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[h1] [color=f7941d]Bardulf Siegfried[/color] [/h1]
[b]Time:[/b] Afternoon
[b]Location:[/b] Outside Northpass
[b]Interactions:[/b] Annya [@princess], Ismael [@Th3King0fChaos], and Bron [@GingerBoi123]
[b]Equipment:[/b] Leather armor over smallclothes, tooth necklace, warm boots, winter cloak, halberd, and 
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One bedroll
a mess kit
a tinderbox
a waterskin
1960 amas
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He made sure everyone made it to the starting point easily enough, and upon seeing the tell-tale sign of a red stained rope on wrapped around the trunk of a tree, Bardulf would nod and turn to the others. [color=f7941d]"Well we made it. I wish you both a happy hunt, and we'll see you at the other tree. Remember..."[/color] He points to the rope, which began to look mildly morbid in the more well-lit afternoon weather. [color=f7941d]"Look for the red rope. If we don't see each other by nightfall then just make it back to the village and we'll look for anyone missing. It shouldn't be that dangerous but, you never know."[/color] He topped the slightly ominous words of his with an awkward smile as he would turn and walk with Annya along the Eastern path.

The trees did somewhat remind him of home, and the weather would be akin to some of the more harsh winters he was used to seeing. He turned to Annya as she spoke. 

[color=fff79a]"Bardulf, I'm really proud of you."[/color] 

He would hide smirk crossing his lips as best he could. Amidst all the rough times he'd been having, some light-hearted adventures and kind words were certainly a pleasantry he would appreciate. [color=f7941d]"Thank you. I try. Frankly all that talking has already worn me out some but we still have quite the hunt ahead of us."[/color] He would pull his hood up further, hiding his long hair and his footsteps would grew light on the snow. Even with all his effort there was still the occasional crunch of freshly packed snow that sounded underfoot. He paused as Annya did, noticing the sudden rustling in the distance. He read her lips with a slight turn of his head, figuring that she was offering him the first shot. He slowly nodded and prepped some magic he had been meaning to practice more.

In his left hand, he pulled his fingers together, as if to make a gesture with his hands. A slight spark began to circulate around each fingertip as he slowly pulled them apart. A circular arc of lightning magic solidified between his fingers as he pulled them further and further apart. His right hand reached over, and as if drawing the string on a bow, pull the lightning back. His stance was firm and deliberate, as if to mimic that of someone using a longbow. However his hands felt not nearly enough tension as you normally would from a bowstring. He instead imagined and visualized the picture of an archer about to prime their killing shot. His left index finger pointed outward while his other fingers curled towards his palm. His right hand and hip rotated to position behind his right shoulder. A streak of lightning was formed and pulled from the pinching of his first two fingers from his right hand until it reached the pointed finger from his left hand. He smirked, seeing his imagination taking physical form as an arrowhead formed just in front of his left fingertip. He breathed slowly, and took aim for several seconds. The buzz of his magic hummed against the still air, but seemed to not quite hit his prey's eardrums yet. He used these precious seconds to line up his shot towards a rustling bush, and let his shot fly.
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