Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-9075949-20170520232335/@comment-24696651-20170522180535

Joric was crouched in a copse, his bow drawn. About fifty yards ahead of him, an elk was grazing. He hadn't eaten in two days. He had only one chance to shoot this elk; if he missed, he would be going hungry again, and it would be a long time before he got a chance to nourish himself. He drew back the bowstring, brought the fletching of the arrow to his cheek, and released.

The arrow flew, arcing in the air - and landed far too short and far too wide. He hadn't just missed. He had missed by such a large margin that the elk hadn't even released it was in danger.

Fine. No problem. You got this, Joric. Just try again.

He drew another arrow. As his hands stretched out the bow in preparation, he could feel himself connecting with the hunt, feel every whisper of the wind on his face, subtly nudging him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. In his mind, he could see the precise arc the arrow was going to take. He wouldn't miss this time. He pulled back on the bowstring to its limited, eking out every last pound of force from the bow, and...

ACHOO!

He sneezed, letting go of the bowstring. The arrow traveled in a drunken arc, once again completely missing the elk, and the elk itself turned its head toward him, as if in contempt, before trotting off, head held high.

"Bloody cold making me bloody miss me bloody bastard food, Shor's bloody bones!" he ranted, more concerned with inserting cursewords than constructing proper sentences, enunciating properly, or indeed cursing with any degree of proficiency. "Sod this bloody hunting!"

He looked around. He didn't much fancy his chances of hunting around here. He didn't know the land like he did near Rorikstead, but he knew he had travelled south a fair distance, and was now in a mountainous river valley. With any luck, Riverwood would be but a short walk away. He followed the river upstream, silently grumbling and fuming.