Post by Ringulf on Jul 25, 2017 23:08:12 GMT -5
Axes, Seaxes and Pointy Sticks
By Ringulf
The sound of the heavy Iron head was very unique as it buried itself in the soft pine of the target. The biting “thwack” was very satisfying and the three that followed it, did not diminish that feeling in the least, at least not for the big, half Skandian Ranger that threw them.
Ringulf walked to the target to retrieve his axes. Each target, of which there were three, was about the size of a man and the striking surface resembled a square silhouette of a human figure, made of edgewise soft pine planks sandwiched together sideways.
As a bit of a jest, someone (most likely Crowley) had put a rusty old Skandian helmet on the center one and had used some charcoal from the fire pit, to draw the rough points of a face and beard upon the weathered white pine facing. Ringulf left it in place.
When he had prized the axes from the target, he turned and faced a group of rangers, mostly young ones, but there were quite a few apprentices and some old timers as well.
Many of the Rangers had seen Ringulf throw his axes with startling effect as they had his Skandian countrymen before and after they had become allies and though they were unmistakably devastating, the axe had never really caught on as a true “weapon of choice” in the Ranger’s arsenal.
Crowley had asked him to teach this class during the Moot so that the rangers would be afforded the benefit of learning about the tactics of an old enemy turned ally and also to get a chance to learn something new to add to their lethalness and versatility. He had also intended it to be another stepping stone in the recovery and slow march toward normalcy that was occurring in his big gruff drinking partner.
A special project of his for many years, Ringulf had warmed to very few and stayed distant and surly to most after the death of his mentor. During that time of reclusive vagrancy, Ringulf seemed intent on being an itinerant wanderer amongst the Corps, a loner and “problem solver”.
Ringulf had become more a Ranger directed mercenary with no fife or mentor, no apprentice or even a horse. He moved from fife to fife shoeing horses and doing general blacksmithing, woodworking and leatherworking for the Rangers he stayed with. He did chores for them and helped with certain “problems” that Ringulf seemed very good at fixing. Crowley found that holding the Skandian’s attention and trust could be achieved by some informal comradery so he gave him that, and found it to be a valuable asset for them both.
Crowley now stood in the back of the cluster of gray and green mob next to Halt. Halt leaned over toward him to whisper confidentially to the Commandant:
“He is doing rather well; who would have thought an apprentice could bring someone like him out of his shell?”
Crowley turned his head to look at the wizened old Ranger and gave a mocking snort,
“Worked for you didn’t it?”
Halt leaned on his tightly strung longbow and then looked down to where it met the ground. He gave a little chuckle,
“Yeah I suppose it did at that!”
By Ringulf
The sound of the heavy Iron head was very unique as it buried itself in the soft pine of the target. The biting “thwack” was very satisfying and the three that followed it, did not diminish that feeling in the least, at least not for the big, half Skandian Ranger that threw them.
Ringulf walked to the target to retrieve his axes. Each target, of which there were three, was about the size of a man and the striking surface resembled a square silhouette of a human figure, made of edgewise soft pine planks sandwiched together sideways.
As a bit of a jest, someone (most likely Crowley) had put a rusty old Skandian helmet on the center one and had used some charcoal from the fire pit, to draw the rough points of a face and beard upon the weathered white pine facing. Ringulf left it in place.
When he had prized the axes from the target, he turned and faced a group of rangers, mostly young ones, but there were quite a few apprentices and some old timers as well.
Many of the Rangers had seen Ringulf throw his axes with startling effect as they had his Skandian countrymen before and after they had become allies and though they were unmistakably devastating, the axe had never really caught on as a true “weapon of choice” in the Ranger’s arsenal.
Crowley had asked him to teach this class during the Moot so that the rangers would be afforded the benefit of learning about the tactics of an old enemy turned ally and also to get a chance to learn something new to add to their lethalness and versatility. He had also intended it to be another stepping stone in the recovery and slow march toward normalcy that was occurring in his big gruff drinking partner.
A special project of his for many years, Ringulf had warmed to very few and stayed distant and surly to most after the death of his mentor. During that time of reclusive vagrancy, Ringulf seemed intent on being an itinerant wanderer amongst the Corps, a loner and “problem solver”.
Ringulf had become more a Ranger directed mercenary with no fife or mentor, no apprentice or even a horse. He moved from fife to fife shoeing horses and doing general blacksmithing, woodworking and leatherworking for the Rangers he stayed with. He did chores for them and helped with certain “problems” that Ringulf seemed very good at fixing. Crowley found that holding the Skandian’s attention and trust could be achieved by some informal comradery so he gave him that, and found it to be a valuable asset for them both.
Crowley now stood in the back of the cluster of gray and green mob next to Halt. Halt leaned over toward him to whisper confidentially to the Commandant:
“He is doing rather well; who would have thought an apprentice could bring someone like him out of his shell?”
Crowley turned his head to look at the wizened old Ranger and gave a mocking snort,
“Worked for you didn’t it?”
Halt leaned on his tightly strung longbow and then looked down to where it met the ground. He gave a little chuckle,
“Yeah I suppose it did at that!”