@kimuromou || || starter call
In the heart of the blooming Discussion Conference, Lan Zhan arrived under the premise of representing what Gusu called the finest arts of the Jades. The archery competition hosted by the Qishan Wen came with an honor that a Lan could not indulge in greedily. With eyebrows furrowed, Lan Zhan assessed his quiver, gently tracing the feathers of each tucked arrow as if they retained their bird-like hearts. He ignored the lavish banquette unveiled elsewhere as his code forbade it but Zhan had other ways of indulgence that often went unseen. Drawing his bow, Lan Zhan relished the digging pressure of polished silk sunken against the pads of his fingers before releasing the war fang. The arrow sliced through the air with dangerous precision and claimed its prey in the center of a painted target. Regarding his work, Lan Zhan wore a plain expression, neither impressed nor disappointed. This was a simple exercise despite the fascination he received from certain cultivators who enjoyed ogling the otherwise unyielding Lan members.
After two more arrows, Lan Zhan added movement to his routine, engaging in a spinning dance with a lethal weapon in his hands. Each arrow made it to the target no matter which way Lan Zhan's robes whipped from his sharp turns or if his hair crossed his face to chase his dipping head. The faster the disciple turned, the louder arrows wheezed, leaving his taut string and piercing hearts of unseen imaginations. The ghosts pranced about him, filling Lan Zhan's head before he let them go with the arrows, emptying his soul of any sand-like residue. He paused only after his hand swept against an empty quiver. The snow-white whirlwind subsided and Lan Zhan's tender robes settled like petals of a folding tulip, without a single crease to ruin his perfect silhouette. His black hair settled over his shoulders and back and his forehead ribbon remained undisturbed.
Taking a slow breath, Lan Zhan regained his composure and reset his bow by lowering it across his body. Only then did he gaze onward to count how many arrows made it through the center and which he should consider as feedback to further perfect his efforts? His eyes slowly traveled from one target to another, considering the crucial losses, before suddenly the cultivator lost count and paused on a familiar face. This familiarity came from previous events that the Lan sect frequented for alliance purposes. Regarding the man drenched in the crimson colors of the hosting clan, Lan Zhan slowly nodded in a formal greeting.
"Wen Ning." He said coldly and parted ways with his station, walking onward to rip one arrow after another from the pierced targets, refilling his bow.
