TIFAM Issue 49 (Dec 2025) mixes club news, interviews, competition coverage, photo specials, and seasonal fiction: it opens with a Christmas message from the team and features editor Shelly Mooney (historian/artist/writer and longbow archer with Dunbrody Archers, Wexford) plus her…
A pale field, washed like chapel plaster after incense has settled, holds its own weather, and in that weather a severed head—half mask, half reliquary—floats as if a saint had been converted into an instrument, while the word Ariette (petite…
Wind travels down from Baekdu’s crater lake in thin blue bands, crosses volcanic scree, the larch forests, the rice fields, and enters the peninsula with a faint taste of stone and snow; along that wind, for millennia, arrows have flown.…
The Mane, Sovereign Kingdom of Ebvren (The Barren State), City Capital Vrenki – Typhon Resurgence, Day 10 Whatever Ebvren, and by extension its capital city Vrenki, had to claim in terms of sovereignty, was beyond Fergus Reeves. If it wasn’t…
Late light spills over a summer field that could belong to any stop on the World Cup caravan—air thick as steamed linen in Shanghai, sharp as dry paper in Madrid—and in that blur of geography the camera for Mr and…
The Mane, Fohalin, Thilso Island Chain, Southeastern Province – Typhon Resurgence, Day 8 I common joke Renata Zeman had heard as a child, when her parents travelled around the countries of the Poet’s Sea, began with, “A Dytrentian, a Maytoni,…
Archers! A new fictional fantasy serial has just begun.
Bowhunter -
The deathly binds keeping a gigantic sea snake, the Vainglory Typhon, at bay have been broken.
Thriving upon its territory for over a century, the citizens of Fohalin, their land, their cities, and their lives are devastated in the wake of the beast's return.
Yet, as the great beast reclaims its territory, it brings with it more than just obliteration.
Fohalin leadership shatters. Left in their stead is an excommunicated Pastoral from a foreign state, an unlucky and ungrateful hunter, and a pirate captain with a conscience who is bound to the will of his ship.
In seeking to cull the titanic creature they are pitting themselves against something that does not need to adapt to its environment, but rather forces the environment to adapt to its presence.
Whilst it is close to Halloween, I would remind the reader, and archer, that zombies, the undead, however you refer to them, are not a seasonal problem. Just as much as a dog is just not for Christmas, a zombie…
In This Month’s TIFAM: Gold Medals, Political Philosophy Through the archer’s scope, and a Trip Through the Woods The September 2025 collector’s edition of TIFAM is here, packed with tournament triumphs, deep dives into history and philosophy, and stories from…
Once a year, Ballyvally Archers hosts a singular type of competition that exemplifies the enjoyment found in the sport: the Mulligan Hunting Trail. Whilst hunting Frank Mulligan is not the aim of the competition – and just as well as,…
Elders share a winter story from the northern woods. Frost wrote its fine script across alder and birch, and a young hunter walked a corridor of blue light where breath rose like white birds. A doe stood in the hush and faced the hunter with calm eyes that held a country of knowing. The hunter lifted the bow, and the deer spoke across the space in a voice that sounded like river over stones: “Choose kinship or hunger, and shape hunger through kinship.” The hunter lowered the bow, set palm on the ground, and offered a strand of hair, a button, a pinch of meal from a pouch. The doe stepped forward, breathed into the hunter’s hand, and left one slender rib beside the offerings. From that bone came the first whistle for calling, and from that calling came a covenant—the people would eat through an agreement that carried respect in both directions. The deer would give, and the people would give in return, and the land would carry the memory of that exchange in grass, in hoofprint, in human song. Every archery season rises from that early promise: power serves when consent guides it, and meals carry honor when gratitude leads every step.
For many of the past eleven years, I have been making my own arrows. This skill has developed little by little over time, as I read various articles, and listened to what other traditional archers had to say. Whilst it…
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Even caked in dirt and gore, Evander Penrose held a fierce stalwartness. It was something sharp, striking in its vividness, like lightning breaking out from the grasping currents of darkness, thought Mercy as she watched him. The so-called demigod sat,…
XIII Arrows whipped through the air. Maytoni soldiers along the north wall fell with cries of a new attack ringing out. Sharp whisps burned through the air, those not stopped by soldiers on the wall arcing down into the north…
V It was too warm for Evander, the searing aftershock of heat from the exertion of battle engulfing him. “That’s a deep wound, I’d say,” Xiphos stated quietly, feline blood still glistening upon his armour. They stood before the slain…
Day 3 I It was painful to comprehend, a tight knot stuck in General Aedion Teague’s sternum, but here he was, still incamped on the northern most part of the Mayne Peninsula on what had just become the third day…
I was excited to be back at Ballywalter for a couple of reasons, one of which was because of the new species of pheasant introduced to the estate. This species is known as Reeve’s Pheasant and comes from China. And…
X It was too much to hope that the Xellcarrians would have let them have the rest of the afternoon, Evander lamented. Then again, there was more desperation behind them than General Aedion had let on. On the horizon, like…
V It was the same horse that had thrown Evander from its saddle not long ago. But that hardly mattered to him as he spurred it on, past the dead splayed across the battlefield, after the rider. He didn’t need…