Drunken Blindfolded Target Practice
It's Korday, Vhast 26 17:12:38 1019. The full moon isn't up. The tide is low and ebbing. The fair weather clouds in the west turn purple, gold, and vermillion as the sun sets. The snow, in shadow, looks blue. A cold wind blows from the west.
A11: Festival Grounds
Like so many other days recently, this one has been wintry cold. Now, as the sun sets and the City's mana lamps begin to shine, most folks are headed to dinner at one place or another. Taking advantage of the dwindling crowds, Ga'Elian has come to the Festival Grounds, accompanied by another young Sylvanori and an armor-clad griffon. Talking to the elf, he says, "I think there's plenty of room now for us all to do some training. Why don't you and Erithamiel go a few rounds. He knows to take it easy on you." To this, Pendaril rolls his eyes, but shrugs and says, "Sure." and leads the beast off with him.
"Well, that calmed down right nisse, didn't it?" Mayahuel says. The brinescale has made her way into the City Proper, and though she jumps now and then at clip-clop carts, and hawk-nosed gobbers, she seems right enough, at first. She carries a pack over her shoulder, and a few 'skins at her side.
"Ay," the wiry Aesir next to Mayahuel responds, a weathered hand pulling at a age-whitened beard. "I told you little Maya, these city folk nerry like the cold. Scant survive a week in Stormgrad." The elderly man lets out a heavy laugh as the skin of his bare chest prickles with geese. He shoots an elbow at the Sith'Makar and then points to a Sil and a Griffon trading blows.
As the griffon and Pendaril start sparring, Ga'Elian watches them for a moment, then takes a long piece of fabric out of his pack. As he begins to fold it neatly into a blindfold, he looks up at the approaching Aesir and Sith. He says, "Good evening, and peace on your nest."
"*I* don't like the cold," Mayahuel says, with a wry look at her friend, and then thumps her tail in a bit of a humph. She dodges the elbow--barely--but only because Bjoric probably hadn't been aiming that hard. "Peasse to you," she returns, and keeps an occasional eye on Bjoric, in case he tries it again. "What iss it it you are doing out here?"
Bjoric shifts his lips about to send his mustache dancing. "I was talking about you," he says with a wry smile and a hand swiping over his bald head. A deep guffaw escapes his mouth. "Nests and things," the Aesir replies to Ga'Elian. "Didn't know Sil had nests."
Ga'Elian replies, "Oh, no. At any rate, not normally. I'm just getting ready to do some blind-folded target practice with my longbow. See that swinging target over there?"
Bjoric eyes the target in the distance. "With them ears I suspect it won't be too hard for you." The sailor rubs a hand on his stomach thoughtfully. "Now let us spin you around once we blindfold you. See whatcha can shoot then!"
The Aesir gives Maya a nod of his head. "Ay. Good as night as any for it. Though the little one looks a bit outmatched," he says of the one fighting the griffon.
Maya huffs, as she looks that way. "Maybe it will toughen him up," she says, with a sith's survivalist pragmatism. "But you have a point. ...what do you ssay, hunter?" she says as she looks to Ga'Elian. Oh, trouble. This is why she'll never make initiate.
Ga'Elian nods, "Oh, yeah. This is a nice facility for combat training. They've thought of everything, well, perhaps not of keeping the grandstands warm on a winter's night. As for Pendaril and Erithamiel over there? It might do them both some good. At any rate, I want them to get more familiar with each other. Pendaril grew up with me. Now, he tags along and tends to Erithamiel when a it is... awkward to have a griffon with me." To Bjoric, he grins, and says, "Challenge accepted. Spin away, if you trust me, that is." He ties the blindfold on, marking the target before he does.
"Ha!" Bjoric barks. "Why not? And it is pointless to worry about things like death. When it is my time the Highest One will take me." His shoulders rise and fall dismissively. "Can't fight fate. Now let us get those eyes covered!" And this is why the old viking enjoyed the young brine's company. Always down for good natured fun in a town of stuffy fuddy-duddies.
Ga'Elian says, "Oh, I assure you. I cannot see."
"Ah, and ah! I have ssomething that might add to the fun," Maya says, good naturedly. She unslings one of the 'skins from her shoulder, and holds it up. She gives it a shake, the slosh-slosh showing just what's in there. "I got thiss from one of thosse Sstormgarde friendss of yourss," she says to Bjoric.
"Ah, and ah! I have ssomething that might add to the fun," Maya says, good naturedly. She unslings one of the 'skins from her shoulder, and holds it up. She gives it a shake, the slosh-slosh showing just what's in there. "I got thiss from one of thosse Sstormgarde friendss of yourss," she says to Bjoric.
The Aesir claps Mayahuel in the back good-naturedly. "I knew you were holding out on me!" Bjoric takes the skin from the Sith and upending it takes a squirt. "That will be a shine in your eye." He holds it up high into the air. "All Father, bless this Sil's bow, so his deeds may please you!" With a belch he hands the raider's drought to Ga'Elian.
Ga'Elian says, "Eh? What's that? You want me to shoot a wineskin instead?" Then, hearing the Aesir, he says, "That is wine, isn't it?"
"Waugh!" Maya stumbles forward as the manly mcman Bjoric claps her on the shoulder. When she straightens, she sniffs, and gives him a good-natured, if warning look, before looking back to the hunter. "Take a drink. Take a drink an' sspin," she says. "You've got to make it challenging, with thosse earss of yourss. They're like kitess, either sside of your head."
Ga'Elian shrugs, and says, "Why not." then reaches out to accept the skin. After a respectable gulp, he holds it out until he is relieved of it, then says, "Ready as I'll ever be, I guess."
"Wine? Ay. Though we spell it differently," the old raider explains with a chuckle. "Now drink!" He coaxes. Once done Bjoric reaches out to start spinning the elf's body in a tight little circle. "Round n' round he goes. Where he'll shoot, nobody knows."
"Sssaaaa," Mayahuel says with a chuckle. She keeps pace behind the aesir, just in case Ga'Elian aims the wrong way.
GAME: Ga'Elian rolls Fortitude: (10)+10: 20
Ga'Elian pauses a moment to settle the dizziness from the (drunken) spinning. Then he utters, 'North' in Sildanyari, and turns to more-or-less face the swinging target. He takes the 5-ft-4-in longbow out of the ornate 20-in quiver, then an arrow, fits it nock to bowstring, and... looses the shaft.
GAME: Ga'Elian rolls Bow+1-2+1: aliased to Weapon15+1-2+1: (3)+19+1+-2+1: 22
GAME: Ga'Elian rolls 1d100: (91): 91
Mayahuel narrows her own eyes. "Thosse are ssome ears," she says agreeably. "Or you're gettin' better with prayin," she says to Bjoric. With that, she unhooks a second 'skin. "Think I'll go have me a sit, catch up on ssome lunch. I have ssome bisscuits in here, don't you worry, old man," she says. She flicks her tail at the warrior's knees, before going to find a place 'to sit.'