Intelligent Combatants

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It's Tariday, Eatonis 14 10:33:54 1019. The full moon is up. The tide is low and rising. A light rain falls from a grey sky. It's cool and there's a mild wind from the east.

A07: Lower Alexandria Market District

While much milder than the weather only a couple of weeks ago, today's light rain does dampen the spirits of many would-be shoppers leaving business slow at this time. Regardless, Ga'Elian is walking from a shop toward a street-side bench, cradling under his right arm a long, vaguely circular package covered in a burlap sack. Sitting down, he starts untying the sack.

Cold does not bother her, though perhaps Aya draws the line at wet. While technicaly out of doors, she lingers very near the Fernwood. Specifically, beneath one of the overhanging eaves.

Ga'Elian extracts an arrow from the sack, leaving the rest of the bundle leaning uprigt against the bench's back-rest. He examines the arrow, carefully scrutinizing the whole piece, from the nock to the fletching, holding it out to examine the straightness of the shaft, then gripping it and testing its springiness, and finally rubbing his thumb sideways across the sharp edge of the arrowhead. As he feels the golden metal of the tip, he smiles despite nicking his thumb on the point. He licks the drop of blood from his thumb, then stands up, holding the arrow in his left hand, while reaching over his shoulder to extract a bow, fully as long as he is tall from the compact, magical quiver slung across his back.

Aya makes note of the familiar syl and his examination of his toys. "The sharp end is pointed towards your enemies," she offers helpfully, "as a reminder."

Setting arrow to bow, he glances momentarily toward Aya, and draws back the string. Calmly, he aims at a sign atop a building across the street, pauses a moment, then lowers his bow, relaxing the tension on the string. He stows the bow back into the quiver, then says, "Yes. So I gather." He puts the arrow into his quiver, too, then picks up the sack from the bench and crosses toward the Fernwood. "These are probably the finest arrows I've ever handles, except, maybe, for the one magical arrow I used a while back to try to put one of those horses to sleep that was being stolen by the gobbers from that stable north of the city. Do you recall?"

"I recall the stolen horses, yes," Aya admits. "I didn't pay special notice to what arrows you loosed at the time, though. The ones that draw my attention are those flying towards me, for the most part."

Ga'Elian chuckles, "I'm sure. Well, on that occasion, I had a sleep arrow. It was a fine piece, but these are much more deadly." He hefts the sack. "They are crafted with adamantine heads, and will penetrate armor, stone, and other such things without difficulty."

Aya lifts one brow. "Is there a reason you would loose them at stones? What of those targets without armor to pierce, or those with enchanted armor?"

Ga'Elian replies, "At stones? I can't think of why, but there are creatures who have rocky hides. And these are only some of my arrows. One nice thing about this quiver is it produces from within it, exactly the item I want to draw from it. So if I want to fire upon a demon or a fairy, I can simply grab a cold iron arrow, or if I'm attacking a werewolf, a silver one, or a normal target, then a normal arrow." He reaches back and pulls four arrows from the quiver, each in turn, then holds them together in his fist, showing the tips specifically. One is steel, one is alchemical silver-plated steel, one is cold iron, and the last is adamantine. He says, "With archery, the same bow can deliver a variety of projectiles depending on circumstances. The technique is the same."

"Know your enemy and exploit their weaknesses," Aya summarizes with a dip of chin. "I'm impressed. I'd not considered you an intelligent combatant, before."

Ga'Elian returns the arrows into the quiver, then answers, "Knowing one's enemy, or quarry, is an essential part of being an effective hunter. As for intelligence, I'm no wizard, and I may still be getting accustomed to many of the ideas of... city folk, but I don't believe I am less intelligent than ordinary, nor that my approach to fighting is so very unsophisticated, although I will readily admit that to an observer, it may seem like I follow the same method under varying challenges. But, you see, it is often a matter of nuance, and I frankly find that sticking to the technique that I am best suited for usually is most effective."

"Indeed," Aya acknowledges, "and so long as you don't hunt alone, there will always be alternatives. Should your technique prove ineffective."

Ga'Elian shrugs, "I suppose so. Archery isn't my only style, though, just my preferred one. I have other weapons at my disposal as well, and while certainly not focused on unarmed fighting, I can usually do fairly well wrestling, even against bulkier opponents. Now you, I'm sure, could best me in hand-to-hand fairly quickly, but my expertise lies in dispatching an enemy before it gets close enough to be a physical threat."

"Attack from afar and outdistance your enemy. A common, and typically effective practice," Aya agrees once more. "One I follow, myself, in a way... while also minimizing any benefit of it to my enemies."

Ga'Elian now regards the mul'niessa with curiosity in his face. "Do you mean by quickly closing, attacking, then retreating just as quickly? I know so very little about your combat training, but I have witnessed you moving at prodigious speeds. Then, of course, you also have the talent of your people in managing the darkness. I'm sure that has its tactical applications."

"That is one option," Aya admits with a roll of one shoulder, "most useful against those who can't strike from a distance. The darkness is a powerful ally, in many ways."

Ga'Elian transfers the remaining arrows from the sack into the quiver, then says, "Well, I best be getting back to Erithamiel. Farewell." He starts to stride out toward the bridge, unperturbed by the rain.