Archery is as much a part of Elven culture as magic. Every elf is raised by the bow, and comes to know every secret it’s curves and arrows may lay bare.
So it was that two friends in the heart of the Elven capital of Vlaa’Anak found themselves practicing archery and dreaming of the competition. Gloa and Krinin swore they would compete together, no matter what.
You see, every year the Elves held a nationwide archery competition that awarded the winner fame and fortune the likes rarely seen.
The boys shot arrows and spoke of past champions. They wondered aloud what it could be like to be named among the greats. To be a God among the Elves.
As they grew up together, year after year, the dream stayed the same. Two decades of practice and they finally found themselves ready to enter the competition.
That’s when the Orcs attacked, streaming down the mountains on the edge of Vlaa’Anak in search of chaos, blood and gold.
Gloa was killed in the siege.
The following year Krinin decided it was time to compete. Time to win. Time to give the memory of Gloa something of substance on which to be proud.
That night Gloa appeared to Krinin. He was a ghost, floating at the edge of Krinin’s bed. His presence made the room heavy, the air as mist and dancing with the aroma of burning.
“Dear Gloa, is that you?” Krinin spoke with a quiver in his throat.
The ghost smiled. “Indeed good Krinin. Hear me! As it were, there’s archery competitions here on the Other Side... ..In the afterlife.”
“In fact, I saw your name on the roster for one that starts tomorrow.” Gloa winked, pale with a fading voice as he dissipated into the blackness of the room.