En Dharasha Everae, The Elven Archery Competition
The gathering was silent and the slender elves spoke to each other in hushed tones. They sat in several small groups, sipping water and tending to their bows and fletching, making last minute adjustments to their bowstrings. Their movements were silent and graceful. The gentle wind blowing through the treetops and the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush could easily be heard. The silence made the approach of the pair all the more abrupt. One of the elves lifted her head as her keen hearing detected the clomp of heavy boots and the clank of shield on armor. The rest of the gathering looked up soon after as a lout voice bellowed forth, scattering birds and shattering the peace of the evening.
"Oi! Durgan, ye Dolt! Dat be da dumbest thing I've ever heard!" The voice was deep and heavily accented. Clearly the owner was a dwarf. Another voice replied, also deep and gravelly with an even heavier accent and a slight slur, as if the owner had been in the ale quite recently.
"Bah! Oi've ne'er 'ad no'in but troubles wit' 'at hog... so Oi threw it out th' winder!
The first dwarf made an exasperated sound and the listeners could almost envision him, for the voice was so deep, it was surely a him, could almost envision him shaking his head. "Ye dolt! Ye fergot to shut dat window afore ye threw the hog out 'o it!"
There was a moment of silence and the tromping and clanking of steel stopped, as though the second dwarf had stopped to consider the first's statement. "Oi! Oi'd ne'er thought 'o it tha' way! Roight foine oidea ye've got 'ere Kelburn! Roight foine!" The tromping and jangling started and redoubled as the second dwarf, Durgan, ran to catch the first.
The pair of dwarves rounded the bend and were confronted by over a dozen almond shaped eyes gazing at them in reddening sunlight of dusk. Kelburn slopped and looked for the leader of the group, but before he could say anything, or even identify a leader, Durgan strode forward, reached into his pack, and pulled out a finely crafted, but very small bow. He held the small bow in his hand and waved it over his head, the bow appearing ridiculously small in his large meaty hands. He bellowed at the elves, making more than a few start where they sat, and causing a few dogs in the nearby village of Gullykin to start howling.
"Oi've 'eard 'at 'ere's t'be a bow shootin' contests 'ere this foine evenin'. Me an' me brudder've commere t' win yer gold an' drink yer ale! Bwahahhahhahaaa!" The laugh was booming and even more dogs from Gullykin behan howling. A few of the elves covered their sensitive ears, and some of the closer elves covered their noses as the dwarf raised his arm to brandish the bow over his head.
After a moment of shocked silence, an elegant elf woman steps forward. "Greetings, master dwarves, I am Celeion D'Laiere. Have you come to test your archery skills against those of my kin and I?"
"Nae, lass... nae. Me an' me brudder jus' wan' 't be shootin' in yer' bow shootin' contest. We've no need fer yer arch'ry or any udder toipes o' clothin'. Oi've got me armer, an' that suits me jus' foine!" As he spoke, Durgan stuck out his chest to let the sunlight glint off of his breastplate as though to emphasize his point.
There was another long moment of silence. Durgan looked around to the elves and nodded, while continuing to display his bow as if to demonstrate that he was there for "bow shootin'" and not any "arch'ry". The elves looked at each other in wonder, not sure exactly how to respond to the matter of fact statement. Kelburn saved them the trouble. "Ye dolt! Arch'ry be da same ting as bow shootin!" He turned to the elves. "Ye'll be excusin' me brudder, 'e's a dolt."
Durgan smiled widely and puffed out his beard. "Roight! Arch'ry! Et's be bashin em arro's!".
Eventually the gathering quieted after the arrival of the dwarves and Celeon explained the rules of the tournament, interrupted several times by burps from Durgan and scolding from Kelburn. She had almost completed the rules of the contest as well as her first uninterrupted sentence when another dwarf trundled around the bend and into the circle of archers and dwarves.
"Oi! Brudders!" This dwarf had a shorter beard and his skin was darker than the other two, but otherwise the resemblance was unmistakable.
"Tagnar!" Durgan leapt to his brother, bowling over an unfortunate elf standing in the way, and headbutted him in the breastplate.
"Oi!" Tagnar laughed and slapped Durgan on the back, sending a puff of dirt and dried orc blood into the air. "Whadder ye an' Kelburn doin' here?"
"Tis an' arch'ry contest!" Durgan put extra emphasis on the word and looked around proudly, beard puffed out, to make sure everyone heard him. "An we're gon' win 't." Durgan took out his tiny bow again and presented it to Tagnar. Tagnar looked skeptical and glanced to Kelburn, who was shaking his head, so he said nothing.
The rules were explained and the contestants filed into their places. First to shoot was a very pretty elf maiden. She took up her bow and began singing a quite tune, as she sang, she held her bow more steadily. Taking aim, she drew her bow and let fly. The arrow streaked toward the target, trailing a bright blue nimbus which sparkled in the gathering darkness. The arrow thudded into the far target, very close to the center. The elf exhaled and seemed to relax as she unstrung her bow and moved to the back of the crowd.
More archers followed, human and elf. Each drew and fired in turn, striking the targets mainly, but also striking the dirt or trees near the targets. Durgan's name was called and he strutted to the firing line. He drew forth his small bow which cast a faint blue light over his prominent brow and nose. He clumsily drew an arrow from his quiver and attempted to nock it on the bowstring. A general murmer arose from the crowd and more than a few ducked behind their companions, trees, or nearby wagons.
"Oi! Ye best be gettin' down, lest ye foind an arrow in yer bum!" Yelled Kelburn from behind a nearby statue.
Durgan grumbled under his breath, but said nothing in reply. After several abortive efforts and rather creative combinations of dwarven profnity, the arrow was in place. He grunted and drew the bow back. Unfamiliar with the feel and the suddeness of the motion, he whirled in place, pointing the arrow at various parts of the crowd. Pandemonium erupted. The agile elves leapt behind rocks and wagons. The slower humans swore and scrambled for cover. Kelburn fell on the ground, rocked by peals of laughter. Tagnar muttered under his breath and a transparent shield appeared around him as he watched the whole of the affair with a bemused expression.
The turmoil behind him combined with the unfamiliarity of the bow proved too much for Durgan's concentration. His fingers lost their hold on the bowstring and the arrow flew into the crowd, deflected off of a rock, and thudded straight into Kelburn's buttock. Kelburn howled and pulled the arrow out. The glancing blow on the rock had slowed it so that it barely penetrated the chain shirt uner Kelburn's mail, but the wound still bled profusely.
"Oi! Ye've shot me! Ye great dolt!" Kelburn exclaimed with more indignation than pain.
Tagnar was rolling on the ground now, crying with laughter, unable to catch his breath.
"Bah stop yer cryin!" Said Durgan. Before Kelburn could reply, Durgan had nocked another arrow and all in the crowd hit the ground, finding whatever cover was available. Durgan closed one eye, then the other, then opened both eyes again. Wobbling crazily, he let fly. The bow flared with an inner light and the arrow seemed to curve slightly in it's trajectory and miraculously thud into the nearest target, right next to that of the elf maiden's. The arrows were too close together to tell which was closest to center and the elf maiden looked nervously at Durgan's arrow still quivering in the oaken target, next to hers.
"Oi! Dat's a good shot, brudder!" Tagnar slapped Durgan hard on the back as he moved back to the crowd. Kelburn just glowered at him and dabbed the blood coming from his buttocks with a rag. Kelburn was soon distracted as he was in the next order of archers to fire.
"Oi! Brudder... gimme yer bow." Kelburn reached for Durgan's tiny bow that he was showing off to a human next to the ale keg. Durgan looked at the bow in his left hand, and the mug of ale in his right, shrugged and handed Kelburn the bow while he drained his mug and went for another.
The second order of archers took longer than the first. Being more experienced they underwent their various rituals. One knelt and prayed to her deity, another took a sprig of grass from the ground and let it fall watching as the wind took it genlty away. Some even cast minor enchantments to enhance their aim or sight in the dimming light of evening. When Kelburn's name was called, he strode confidently up to the mark. He drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it onto the bowstring with surprising ease. A soft but audible sigh of relief arose from the crowd which was preparing to seek cover at the sight of another dwarf at the firing line. Kelburn took a few tentative draws on the bow, gauging the resistance, then put the arrow to his mouth and blew a gentle stream of flame onto it. The flame leapt to the arrow, engulfing it, but not consuming it. The scattered exclamations from the crowd did not break the dwarf's intense concentration. He drew, held, and let fly. The arrow flew, a fiery dart in the dim light, and struck the target dead center, splitting it down the middle. Kelburn let loose a roar of triumph, which was echoed by the other dwarves in attendance. "Ironfaaaaaarrrr!" The elves and humans in Kelburn's firing order looked stricken and shocked. There was little fanfare as the last of the shooters strode to the mark and let fly. None came close to rivaling Kelburns shot, however.
"Oi! 'At's th' way th' Oirnonfaars be doin' 't eh, brudder? EH! Bwahahahahahaaa!" Durgan was well into his ale by the time Kelburn joined his brothers by the tanakards of ale. Several elves could be heard discussing in worried tones the cost of providing sufficiant ale to the dwarves. A second wagon had already been sent to the Gullykin tavern to replace the dwindling supply, and the Ironfaar brothers showed no sign of slowing. "Ye'll be winnin' th' proize fer shar, brudder!" Durgan said with a belch so loud that the next order of shooters turned and shot him several sour looks. Durgan's bellowed laughter was the only response they received for their trouble.
The next order of shooters was comprised of the elite from the sword coast. Rangers and warriors of renown were in attendance as well as a crafty-looking wizard. Bows of fine and beautiful wood, imbued with powerful magics were drawn and fired. Arrow after arrow thudded home at the center of the targets. One archer even managed to split the arrow of the shooter before him, drawing a cheer from the crowd. The wizard's name was called and he began chanting. His fingers danced and wove shapes in the air, trailing a ghostly light which shimmered in the air. Enchantment after enchantment fell upon his hands, arms, and his bow until he glowed brightly. A small cat standing by his feet also appeared to fall under the enchantments as it began to glow a fiery red. Durgan had been paying little attention to the wizard, as he was debating whether to drink from his left or right mug first, but for some reason the cat caught his attention.
"Oi! Kelburn!" He jabbed his brother hard in the ribs.
"What ye dolt?"
"Oi! Lookee! Th' cat's afoire! O'er yonder! Th' cat! Lookee!" Durgan pointed and jabbed as Kelburn searched the crowd.
"Oi see ti, oi see it! Stop yer jabbin or oi'll bib ye good! Ye know... ye should do somethin' about that cat. Mebbe ye should put it out." Kelburn said with a sly wink to Tagnar, who started chuckling.
Durgan nodded once decicively, spilling his left mug of ale. "At's just what oi'm a gon' do!" Striding purposefully to the kegs of ale, he took his axe and split the top of the nearest one. He caught some of the amber drink in his two mugs, but most of it poured onto the grass. Seeing the ale go to waste, he grabbed the keg under one arm and hoisted it off its stand and trundled unsteadily toward the unsupecting feline which was watching its master stride toward the shooting mark.
"Oi! Kitty, now 'is 'ere's fer yer own good! T'won't do 't 'ave ye afoire in t' middle o' th' shootin' connest, now 'illit? Nae, nae!" The cat turned what seemed to be a perplexed eye upon the slurring dwarf just as Durgan poured his left mug of ale on its head, drenching the feline. The cold liquid seemed to freeze the cat in it's tracks, for it did not move, but crouched and began to growl. The bright glow about the cat did not dissipate, and seeing it persist, Durgan promptly dumped his right mug onto the cat's back. "Now 'en kitty, 'ats th' way... 'at's th' way." The glow still did not abate, which perplexed Durgan. He cocked his head to the side and began to raise the keg over his head, intending to dump the remaining ale on the cat. Before he could complete the action, the cat sprang upon Durgan's face. Clawing and biting, the cat yowled like a demon, but the dwarf yowled louder. Durgan lost his grip on the keg and it fell on him, sliding over his head and halfway down his torso, pinning his arms to his side. From within the keg, the cat's cries of anger became frantic as did Durgan's. The cat scratched, Durgan bit and thrashed until he ran headlong into a great rock. The keg shattered, the cat was thrown free and Durgan fell on his back, still and silent.
Durgan's brothers were rolling on the ground wheezing and gasping for air. The other competitors were either outraged or doubled over in laughter, and the wizard was shooting daggers at Durgan as he collected his traumatized familiar. A nearby elf took pity on Durgan and dabbed at his scratches and bites with a clean cloth as the dwarf began to regain consciousness.
The crowd eventually calmed, the competition resumed, and Durgan was hauled by his brothers to the ale kegs where a few mugs of ale splashed in his face soon found him revived and bellowing that he had saved the cat's life and would be declared a hero. His brothers attempted to quiet him to little avail.
The archery contest came to a climax when two archers, both masters of the bow, shot so close together that a draw was declared and a shoot-off was declared. A single twig from a nearby budding tree was cut and driven into the ground. It was no more than half a finger's breadth and was barely visible in the dim light. The first archer, a renown elven ranger approached the firing line. He knelt and felt the earth. He picked up a handful of earth and let it fall to the ground, observing the effects of the gentle breeze.
"Oi! Are ye diggin' a cat-hole or are ye' gon' shoot yer bow? Eh?" Durgan yelled from the back of the crowd. "Oi!" He exclaimed as Kelburn and Tagnar hit him on the back of the head simultaneously.
Undisturbed by the outburst, the ranger stood and drew back his bow. The cords of his arms knotted and the stave strained against him. For a moment all was still, then the arrow leapt from the bow. The twig moved slightly as the arrowhead cut a clean line across its left side halfway up the shaft. Sounds of approval and applause rose from the crowd but the elf seemed dismayed.
A human fired next. This one was a little-known nomad from the Silver Marches. He was plainly dressed, but moved with a graceful ease to rival the elves. His bow was well crafted but certainly not ornate. He walked forward, closed his eyes and mouthed something to himself. Durgan tried to shout something, but Kelburn punched him in the gut and Tagnar clapped his hand over his mouth, so all that sounded was a muffled "oofff".
The human drew an arrow, whispered something to it, then nocked and fired it in a motion so fast that some in the crowd were still watching the human when the twig was split in two. For a moment there was silence then the entire gathering erupted in cheering. Humans and elves alike crowded around the nomad, clapping him on the back and talking all at once.
The awards ceremony was brief. The winner of each category was given two heavy bags of gold. In the first order, the elegant elf maiden won first prize. She seemed pleased and relieved. To everyone's astonishement, Kelburn was announced as the winner of the second order. The dwarves bellowed, the elves smiled and offered their congradulations, and th humans clapped the dwarf on the back. The champion of the third order was presented the two bags of gold and an ornate ring that eminated a powerful magic dweomer that even the untrained could sense. After the awards ceremony, the gathering fell upon the food and drink in earnest.
Durgan approached Kelburn, holding out his hand. "Oi, whaddye be doin, ye dolt?" Kelburn demanded as he stuffed a honey cake in his mouth.
"Ye be shootin' wit' me bow, so oi'm figgein' that th' proize be moine. But oim a good brudder an' fair, so Oi was t' be thinkin' t' let ye keep 'alf o' it!" Before Kelburn could protest, there was a growl and a hiss behind the pair of dwarves. Durgan turned just in time to see the wizard's cat spring at him. With reflexes uncanny for a dwarf, Durgan leapt back, and the cat sailed between the pain. As Kelburn watched the cat fly past, Durgan took the opportunity to snatch one of the sacks of gold. He turned to run with Kelburn in close pursuit.
Those nearby began to laugh and in the darkness away from the bonfire, could be heard the sound of dwarves scuffling, biting, punshing and swearing.