Mysterious as the Dark Side of the Moon [open]
Who: Cassandra and various moving targets
What: Archery practice and lively debate
Where: Near what's left of the western wall
When: Thursday
There was an old gnarled tree that stood away from the rest of the village. Not the Rowan Tree, but a suitable substitute. Cassandra had seen it before and created her own story about it, not knowing its true origins: It had been there for centuries, an eyesore that had gradually become a bit of a joke to the villagers. Nothing, it seemed, could destroy the tree. Storms had come and gone, sweeping away homes and hearths, yet the tree remained. Blasting winters had wracked the town, withering everything in sight. The tree was undisturbed. A great fire had even once nearly destroyed everything and everyone in Jhelbor. Not the tree.
Now, years after all these imagined attempts to kill the tree quickly, Cassandra decided to settle for killing it slowly. She stood in front of the hideous monstrosity, taking aim with her bow and imagining that what she faced was now a charging horde of foreign invaders. With each twang of her bowstring, she imagined the arrow embedding itself in the arm or the leg or the gullet of some pretend enemy who was dreaming of conquering the worldwalkers.
Her placid face masked a mixture of emotions; anger, triumph, frustration, smugness, and concern, to name a few. As always, Cassandra felt a great many things, all at once, and showed none of them on her face. If she displayed any emotion at all, it was merely a lack of satisfaction with her aim with the bow. She was still new to it.
What: Archery practice and lively debate
Where: Near what's left of the western wall
When: Thursday
There was an old gnarled tree that stood away from the rest of the village. Not the Rowan Tree, but a suitable substitute. Cassandra had seen it before and created her own story about it, not knowing its true origins: It had been there for centuries, an eyesore that had gradually become a bit of a joke to the villagers. Nothing, it seemed, could destroy the tree. Storms had come and gone, sweeping away homes and hearths, yet the tree remained. Blasting winters had wracked the town, withering everything in sight. The tree was undisturbed. A great fire had even once nearly destroyed everything and everyone in Jhelbor. Not the tree.
Now, years after all these imagined attempts to kill the tree quickly, Cassandra decided to settle for killing it slowly. She stood in front of the hideous monstrosity, taking aim with her bow and imagining that what she faced was now a charging horde of foreign invaders. With each twang of her bowstring, she imagined the arrow embedding itself in the arm or the leg or the gullet of some pretend enemy who was dreaming of conquering the worldwalkers.
Her placid face masked a mixture of emotions; anger, triumph, frustration, smugness, and concern, to name a few. As always, Cassandra felt a great many things, all at once, and showed none of them on her face. If she displayed any emotion at all, it was merely a lack of satisfaction with her aim with the bow. She was still new to it.