(514-05-20) Archery and a Jerk
Summary: Archery between pagans and a notable knight.
Date: 514-05-20
Related: None
llewelyn signe miruan 

Archery targets have been set up across one of the back fences of the main tourney ground, backed by one of the city walls so that stray shots will pose no threat to those beyond. With the large number of competitors registered in even this less than knightly sport given the spectacle fo the royal wedding, matches have been held off and on throughout the day. A few more competitors are called up now, including a Sir Centwin de Codsall, a knight of some repute, and a host of Salisbury pagans of… well, less repute!

Llewelyn is one of their number, and stands near the range, scratching idly at his brightly colored beard.

Thankfully, organs have not yet been invented or organ music would likely accompany Miruan coming along. She doesn't seem to blink much, with an intense, unnerving stare. Is she analyzing people? EATING THEIR SOULS WHILE FARTING BATS? Who knows? She does have a black cat on her shoulders, who has similarly unblinking eyes. She is duly impressed by the turnout. Not necessarily surprised, but impressed.

The reclusive pagan has even come out of whatever hole she hides in to give it a go herself. She is called up, and will stand near the range. She smiles politely at the fellow with the brightly colored beard. But it's a thin lipped smile topped by an unblinking stare.



Signe has dressed in the clothing in which she usually travels when making her village rounds— a leather patched dress suitable for a more active lifestyle. Along with her, a fine bow of yew and a quiver full of grey-fletched arrows. She is preoccupied as she makes her way to the field.

The local but notable knight is a vassal in the area of Carlion, perhaps one of some repute. Tall and narrow of frame, it is not surprising that he is skillful in the bow, or at least moreso than many of this fellows who prefer more brutish and powerful weapons. Eying the several entrants from Salisbury, who are announced as their turns arrive, he looks decidedly unimpressed, although he will return Miruan's greeting with a slight inclination of his head. "Ladies," he will offer in his thin voice, and then looking past them to the beard-itching fellow, who he will raise his eyebrows at but not greet directly.

"Lady Signe will face Sir Centwin de Codsall," announces the herald overseeing the whole thing. "You may approach the line and sight your targets. That nearest to the bullseye is declared the winner, and if both should strike it, another shot will be taken to break the tie."

Signe tosses her hair over her shoulder after stringing her bow, a task easily accomplished by placing one end behind her foot and the back of the bow against her leg. She dons the leather straps that will keep any painful welts off, and without further ado lifts her bow, knocks an arrow, aims and lets it fly.

Signe checked her bow of 10, she rolled 4.
You make a check for Sir Centwin de Codsall - Notable Knight's Bow check at 17, you rolled 14.

Miruan is curious, watching those who arrive. She lowers her head politely to Sir Codsall. She smiles politely. She settles back to watch, cat and all. She doesn't seem to show much how she feels about it all. But there is curious intent on her face. If gazes were scalpels, there'd be intestines everywhere.

The rail-thin Carlion knight approaches the line with his bow, drawing to its full length as he sights the target, taking a breath, and then releases. Both shafts fly true, piercing the colored cloth targets lain over the hay-bale backings. Sir Centwin's strikes just outside the bullseye, in the first ring, while Signe's hits one or two further out.

The herald will call the result, "Sir de Codsall takes the round. The next competitors will be… Lady Miruan de Winterbourne Gunnet and, ah, one Llewelyn, residing in Sarum."

Well, the knight is clearly her superior. Signe curtsies politely to the winner and heads off the field.

Llewelyn finishes scratching his beard, a lengthy process indeed with the great fiery bush upon his chin. Called up, he goes to take a spot just one down the range from Miruan, and will offer her a greeting, not being quite so aloof as the local knight. She is another Salisbury resident, at least! In fact, looking over his shoulder to make sure the knight isn't in earshot, he'll say, "Oy, that feller were a right prick, wernt he? Anyay, it's good t' meetcha, missy. Best of luck wit'cher shot."

Miruan lifts an eyebrow. Well, then. She just sort of rolls her shoulders, setting her cat down. The feline sits neatly in a safe spot. She will smile, though it is a thin one. She lowers her head politely. "… aye." She agrees quietly. "The pleasure is all mine," She replies. "And to you, too. Thank you." She seems to be fairly low key and easy going. This was mostly entered on a whim and curiousity.

You check your bow at 15, you rolled 3.
Miruan checked her Bow of 10, she rolled 4.

Both shots fly, striking their targets somewhere in the outer rings. It's not decisive enough to be obvious, and so the judge sends some boy out down to the targets to check up close - which is probably a little terrifying in case someone decides to take another shot without noticing he's down-range! After going and checking one, and the other, he will come back and dutifully report, after which the herald declares: "The shot goes to Lady Miruan."

Llewelyn is watching the whole while, and gives a little mutter in the end. "Well shite." Still, he turns and offers the woman a smile from beneath the great firebeard. "Still better than losin' to that bloke with the shaft stuck up his arse. Well done, lass."

Miruan draws her bow back. Eyes narrow. And - sigh. "Mmn. I need to practice more." She muses. She looks to Llewelyn and lowers her head respectfully. "Aye, on all accounts. It is a pleasure to shoot alongside someone pleasant and interesting." She seems to be pretty polite as people go, despite the unsettling aura that she might just straight up grab someone and drag them off to a lab for research.

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