#avendal

Avendal my babygworl..................

I wound up writing a bit about Avendal under the cut

The arrow loosed and hit the target in the shoulder.

“Again. More to the left.” Avendal pulled the arrow free, holding it behind his back as he strolled back to the archer in training.

“I’m used to the firearm Sir, I apologise.”

“I do not want excuses. Fire again.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The archer nocked his arrow and drew again.

Shk

Avendal squinted. “Shoulder. Again.”

“Sorry, Sir. I’m still getting used to it, maybe it’s the bow?”

“Are you saying our fletchers make bad bows, Nasser? Will you give me an excuse for every arrow, Nasser?”

The archer felt the muscles in his shoulders freeze up.

“N-no, Sir.”

Another arrow nocked. As his fingers rested against his lip, something flashed in into his vision, followed by blinding pain. Nasser cried out, unable to relaxe the muscle.

Avendal plunged the arrow he had held onto into Nasser’s forearm, wedging it between the bones.

“Fire.”

Nasser cried out once again as his fingers uncurled from the bowstring.

The arrow missed the target completely, smashing against the red stone behind it and shattering.

“Nasser.” Avendal grabbed onto the arrow embedded in the archers arm and yanked at it, “Remove your wrist guard. You will learn to fire with this-” he shook the arrow once again, but the archer was in too much pain to cry out. He gasped, dropping the bow and reaching out across to his arm.

Avendal caught Nasser’s hand, crushing his fingers.

“-You will remove the brace and fire until I can see the muscle of your bow arm.”

The others in the yard had taken note of what was happening. Avendal was known for his harshness but not this.

“Remove the brace. Pick up the bow, and Fire. The arrow will not kill you.”

Terrified and in agony, the archer did as he was told. He fired under close supervision for three days non-stop.

Blood trickled from Nasser’s arm. the last half-day of agony was particularly bitter, with his body slowly regenerating the layers of skin over and over, thinner and thinner each time.

Finally, he bled. He could rest.

“s....ir....”

His mouth was dry, his will broken, his vision unfocused.

Avendal dug his fingertips into Nasser’s forearm as he turned it in the light. with a sneer, he threw the arm away from himself and yanked the arrow free from Nasser’s right arm and pointed it inches from his eyes. He was too tired to even seethe from the pain.

“Fire again. Throat.”

Nasser took a shallow breath as Avendal handed him the arrow that had been in his arm for the past three days. Torn veins clung to it and smaller, dried chunks of flesh.

Nasser slowly nocked, raised his arm and pushed out as he drew the string back.

He took a breath, and uttered a silent prayer.

Thunk.

The arrow his square between the eyes of the target.

Avendal’s lip twitched. The rings on his fingers ground together.

Avendal strode toward the target and turned it around. the arrowtip jutted out from the face of an emaciated slave, a gag browned with old blood tied around his mouth now drenched a deep red.

“He died too quickly! Untie him and remove the arrow!”

Nasser had no time to take in the suruprise as his feet moved without him.

Avendal dissapeared from sight as he knelt down and began pulling at the ropes around the slave’s wrist.

An aggrivated shout came from behind Nasser as a spear hurtled down into his throat from behind. Nasser gurgled and clutched at the shaft protuding from his windpipe and down into the body of the slave.

“THROAT.”

Avendal turned to the onlookers, who proceeded to take multiple steps back.

“Do not help him outside of dragging him to the sun!”