“Come on, kid. You hold it like this– you can’t curl your finger over the arrow like that. You’re gonna break it, and the shaft is gonna go right through your hand.”
Shamir says nothing, only nodding her head as she adjusts her grip. The mercenary leader that had taken her under his wing wasn’t usually kind, but she guesses that he’s sparing her a modicum of pity when he sees her trying to pull her own weight alongside the others. She can’t be useless, and the idea of charging into battle with a sword is daunting… but something about the bow feels right in her hands. Feels comfortable.
“Yeah, like that. Now, nock your arrow, and let it fly.”
She does as she’s told, as she normally does. Doesn’t question the orders given to her, just acts on them– and this time, when she does, the arrow strikes the dead center of the target.
The first time it ever has. Eyes widened, she glances up at the mercenary who breaks out into loud laughter before patting her on the shoulder with enthusiasm, and Shamir can’t stop the proud smile that finds its way onto her features.
“Good job, kid. Now keep practicing, and you’ll be a pro in no time.”
This is how she can help. Bow raised once again, arrow nocked, she lets another shot go.
Bullseye.
The next time she sees the mercenary who had taught her, he’s laying on a cot unmoving. A sword slash across his chest, fatal on impact. His blood continues to seep from it as several other mercenaries sigh, speaking frantically to each other– she’s not paying attention. Probably something about succession, matters that she has nothing to do with.
She missed her shot. Shamir had long since seen the brigand coming, sword raised to take her teacher out; she lined up the arrow, she held it exactly as she had been taught by his hand. All of his words ringing in the back of her mind, and all of her focus honing in to that one moment in time– the pause in her breathing cycle enabled her to fire, even as her fingers trembled from anticipation and anxiety both.
It pierced the foe’s shoulder when she had been aiming for his chest for a single shot kill. It wasn’t enough to stop him, and by the time she registered a scream, it took her a moment to realize that it was her own.
When she visits the practice range, she’s there from dawn to dusk, and by the time she takes a break, blood drips from the blisters on her fingers. Not as much blood as he had spilled, a necessary sacrifice to ensure that the next arrow hits exactly where she wants it to– to know that it’ll kill on impact.
Against her better judgment, she picks her bow up once again. The sting isn’t enough to stop her, the next arrow nocked, and eyes focused on the target. The only thing that matters.
-
“You’re a crazy good shot, you know that, right? It’s kinda scary.”
The man that had been assigned to be her partner stands in the doorway of her tent, arms crossed over his chest as he flashes her a big grin. Shamir’s eyes roll as if on instinct, fingers ensuring that the string of her bow is pulled taut and everything is in order– tomorrow, they’re shipping out once again, finally leaving this hellhole. Some shitty noble had employed them to fight his battles for him, and they’d won, as expected; the smell of flesh burning was acrid enough to nearly make her eyes water, mass graves set ablaze as means of clearing out the field. Bodies left to rot would only promote disease… and none of them wanted to deal with the stench of decomposition.
She grunts in acknowledgment even as he comes to sit next to her on her cot– she says ‘hers’, but it feels like they’ve shared it more as of late.
“I know. You don’t have to tell me.” It’s matter-of-fact, and a true statement… but in this moment, it sounds like a rare jest from her. He laughs, his shoulder bumping into hers, pulling out his dagger to sharpen it against a whetstone pulled from his satchel. “Ready for tomorrow? From what I’ve heard, it’s likely our last stop for this contract. Time to clear out the rest of the enemy, and we’ll be home free. Nice paycheck in our pockets, and a chance to get some rest.”
They need it. Battered, bruised, and fatigued from the back to back skirmishes. Her partner nods as she listens to the ‘shing’ of the whetstone, finally satisfied with her bow’s maintenance.
“Yeah. Hoping it’s an easy fight, but knowing these stupid nobles, they’ll do whatever they can to grandstand and show off their might. Or something like that,” He mumbles, finally raising his dagger to the light, inspecting the sharp edge. “Who knows. Maybe they’ll see us and start running.”
Hah. She lets out a huff of dry laughter there, elbow gently bumping into his side.
“... Hey, Shamir. Have you ever thought about what you’ll do after all of this is over?” He sounds more serious than he ever has, and it catches her off guard as she turns to look at his expression. Sentimental, almost, or maybe… wistful. “I have, a couple times. I kinda just want to leave the business and settle down somewhere, live the rest of my life in peace. We don’t have forever, and…”
“I wondered if you’d do the same. Or if you’d stick with this until you died, or worse, got killed.”
Oh. It dawns on her what he’s saying, and she feels her ears beginning to heat up as she turns all of her attention back to her bow, feigning that she’s actually doing something to it. Inspecting the limbs, adjusting the grip, anything that stifles her embarrassment and slows her thoughts.
“Um… I guess.” Her voice wavers as she speaks, clearing her throat in an attempt to steel herself. “I wish I could say I’ve thought that far ahead, but I haven’t. I guess I’ve just been taking things day by day, step by step– no reason to think about where I’ll be in 10 years.” It’s likely she’ll be taken out by an opposing merc, or worse, die from an injury’s infection. Most of her kind don’t live that long.
“How about… after this last battle, you and I take a break from the battlefield. We could travel on our own for a bit, do a couple of odd jobs here and there, and just… relax. What do you think?”
It sounds nice. She thinks she’d like it. Wouldn’t it be the first time she actually has a chance to do whatever she likes? A light laugh escapes, and she shrugs her shoulders.
“... Yeah. Sure. Why not? I’ve always wanted to see more of the world, and not just shitty fields full of dead bodies.” There’s truth to that statement, but the lopsided smile she sports also shows that it’s a hint of a jest. “I’ll take that as a promise that we’ll meet again after this fight. Make sure your sword arm is ready to go, yeah?”
He lets out a loud laugh there, gently patting her on the back. “As always, dear Shamir. As always! Get some rest. We’ll both need it.”
By the time he leaves her tent, she can’t wipe the smile from her face. It was hard enough hiding it while she had his company, but now, having her own life, her own agenda, and her freedom. That’s pretty nice, isn’t it? Had he asked her a couple years ago, she would’ve laughed in his face. Maybe this time, it’ll be her chance to start over. Maybe, just maybe..
It’ll be the time she can finally put her bow down.
-
Blood drips from her fingers, and she can’t feel them anymore. How long has it been since she acknowledged the fact that they ached, that they burned? That the sting nearly went to the bone?
She can’t remember. She nocks another arrow, and lets it fly. It hits the center of the target, though there’s no celebration to be had. It’s an expectation, a requirement–
And a reminder of past failures. Another arrow, nocked, released. Another bullseye. How many times will it take for her to pierce the dead center before she’ll never feel this burden again? Before she’ll never miss another shot, before she’ll be fast enough to intervene, before she’ll– she’ll–
Something drips wet onto her cheeks, but it doesn’t stop her. Another. Another. Another-
Her arm shakes as she pulls the string back, body finally beginning to protest against the strain. This time, when she releases, the arrow flies wide to the side, nowhere near the target. It causes her to freeze, eyes trained on nothing in particular. She’s alone here, left to her own devices in the wake of their final battle; the others are packing up and preparing to leave, and she’s here. Practicing for hours on end. Shamir can’t remember when she started, and she’s not sure when she’ll stop.
Every muscle in her upper body trembles, and it all comes crashing down when she lets out a long, agonized, guttural scream before slamming her bow into the dirt. It snaps, the wooden splinters flying in every direction, but it doesn’t stop her as she throws the two halves into the distance, chest heaving, blood spattered all around her from her mauled digits.
He had made a promise. He had spoken of better days, of a chance at a future; and as amethyst eyes stare down at her broken weapon, she lets out a dry laugh. It sure felt like fate was mocking her, the shards and bent wood evidence enough of what her life had become. Arrows discarded, scattered across the ground, and she doesn’t bother to pick them up.
“Hey, you coming?”
One of the other mercenaries calls out to her, his supplies slung over his shoulder in the form of a makeshift bag. Shamir doesn’t answer. She doesn’t gather her things, she doesn’t follow. Hours go by before she’s struck by the realization:
They’ve all left. She is alone.
-
“You have been offered a contract to serve in the Knights of Seiros. Your housing will be provided on the grounds of Garreg Mach Monastery, and you will be supplied with basic necessities– just this once. Everything after is your responsibility, and you will be expected to perform your duties with pride and accuracy. Do you understand?”
She nods. They’re a little bit too pompous for her tastes, but a paycheck is a paycheck, and this was a way of repaying the kindness that Rhea has shown to her. She’d been wandering for what felt like years, dirty and poor, searching for odd jobs that would get her a meal on a table. The gold didn’t particularly matter, just for getting basic necessities– drink. Food. A place to rest every so often. If she was lucky, she’d find a lake for a quick bath and to wash her clothes.
“Yeah. I get it.”
“Very well. Here is the key to your quarters– Lady Rhea expects to see you later this afternoon in order to brief you and explain why, exactly, you are here. I fail to understand her decisions… but I will always trust in her judgment. You would be wise to do the same.”
Hah. What a load of bull. She doesn’t voice that, though, and instead just nods while taking the key from the man’s hand. It doesn’t matter who he is, she doesn’t ask for a name– she doesn’t care.
Once again, her bow is slung over her shoulder. Bandages are wound around her fingers, and the slight tinge of pink seems to have begun to seep through. The faculty member glances down and sighs, waving his hand to motion down a hallway. Shamir barely raises her head, brow arched.
“Please, see to your injuries before anything else. Professor Manuela will be more than happy to assist you– her office is down this hallway, 2nd on the left.”
-
“Hey, listen. You can’t hold your bow like that, with your finger curled over the arrow. You’re gonna snap it in two– do you want half of an arrow shaft piercing through your hand?” She lectures one of the students, watching as he adjusts his grip. The student narrows his eyes as he adjusts his grip, and after a moment of silence, he lets his arrow fly–
And it strikes the center of the target. He beams up at his instructor before pumping his fist, excited and determination reignited in his gaze.
Shamir smiles, slightly. Maybe her teaching gig isn’t so bad, but… It was inevitable that this boy would find his way into battle, and she can only hope that he takes all of his teachings to heart, to have a chance to survive. To live to see the next day… to get even better at his craft.
“Good job, kid. Now, do it again. You’ll become a professional in no time.”
She pauses.
“Oh, make sure you have your gloves on. It’ll keep you from getting blisters.”
I rolled a sniper the other day, this is Kritta’ria’set, known as Aria!
She was a classical dancer before losing her right leg, she was from a strict military family so after the accident it was only logical that she’d follow in the rest of her families footsteps and join the military.
She’s tiny at 5′0″ and deadly. Pretty well spoken and quiet with a gentle heart but she’s a terrible terrible flirt and likes to use her looks to get out of a fight if she can.
