April 1 - Strength Bow

My father taught me how to fashion bows and fletch arrows. When he was still a young elf, he served as an archery captain for Thurinir Thand, the notorious campaigner against Norse strongholds on the borders of our land. Against the wishes of our greatest lords did he lay waste to many a company of these barbaric foes and seek (unsuccessfully) to provoke a much greater conflict.

For twenty years Thurinir dashed to and fro, destroying, burning, exterminating, and also eluding the elf patrols sent to stop him. When they finally caught up to him, he was found all alone, exploring a virgin forest in the far north and singing to himself. He had received timely counsel of their closing pursuit and ended his campaign, releasing all of his men (and women, I might add) to return home and live in peace. My father's parting was one of particular anguish, for Thurinir had been more like a father to him than a leader. As the wary patrol approached this living legend, he drew his longsword and laid it on the forest floor and knelt before it. He asked his fellow elves for two favours: that his soldiers be dealt with mercifully, and that they execute him now without prejudice or delay, for he refused to live in a realm where elves slowly wilted into oblivion, like a majestic elm choked of its nutrients by lesser weeds.

My father returned home and promised to never take up arms against the Norse again unless elfdom itself was in dire peril. He said nothing, however, of his children. And so father taught me everything he knew of warfare, from the making and using of weapons and on to tactics and strategies as learned from one of the greats during two decades of constant warfare. Many of our kind were raised to hate the Norse, but I was raised to slay them as well.

No composite bows for us, son. They are beneath the skill of elves. Find a worthy yew and carve your bow from a single piece of it. Heartwood in, sapwood out, as the tree itself exists in nature. Do not rush the construction - yew takes time to work, but is worth the effort; your patience will be rewarded justly. If you find a yew with no flaws, treasure the wood as your own offspring, for even in an elf's span of years, you may not find another. From this wood you will fashion your greatest stave.

Father told me this and much more. He spoke of elder times, when even the world was young and the yew was a lesser species, reserved for the use of man yet to come, for more noble trees existed that were both potent and malleable, and from which bows and arrows could be produced that when used together could pierce heavy steel plate at a hundred yards.
Everyday I would train, spending twice the time on the bow as I would on the sword, for it was imperative that I possess the skill required to bend a bow of the strength that my father insisted I use. To this day, I must train regularly or risk losing that ability forever. It has already been overlong since I ruined my own strength bow and was forced to borrow this common version, made from oak and strung with hemp. But even as these memories flow over me in waking dream, I am already half-way finished my new bow, and with any luck, it will surpass the power of my old one.

At my best, I could pierce seasoned oak up to six inches. With my strength stone and this new bow, perhaps I could set a new personal best. We shall see. The stone has been in my possession for nigh on three months now, and I can already feel its potency rippling through my flesh.