The stakes were high in this tournament, for the prize was a prestigious Seat on the Cornucopian Council. Sir Curran Black, the Lord Commander of Candia, stood awaiting his turn as he observed his fellow contestants. He had trained many recruits in the past, and he couldn’t help but silently assess their form. While they were not terrible, they lacked the finesse and dedication he had come to expect from a true archer.
One by one, the other contestants took their shots, their arrows finding their marks but without the precision and flair that Curran was known for. As his turn approached, he mentally prepared himself, focusing on the fundamentals of archery that he had honed over the years.
“Slow your breath, steady your aim, and release,” he repeated in his head, a mantra that had guided him through countless competitions and battles. With a fluid and practiced motion, Sir Curran Black drew his bowstring and let the arrow fly.
The arrow streaked down the archery range, its flight path so straight and true that it seemed to slice through the very air itself. The high-pitched whine of the arrowhead echoed in the silence, and with a resounding thud, it buried itself deep in the center of the target.