless he was instructed so. Holding this position with this particular bow was actually proving to be rather testing on the sturdy Uruk. His left bicep was beginning to cramp slightly as it was held cocked in an unfamiliar pose. Putting the unpleasant sensation to the back of his mind as most Orc’s were capable enough to do, Ogrim began to calculate what he would have to do for the arrow to even hit the target.

”Wind.”, he grated to himself, ”Is negligible. Distance, normal, I suppose.”

Any factor the wind would have on the arrow was not enough to make it deviate from the target sufficiently for it to miss, at least in the green-skins meager opinion. Though he was unused to judging the distance of missile weapons, Ogrim knew that his bow was a lot more powerful than a normal bow, but it was also a short bow, which negated its advantage somewhat. Deciding to follow a logical path, Ogrim sighted along the shaft of the arrow and aimed for the very top of the target, as close to the centre of it as he could imagine. If his projectile flew straight it would hit the top of the target, if gravity had an affect, well, it would hit somewhere on the target, that was the theory at any rate. Slowly enough to not disturb his focus or arrangement, the Orc readjusted his fingers so that they would be nowhere near the fletching as it was loosed.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Ogrim paused as his lungs were half depleted of air and released the arrow as smoothly was he was able.

[BlueberryKitty]

The cramping of muscles was only the beginning. Practising often with a weapon always left muscles one didn't know he had aching and screaming. On the following brightening Ogrim would not only be cramping, but he'd feel dreadfully sore. His shoulder, his arms, his back and his neck would all rebel from the strange use they were being put to by a bow. But the craft was very useful; especially the artistic sort that the elf Hawkmoon taught. Any fool could load a crossbow, point it and shoot- provided he didn't shoot his foot first.

So often, a beginning student of archery would get discouraged right before he really became adept at the skill he needed to learn; patience. Would Ogrim be this sort? Hawkmoon watched him as he sighted down the arrow, watched the tip of it rise to the top of the target and finally released the arrow. He'd given the Orc the theory on it, but now the lesson was up to him. He was going to have to repeat this process again and again, til he got it down into a habit. Archery was something that simply required judgement; where to aim, how hard to loose the shaft. It wasn't like learning how to use a sword at all.

The arrow flew from the bow; that in and of itself was an accomplishment. However it headed to the right of the target, and slightly high of the bulls'eye, to imbed itself deeply into the bale of hay situated behind it. The elf nodded. "Not a bad first attempt. Not bad at all. Your task now is to stand there, and shoot those arrows over and over again until you can hit the target at least once out of five shots. Sounds easy now, but you've got to find the aim of that weapon before you can use it properly." And with that, Hawkmoon sauntered over to sit down near the shop's backwall, and lazily watch the Orc work.

[Ogrim]

In the moment that the arrow flew from the bow, time began to ebb as if it was made of an impossibly viscous matter. The half breath that Ogrim still held in his lungs was slowly exhaled as a fleet smile curled across what passed for lips on his face. However, any pleasure gained was soon bleed away as the arrow, though successful in its launch, was off target by several inches striking an unsuspecting hay bale with venomous force. At least the bow was powerful.

Still, Ogrim’s martial pride demand that he not be pleased with immediate success and his smile was replaced by a scowl at his own lack of prowess. ”Son of a…” he growled to as he picked up another arrow, nocked it and looked towards Hawkmoon for direction. Said direction was to shoot arrows over and over again, at the same target until he could hit the target at least once in every five attempts. At first the Orc thought that it would be easy, but after several minutes of attempts, he no longer followed that particular school of though.

And so through pride, sweat and more specifically; his sheer bloody mindedness, Ogrim continued to launch arrow after arrow at the offensive bale of hay and attached target until Hawkmoon signaled for him to stop.

[BlueberryKitty]

Well now, even an Orc of a reputation such as Ogrim can't be perfectly successful at everything he tries. Archery not-with-standing, just to launch an arrow from the bow the first time is a remarkable event. Inwardly Hawkmoon was both pleased and impressed, but his face refused to show it.

Watching as Ogrim repeated the motions of shooting over and over again, the elf let the orc do as he would for perhaps the first half-hour of the lesson. By that time, the orc quite probably had begun to let his stance and his form slip- which was perfectly understandable and perfectly expected by such an experienced teacher of the bow. "Stand up straight now, hold your left arm stiff. Don't get sloppy now, form is everything." The elf pestered the orc til he followed the instructions, standing picture perfect just the way Hawkmoon wanted him.

"Take your time to get into good habits now, rather than bad ones it will take three times as long to break out of you."

The elf leaned back against his hale-bay, and watched Ogrim continue his practice. Unsurprisingly, the next few shots the orc made were not that far away from the bulls'eye, and the required majority were hitting the coloured circles rather than the offensive backdrop of hay. Progress had certainly been made this afternoon. At long last, the arrow sank its sharp head into the centre red circle of the painted target- meaning the orc achieved his goal. Perfection. But how long would it take for him to repeat that perfection? Only practice could tell.

[Ogrim]

Ogrim puffed his cheeks in wonderment and exhaled heavily, he was quite surprised that he had actually hit the red circle. That same red circle had looked relatively big when he had first nocked his arrow and drawn it but after half an hour or more of nocking, drawing, releasing and watching his arrows go wide he was tired. Actually he was more than just tired, he was exhausted. His arms were fatigued and his shoulders ached, his gut felt tight as well from the strain of holding his stance taut.

”Hawkmoon, I gotta tell you dis is tiring work. I got new respect fer archers.”

Rather than pick up his bow so quickly, Ogrim walked up to the target, leaned his weapon against the bull’s-eye and examined the arrow embedded in said red circle. He starred at it silently for several seconds and smiled with not just a little satisfaction. Closing his eye he relived that particular moment. Of course he couldn’t remember each exact step along the way but the important ones were indelibly etched in his short term memory, the trick was to make then long term memories and ultimately, reflex.

Shaking his arms and rotating his shoulders as a animal would after a long nap to re-circulate blood, Ogrim picked up his customized bow in a gentle grip and walked back to the mark he was to loose from. Retrieving another arrow form his quiver he nocked it and bought it slowly to his cheek. Taking a deep breath he carefully ran over the steps he had memorized and exhaled slowly. Then, ever so slowly, he reduced the pressure of his finger tips holding his arrow and let it fly.

[Minerva]

Inwardly, Hawkmoon felt just the slightest bit smug at Ogrim’s words. Many was the time that archers were underestimated, classed as ‘weak’ or ‘afraid’ simply because they chose to attack from the safety of a distance rather than up close in the very heat of combat. It was a more elegant art, with what he saw as being a greater fluidity to it than any other martial form. Outwardly, however, the elf’s expression remained the same, unwavering as he continued to watch on, with naught but a lazy nod towards the orc in a vague acknowledgment of what he had said.

It was good that Ogrim took a pause after all the hard work he had done so far, approaching the target and examining the one arrow that had managed to pierce through the red. Doubtless his arms and muscles were really starting to hurt now, and this small break in practice would at least give him the opportunity to go over the techniques learned and needed within his mind. An endeavour which would, come his next attempt at hitting the target, work very much in his favour indeed.

With the steps that had been utilised before clearly in mind, the arrow left the orc’s bow flying straight and true, and coming to hit the target but a fraction of an inch away from where his previous success had struck. Just within the red, it was a sure sign of Ogrim’s growing skill and prowess, and that he was very much managing to do something right, at least.

“Nice work- you have done well for someone new to this skill.” Came Hawkmoon’s voice, his voice underlined by the slightest hint of pride. Far be it for the elf to show how he was really feeling, after all. “From here on, however, it is a matter of practice- keep doing so to improve upon your skill and to prevent them from going rusty. You already know all the basic principles of archery- if you work on these enough you will soon be able to move on to using slightly more advanced techniques.”

Moving away from his hay bale and towards the orc instead, the elf then gestured vagrantly with one hand before continuing on once again. “Now, either I can give you a brief lesson into the process of arrow making, which may or may not prove useful to you in future, or you can carry on shooting at the target until the muscles in your arms explode.” It was Ogrim’s choice, and Hawkmoon would not be particularly bothered either way. This was simply a small addition to the lesson he was offering the orc, after all.

[Ogrim]

Ogrim’s breath caught in his throat as the arrow whistled from his bow and thudded heavily into the target not a fingers width away form the originally successful arrow. A wry smile crept across what passed for lips on the greenskin’s face as his training had reached some semblance of accomplishment. Turning as the elf addressed him; Ogrim was quietly pleased he would forgo more repetitive training and rest his body however briefly. He nodded and respired deeply as Hawkmoon passed on further wisdom regarding his new found ability and mentally compartmentalized it for further review. At the offer of a basic fletching lesson Ogrim consented immediately, another string to his bow, as it were.

”I appreciate da offer Hawkmoon, and I would like ta take you up on dat offer if I may?”

OOC: Selene, just as a heads up, Ogrim’s bow has been customized to his particular strength limit and therefore has a far heavier draw weight than another bow. Also, his arrows are more robust than normal arrows due to the force exerted on them. I’ve no idea of its relevance though you may wish to know it for this thread.

[Minerva]

Whilst not integral to the teaching of archery at such a basic level, fletching would nevertheless prove a useful skill for the orc to know, especially in such circumstances where it would not be possible, nor feasible, to pop down to the nearest store in order to purchase some arrows. A flicker of a smile played across Hawkmoon’s face at that. Contrary to his thoughts now, a part of his livelihood depended on those very people- the ones who either could not or would not make arrows for themselves.

A trifling issue now, however, and so the elf was soon moving his mind onwards to more pertinent things. Namely, the instruction of his student. “It is a long and difficult process to carry out, though I am sure the skill will come in useful to you at some point or another.” “Of course, to begin with, you need some wood- something suitable for constructing the shaft of the arrow. Now, there are different types of wood you can use, and each with their own qualities. Birch wood for example is hard and tough, and good for impact when hunting, for example. There are also softer woods, such as cedar, which are generally straighter and better for more accurate shooting.”

“In the case of the bow you are using, it would be better to make arrows from the harder woods, though ultimately it is of course your choice.” The elf shrugged nonchalantly at that, before beginning to turn away, gesturing loosely towards the hay bales and the rows of targets as he did so.

“Now, if you will retrieve the arrows you fired at the target, I will show you the more physical aspects of making arrows back inside.” With that, the elf departed, presumably to begin preparing whatever was needed indoors for the continuation of Ogrim’s lesson.

OOC: Thanks for the info!