This is going to be a tough one. I've never done an alphabet challenge before but since the last challenge seemed to go quite alright for me, I decided to participate in this one as well.
I picked Nathaniel Howe for it since he is one of my favorite characters from the game and I feel like I still have a lot of exploring to do where he is concerned.
All of the stories I will post in here, as far as I have laid them out in my head already, will be part of my headcanon, warnings and non-headcanon-content will be noted at the beginning of every chapter.
Hope you enjoy!
A is for Archery
Harvestmere, 9:34 Dragon
The day is warm and sunny. A rarity this time of year. There is only the slightest breeze and the air smells of autumn foliage and wet earth. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment as he turns his face up to the sun, enjoying the reprieve from the storms that have haunted the Keep for the last three weeks.
Almost everyone is outside today. He can hear cat-calls and shouts and laughter in the distance and the sound of metal on metal. The soldiers are eager to get some fresh air and exhaust their overflowing energies in the practice field, wrestling, dueling, challenging each other. He has pondered joining them and get some practice with his daggers as well but the thought of finding a nice, quiet clearing for his archery was so much more appealing.
He likes the silence of the woods, the serenity you could find there if you opened your heart and mind to the sounds and smells and sights of the surrounding trees and animals. It is the perfect place to hone his skills with the bow. Archery, for him, is the best way to relax, almost like meditation and after being locked up behind solid walls for so long with people getting increasingly restless and aggravated, it is just what he needs now.
His fingers lovingly run along the smooth, polished wood of his bow. He knows every dent, every scratch, every carving by heart. Holding that bow alone makes him feel calmer. He can sit and tend to it for hours, waxing, oiling, polishing and sometimes he does just that when there are too many things on his mind. The familiar motions help him think and just as the art itself, it has a calming and comforting effect on him.
Pulling an arrow from his quiver, he takes another deep breath, assumes his position. rolls his neck and shoulders and then nocks the slender projectile, aiming at a knothole some six yards away. He takes his time, forcing his breathing to slow, his mind to let go of all bothering and unimportant thought and releases the arrow with a low whistle.
Nock… aim… fire…
It is the most satisfying feeling to hear the swoosh of the arrow and hear it sink into your target with a thud.
Nock… aim… fire…
The sounds in the back fade and fall silent as he solely concentrates on the motions.
Archery is precision. Archery is perfection. If you don't strive for perfection, you will probably be better off with the club-wielders in the next field!
Nock… aim… fire…
His mentor never got tired of pointing that out. It is what appealed to him in the first place. Precision. Perfection. Only when one shot is like the other, you have truly mastered the art. It is all about focus, accuracy, patience.
Nock… aim… fire…
The fourth arrow hits the knothole close to the previous three. You wouldn't even fit a sheet of paper between them but it is still not perfect. The perfect shot. That's what he's aiming for but he knows that he still has a lot of work to do before he might even get close to it. But that is the allure of it, right? What is there left to achieve once you have reached the ultimate goal?
Strive for perfection.
He does and in doing so, maybe he has already mastered it.
