Open Chronicles The Great Rites

[Hath Charosh]

It wasn’t clean, it wasn’t pretty, but he would be through. It was a brutal competition. A third of the orcs would be leaving the line after this round. There was very little margin for error, but that was the case throughout their lives. If that crocodile had been on their side of the oasis and gone unnoticed it would have torn him asunder long before Inodeirr could have found her mark.

They all meandered down towards the targets. No one collected any arrows from the grass. The orcs chosen to adjudicate - a group selected from across the tribes - watched carefully. When they reached the targets they extracted the arrows that had struck home. Five in the gold, six more in the target. Hardly the marker that he was here to come out on top. Hath took those arrows and held them up in the air. An adjudicator waved him on to collect his last arrow and return twenty paces further back than before. Those who could not hold up six collected their arrows and left the field out the side.

Hath tried to mentally step back and find the enjoyment in the event. Taking himself back to his first victory when he had been head to head for three rounds with the only other archer left. Eventually the chieftain had told them to loose one arrow each at the same target and that the closest to the centre would be the victor. Just one arrow and he had shot true. He tried to catch Scabhair’s eye and offer a smile. He was still in this.

 

[Scabhair]

In these sorts of things, Scabhair had learned to put a league of distance between her heart and mind. Competitions among orcs were as harsh as their lives; the standards they were held to born out of nothing less than survival. Every shot missed in training was worth the one that hit true in the field, and so they trained often, and aplenty.

There was a passion in her razor focus, but it was a cold one. She spared only enough awareness for surroundings to sense others approaching. The world beyond the target did not exist, and so she hardly even noticed when half the marksmen left. Hath would’ve had to grab her shoulder to get her attention.

The next rounds came and went, the line of archers kept growing shorter, and Scabhair kept firing her arrows into gold.

 

[Hath Charosh]

The next round was imperfect, but Hath knew well enough to alter his sighting for the extra twenty metres. All hit the target, but only a handful the gold. The following round he finally started to find his rhythm. All six formed a grouping on the target finally. They were off centre but tight together. Shooting a round of six in quick succession helped the mind settle on just the act.

Trust your technique

But it’s not right!

The technique is fine. Better than most.

Yet I still…

Shut up Hath. I tell you it’s good then it’s good. Stop worrying and shoot the fucking arrows

He stayed by his target, now he had one of his own. He was given four strips of yellow fabric and his six arrows. He held them up. Scabhair was holding up six strips of gold. Kardidua had left one of the lead hunters in charge and they held up three gold strips and six arrows. Hath made the final cut to weed out everyone but the best and he had done it without fully finding his stride.

He returned to the line thinking of one of his uncle’s early lessons, breathing slow as he walked. Breath out, sight the target, tension on the string, bow up, full draw, release, eyes stay on the target. Six more arrows. He walked down with the others and for the first time held up six yellow strips after a moment of indecision on whether one of his arrows was in. He looked to the lead adjudicator. Four gold strips and six arrows. Cwthen was out. He had five golds but has flicked his last arrow wide of the entire target. Two more went. Now there were just a handful of archers left. When they returned they were brought closer to each other. Orcs crowded around, some even ahead of them and to the side. Hath stood a little taller and waited for the call to shoot.

He wasn’t going out of this with a whimper.



Kardidua looked towards Mabess and offered a hint of a smile in turn. She followed her gaze towards Graella before watching arrows launched down towards the targets to be followed by the orcs.

The field was down to just the serious archers now. "I have three. Hath is my oldest. Started badly just then but he's still shooting. Bathyr will be play fighting somewhere. Kelyn, my youngest girl will be staying out of the way soon. I didn't notice Graella looking for a mate, did he not make the trip south?" she asked.


Archery Continues, the field cut down to the serious archers in a group knock out format. Meat will be cooking and ale opened up for the celebrations

 

[Oolak M'Beven]

Oolak M'Beven breathed in the air deeply as he road over the final hill to reveal Penteth Charosh. The 40 or so young male and female orcs riding behind him on horses and carts, with some walking all let out a collective whoop of celebration when the land came into view. As Oolak guided his clan to an empty area nearby, people began assembling tents, with Oolaks half dozen human slaves assembling his while being guarded by an orc.

Oolak marched towards the center of the camp with his four brothers trailing slightly behind him. As he reached the center he pushed his way into view of most people and let out a loud yell. "Orcs of the world! I, Oolak M'Beven proudly announce the arrival of Clan Bloody Paw!" Oolak's scar gave half the crowd the impression he was smiling but that thought was quickly allayed as he turned and scanned his head around, "I still see no tribe or clan managed to find someone stronger than me!" Oolak yelled with confidence and a deep laugh. "I look forward to spending time with all of you, I hope you all brought the best you could for the wrestling, it'd be a shame for me to win too easily."

With that said Oolak headed towards the spit to grab some meat and ale, while his people finished setting up their tents and began mingling. When Oolak reached the spit he grabbed a handful of meat straight off the hog roasting and was handed a cup of ale which he downed quickly and had refilled. He stood sipping it as he glanced around the crowd meticulously, looking to see any notable people there.

 

[Graella]

Graella turned away from J’Darak, smiling as she stood and made her way over to the feast area. She grabbed herself another hunk of meat and herself an ale as well, meandering towards a space on the ground, and plopped down in a cloud of dust. She smiled happily and tore into the meat again. Hungry still. She eyed the field of archers and shook her head. She didn’t have the patience for that. Too much breathing and technique for her tastes. She was physical creature. She wanted to be able to feel her opponent. Feel them squirm and thrash, when she finally put them down. Made them submit.

Graella took a hearty drink from her mug and sighed, leaning back on one hand as she shoved the last bit of meat in her mouth and chewed.