OOC: Plus, he may just run out of arrows
IC: Encouraged by the cheers of the crowd, the archer nocked another arrow to his bow. He emptied his mind, and focussed on the target.
AS he put tension on the string, Auriel raised his hands to silence the crowd.
Legolas slowly eased the bowstring back into it's regular position before turning around. He walked away, much to the confusion and dissapointment of the onlookers.
After one hundred paces, the elf turned back. Someone in the back of the crowd raised a small cheer, but he was quickly shushed by the others.
Once again, Legolas drew back the string as the crowd held it's breath. Once again, he did not fire the arrow.
Instead, he put it back into his quiver and carefully selected another one, taking it out and testing it, before putting it back.
Finally, he found an arrow, exactly like the others, but seemingly fit to be shot.
He focussed on the target once more, and fired.
In a blur, the ranger shot three more after it before the first one struck home.
The arrow embedded in the medal was split in two.
The new one was cut cleanly in half.
So was the next, and the one after.
The elf walked forward and pulled the final arrow from the medal, returning it to the quiver.
Eight halves and random pieces of wood hit the ground while he rested his arm on K'annuari, enjoying the faces of the awestruck crowd.
Inwardly, he grinned, but his elven face remained cool.