A Little Competition

[Celevrabe]

It is a cool morning in Amon Thranduil, and the sun is only half way through its journey up into the sky. There is a gentle breeze, and the sky is clear. The only sounds are the occasional bird and the burbling of the river as it continues its journey.

Then a quiet creak as the string of a bow is pulled, and then a small gust of air as it is released, but no arrow flies from it. Celevrabe is standing, practicing aiming and pulling back the string while waiting for Ingildur, who was going to give him another training session, though not with the spear as in the past, but with the bow. He had never used a bow before, so he could foresee plenty of misses in this training session.

[Ingildur]

A figure appears on the far bank of the river, clad in winter furs to keep the chilly morning air away. He lightly leaps upon the fallen tree, and runs across its bark, slippery from spray and dew, "Good Morning, Celevrabe, keen I see, as ever!" Upon one shoulder he bears a great bow, unstrung, and on the other a brace of pheasent, plump and ready for roasting, which he hangs over a low branch, out of the way, "Here, hold my bow for me, whilst I find a good string."

[Celevrabe]

Celevrabe glances at the far bank as a figure appears, bow lowering to his side, his attention no longer on the tree he had been aiming at. He watches as the elf makes his entrance, a grin on his face, "Good morning Feredir.." He responds, before frowning at the pheasent, and is about to reply before the elf hands out his bow, which he takes, the frown still on his face as he returns his gaze to the pheasent.

[Ingildur]

In his pocket Ingildur finds a string, and taking the bow back again, he proceeds to string it, "This is your first lesson about the bow - keep it unstrung save when you need it, for it can warp if it gets wet whilst under pressure, and the strings will become quickly ineffective if they are wet. So keep your strings in a waxed pouch, such as this one." Ingildur shows the pouch from where he got his string, "And remember to string up if you need the bow!"

[Legolas]

"It is a rather scrawny bird, Feredir," a silky baritone chidesn, "Could you not have found a fatter one?" Crossing the log that spans the river, Legolas's light steps cause not even a tremble in the loose bark of the fallen beech. A smile quirks at the corner of his mouth of his thin lips, eyes bright with a merry light. "Ah..a lesson!"

[Celevrabe]

Celevrabe glances at his already strung bow, then back at Ingildur, "Yes Feredir.. I only have it strung now because I was practicing positioning and pulling the string before you arrived." He then looks at the pouch, "And where can I get one of those?"

He looks around at the sound of another voice and sees the prince approaching. Without hesitating, he quickly bows before him as he approaches, before asking, "Erm... Are you going to watch, my lord?" He secretly hoped the answer was no, not wanting to completely mess up while someone as important as Legolas was watching.

[Legolas]

Slender brows climb upon Legolas's smooth forehead as he contemplates momentarily Celevrabe and then Ingildur. "I thought I might participate," Legolas offers, his own bow, already strung slung over his shoulder with sinew crossed over his breast. "The Feredir is a fine archer," the prince offers as he crosses the remainder of the distance to stan upon the tangled rootball, precariously balancing with a foot upon thick and likely rotting roots from the fallen beech. Yet, the branches do not seem to bend beneath his weight. A youthful light brightens his gaze, tempered with the wise smile, "But I can be on my way..."

[Celevrabe]

Celevrabe watches the elven prince cross the rest of the log, amazed at his skillful balancing, but he does not show it. "You wish to participate?" He repeats, and at Legolas' last comment, he quickly says, "No, no. Please join us, my lord."

[Legolas]

"Why not?" Legolas inquires with once more a mirthful smile, his eyes turning towards the Feredir and nodding. "Perhaps I should learn a technique I might find useful." Shrugging the bow off of his shoulder, he bounds down from the tree, landing effortlessly with bended knee. Long easy strides bring him to Celevrabe's side. "We ought to make a game of this." He says, narrowing those leaf-green eyes at the target in the distance.

[Celevrabe]

Celevrabe finds no response to the prince's question, but again watches as he returns to the ground. He almost moves out of the way as if afraid the prince would somehow hit him as he lands, but remains still.

"A game?" He questions, also looking at the target, "For if it is who can hit the target the most, consider me last place."

[Ingildur]

The Feredir bows, "A game it is, and let us raise the stakes - a pheasent for the winner, and for the looser the honour of keeping our wine flagons full about the fire tonight!"

[Legolas]

A rich laugh, and a playful scoff follows from Legolas "I certainly hope that scrawny pigeon is not what you're intending to be the prize," Legolas says in a mockingly critical tone. "Though it would indeed take a very skilled bowsman to hit such a small target. I might indeed be in trouble."

[Celevrabe]

Celevrabe sighs lightly at Ingildur's words, "The honour? Seems more like a punishment to me, seeing as I will surely be the one doing it. This is my first practice." He glances at the pheasant again, "Though I do agree with you, my lord, with the fact that it is small, and I wonder if it is worth even eating it." He grins slightly, "But very well, I agree to the terms."

[Ingildur]

"I see that your wit has not lost it's barb, dear prince, but come, let us see if you can shoot as well as you can quip!" The Feredir beckons to the target, "Three arrows in the target methinks, and a tie breaker if we are still even!." He draws an arrow, and shoots, his arrow hitting the target, scoring 96 out of a possible 200 points.

[Legolas]

Legolas glances over to Ingildur and blows out a long whistle between his teeth as he notes the positioning of arrow. A brief look over to Ingildur and then Celevrabe, the prince looks thoughtfully towards the target. Then, without a word, he produces a black kerchief from his jerkin, and folds it promptly into a triangle. Propping his bow up against his chest, the elf binds the kerchief about his eyes. A rogue's grin in the direction of his companions, he uses his toes to bounce the bow back into my hands. "Be my eyes, Celevrabe!" he exclaims as his fingers confidently wrap about the yew, and his fingers reach for the arrow in the quiver over his shoulder. Notching the arrow in the string, he takes some aim, and waits for instruction. "Left? Right?"

[Celevrabe]

Celevrabe watches, arms folded, as Ingildur's arrow hits the target, "Well hit, Feredir.." he murmurs quietly, before turning to Legolas. He frowns as the elf covers his eyes, and looks taken back when the prince suddenly asks him to be his eyes. Suddenly realizes what he is meant to be doing, he looks to the target and says without any hesitation, "Left."

[Ingildur]

The Feredir chuckles, "I trust that you have the keys to your father's wine store, for I shall demand that you serve me good wine to go with my good birds!"

[Legolas]

Adjusting his position slightly to the left, the elf looses his arrow with an opening of his hand. It sails, slightly wobbily towards the target. With a thunk, it sticks, but towards one of the outer rings, a score of 18 out of 200. Legolas lifts the bottom edge of his blindfold to peek at the target. He winces and makes a face, "Celevrabe," he chides with good nature humor, "Have you been underground in the hillso long you've become like a mole?" The tease is good natured though, winking towards the elf as he drops the blindfold down back in place again. "Your turn." He says to Celevrabe, before retorting to Ingildur, "It shall add the best water to your wine, Ingildur!"

[Celevrabe]

Celevrabe sighs to himself as he sees the arrow hit an outer ring, and responds, "Either that or you just shoot better when you can see." When he is told it is his turn, he sighs and holds his bow up, notching one of his arrows. He aims carefully, and releases the arrow, rolling his eyes as he sees it barely miss, a score -1 out of a possible 200.

[Ingildur]

"Take more time over your shot, Celevrabe." Ingildur had watched his shooting with eagle eyes, "Breathe in rhythm with the shot you loose, and make sure that you are at all times moving smoothly and relaxed. Watch me." The Feredir takes another shot at the target, which lands about two-thirds of the way out of the circle, scoring 34."

[Legolas]

"Perhaps I do," Legolas responds to Celevrabe. This time, he stares hard at the location of the target, before returning the blindfold once more over his eyes. "But this is far more interesting." He says, loosing another arrow. This one, it would seem is even a bit more careless than the first, and sticks only barely in the paper edge, impotently flopping down to the side for a score of 2 out of 200.

[Celevrabe]

Celevrabe watches Ingildur carefully as Ingildur fires the arrow, and nods to the instructions he is given. He then looks to Legolas, and holds back a laugh at his shot, "I stand by my statement, my lord." He says, smiling, before realizing it is his turn again. Being more careful this time, and following Ingildur's advice, he aims again, and lets loose another arrow, seeing it miss once more, and narrowly miss the pheasant also. Another -1 of 200.

[Ingildur]

"You are doing well for a novice - I have seen people miss by much more." He lets out a chuckle, "One day I may tell you of the night that two experianced archers, aiming for a wild boar, shot me instead. I was wounded sore, but luckily we had a healer with us." The Feredir smiles, and positions himself to loose another arrow, "This is my last arrow - and I can already taste that pheasent!" The arrow flys crocked, lodging itself in the last ring for a score of only 2.

[Celevrabe]

Celevrabe responds with, "And I can already taste the bitterness of defeat..." He sighs as he glances at Legolas, awaiting the prince's final shot.

[Legolas]

"Relax into the shot Celevrabe." The Ernil says now with a little smile upon his lips. "You know where the target it, you are simply helping your arrow to find it." The elf says. Now, this time the elf takes, it would seem a little more care with his shot, and without much hesitation, blindfold still firmly over his eyes the arrow beelines towards the target and smacks it with a solid thunk. No wobbling this time, as he receives 37 out of 200.

[Celevrabe]

Celevrabe nods at the prince's words and replies, "I'll try my lord." He then aims one last time, the final arrow notched, and releases it. Not only does the arrow miss the target again, but it strikes the dead pheasant in the head." He blinks, rather confused, and says nothing.

[Ingildur]

Ingildur regards the mutilated pheasant. "Hmm, worry not, the head gets removed anyway! Come all, let us light a merry fire and sing merry songs and I shall tell you of the dwarf that I found in the forest, not three weeks back." He unstrings his bow and smiles broadly.

[Celevrabe]

Celevrabe can't help but let out a light laugh at Ingildur's response and his own mistake, before controlling himself and glancing back at Ingildur, "And do I still have to serve the wine?"

[Legolas]

"I do believe I saw the target move, Celevrabe" The prince says, putting his hand upon his hip. "You were robbed of that shot, but I think you ought to have the pheasant. That is a hard shot to make. Let me serve the wine tonight." Legolas, steps over to the target and begins to unceremoniously pluck out his arrows from it.

[Celevrabe]

Celevrabe frowns as he examines the target, wondering if Legolas only said that to make him feel better, but he looks surprised when he is offered the pheasant, "Oh? No thank you, let us share it, if that is even possible.." He hints to the pheasant's size again, a grin upon his face. "And I was not being serious, I am happy to serve the wine if needed."

[Ingildur]

"Such a bird will easily serve three, my friend." Says Ingildur jovially, "I shall leave it to you, then, to see that it is plucked and roasted, whilst I return these to the armory." With that he departs with the target and his bow and arrows.