[Robin's Hut] Straight Shooter

[Robin]

[OOC: This was originally meant to be a thread starting a new story but has evolved into the go-to thread for action happening in and around Robin's hut-in-a-tree: I have retitled it accordingly.]

[ModNote: Continued from A New Weapon for Robin.]

*Robin's hut looks like it has been ransacked. Everything is overturned. Weaponry and clothing of all kinds are strewn all over the floor, not to mention any and all sorts of body fluids, or so it seems.*

Where are they? I know they're here somewhere...

*He finally finds them when he overturns the collection of sheets he sleeps on. A small, brown bag full of old wooden shafts. Most of them, he finds, are useless, but there are a few serviceable arrows which, thankfully, fit in his new crossbow.*

Okay.

*He knows this is foolish. His shooting prowess first existed in his past life as Robin Hood. And one flukey shot with a longbow he whittled himself doesn't make him a pro. As he nervously handles his sword, he feels safer - but, as he reasons, he can't do any harm to add to his arsenal.*

I have about ten working arrows... damn that trading fellow for not having any. I may need to find some more, pretty sharpish. Maybe that Dungeonmaster will lend me some...

*Never mind that now. After another search, Robin finds a box he's been keeping for some time. It's full of tapers, strings, handmade nets, gunpowder, pistol bullets, daggers, flints and any manner of other things.*

Let's start, then.

[Time passes.]

*Next morning. Robin, who has been up all night, emerges from his hut. Through the dawn's early light, he sees a tree a good fifty metres away. Standing on the edge of the tree in which his own hut nestles, he draws his crossbow with some sort of inherent skill. He takes very careful aim, and fires.*

Ha!

*It's an unsteady start, but it works. The recoil catches Robin somewhat offhand and he has to struggle to not fall backwards. The arrow flies straight and true, however, and hits the tree.

It explodes in a small ball of flame.*

Perfect.

*Robin grabs the rest of his trick arrows, and heads out into the Forest, his sword hanging merrily from his belt, as well as his crossbow around his back... purely for training purposes, of course.

Below the tree he hit, a small shower of gunpowder falls, as well as the smouldering ember it was lit with.*


[[Also updated Robin's profile.]]

[ModNote: Robin next appears in Drinkers, Linkers and Thinkers.]

[Robin]

[OOC: Approximately ten to fifteen minutes after Robin's last appearance in "A Bit of Verbal".]

Jul 20, 2014 19:45:06 GMT Robin said:

*He trudges off towards the forest.*

*It is pitch dark by the time Robin finds his hut, the dusky sky having faded to inky blackness, a bright shiny moon being the only source of light in the lampless forest. Despite having lived here for as long as he may care to remember, Robin isn't always sure he's going the right way. Nevertheless, he has picked his way through the roots of the trees following a route that he thinks he knows. It has taken him a while, but it's safer than jumping from branch to branch, like he would do were he showing off.

But there's nobody here to show off to, assuming that Treguard isn't watching him any more. He scampers as fast as he can up the rope ladder that leads up the tree. His hut is nestled among the branches.*

Home.

*And he enters via the recess that serves for a door. A couple of strikes of a flint and he manages to light the one candle he has in his hut, which illuminates his surroundings.*

Aaaaaaah...

*Nobody could really say Robin lives in squalor; it's just not particularly luxurious, either. A few torn, but clean and serviceable, clothes lie in a vaguely tidy pile in one corner or the hut, to which Robin adds the shirt and slacks he has been wearing for the past two days. He fills the space next to them with his trusty boots and massages his tired feet. Half the hut is taken up by a mess of blankets which the Woodsman uses in lieu of having an actual bed. The candle sits melting gently onto a wooden crate, which holds nothing else, but Robin thought he ought to have a bedside table. There's also a book, which he still hasn't gotten around to reading.

Well, I've been busy, he thinks. Into the corner with a jangle goes his quiver of arrows, and he gently stands up his crossbow and sword next to them. An armoury, perhaps - but quite a small one.

With nothing else to do, and not wearing enough clothes to do anything of much value anyway, Robin sinks into his pile of blankets and pulls one over himself. It's warm and soft, as befits a summer night.*

Goodnight...

*...he says to nobody in particular. Without waiting for a response, he blows his candle out. One puff and the hut is plunged into darkness once again. As Robin drifts uneasily off into sleep, the stars twinkle down upon the forest, which itself falls silent after hours.*

[Robin]

*Robin has been sleeping in.

He feels, in a way, as if he deserves it, on account of the fact that he has been seeing non-stop action for the past however-long-he-cares-not-to-define; he also feels a large amount of guilt for doing so. He likes being as active as possible, of course, but surely not all Dungeon denizens can expect his assistance - what is he, some kind of a hero?

With no dream to guide him this time, he almost feels lost, and judging by the position of the sun in the sky, he estimates that mid-morning is approaching by the time he finally struggles out of his raggedy blankets. He inspects his body: it is covered with scars and bruises, but everything appears to have healed nicely. A walk in the fresh air and good night's sleep will do that for you, he reasons.

Robin scrambles around in his pile of equipment and extracts a gourd, from which he takes a swig of water. Reminding himself to refill it when possible, he pulls out a tunic and slacks from his pile - a pair that he hasn't worn for a while - and dresses. He has the briefest feeling that he is being watched while doing so, but after tensing his muscles and releasing them, he puts this down to paranoia.

The tunic feels light without the random collection of pouches in which he carried money and herbs which used to sling around his waistline. Nervous as he may be about travelling without too many possessions, they are all gone, disintegrating into worthless scraps devoid of any contents and flung out of a window in Warlock.*

Right.

*Robin picks up his sword, examining its scratched and chipped blade, and sheaths it; he also retrieves his crossbow and slings it over his shoulder, along with his quiver, which contains nothing more than a number of standard iron-tipped wooden shafts: none of his clever trick arrows, perhaps, but it's better than nothing. Having laced up his trusty boots, the hero is ready.*

Okay... now what do I do?

[ModNote: Continued in Journey South.]

[Robin]

*For whatever reason - whether due to an inaccuracy in Treguard's magic or the fact that Robin isn't used to travelling like that, or maybe that Robin doesn't really have a home to be DISMISSed to - he overshot the mark upon landing, appearing about ten feet in midair, as opposed to directly in his hut. It was freefall to the ground below, but fortunately, the collection of ferns, mulch and fallen leaves combined to make it a softer landing than one may expect.

Groaning slightly, he ascends his ladder and takes in his hut in the sunlight. It's all there, insofar as it could be. Removing his weapons and placing them in the corner, he unloads the food and water he carried with him and lays them out carefully on top of the crate which serves as a bedside table. Foraging around for a while eventually yields four arrowheads long since broken from the tips of the arrows themselves; he unrolls his map and manages, after a while, to tack it to the wall with them. The time he spent redesigning it in Dunshelm Castle was, he reasons, worthwhile - it looks more aesthetically pleasing than the scrap he started with when he went wandering, plus it makes his hut look more decorated than it did when it had four bare wooden walls. And, if he trails off to sleep looking at it, he'll know his way around Knightmare instinctively.

He hopes.

But it isn't time to sleep yet. With a lack of direction or portents revaled in dreams, he is slightly at a loss for directions to follow.*

Hmmm. This is more difficult than it may initially seem.

*Deciding that he doesn't need to undertake anything particularly taxing right now, the Woodsman heads off into the woods.*