This group of archers are punks I tell you … PUNKS! “Hey! You guys got room for one more”
“Sir we’re in the finals of the tournament” responds the Elf in charge of the tournament.
“Well … erm … I’ve got winner.” I said and awaited the end of the tournament. The final archer took his last shot, a bullseye, and the crowd erupted with applause. I casually walked up to the spot where he had just claimed victory and casually threw my battle Axe splitting his arrow in half. The whole crowd went silent as I retrieved my lucky Axe from the target, all of the competitors stared in shock as I walked away with all of their winnings.
As my newfound group of friends and I made our way into what appeared to be an old windmill I couldn’t contain the feeling that the party was about to go down, and boy did it go down I took the two military boys with me over to the bar and bought a round with my archery winnings. DAMN!!! That shit will fuck you up, one shot nearly put me out of commission. I was living it up when I saw her. I took one look at her and knew what I had to do. “If you take another shot you will die!!!” said the cleric, a warning I blatantly ignored as I poured two shots of the wicked Brandy that had almost destroyed me, one for myself and one for the most beautiful Elven woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. We toasted … I dont remember what we toasted to