Of Gods and Ballers

Arowe gazes down at the flimsy sling in his hand and grins in amazement. He’d not used one of these since he was a child, before he’d been allowed to be trained in the short and long bows. That was over seventy years ago and yet, somehow, he’d managed to loose one of Zephir’s small, round bullet stones, perfectly through the minuscule gap in the smaller, upper spinning orb, on his very first shot!

The bullet had passed through the fraction-of-a-second gap and then ricocheted around inside the spinning orb until it’d dislodged the sparkling green gem and, consequently, halted the larger orb beneath.

Looking through the stone ceiling above at an imagined sky, Arowe offers up a silent prayer of gratitude to whichever of the Elven gods is watching over him and guiding his hand. It should have been a monstrously difficult shot, and yet he had succeeded on his very first attempt… Discounting his original, near impossible try with the long shafted arrow.  

Henshaw is the first to approach the, now idle cold-iron hoop and is fascinated by what he finds.

Now that the ‘sphere’ has stopped spinning, it becomes apparent that Arowe was correct in his assessment and that it really was just a large metal ring spinning so fast as to give the illusion of solidity. The smaller, slower moving top ‘sphere’ possessed a third bar, allowing a repeating but tiny window of opportunity.

After momentarily examining the mechanism, a stunned looking Henshaw turns back towards his Elven employer.

"That might just have been, the greatest shot, I've ever seen!"

The Bard; Rifkin nods in wide-eyed agreement with Henshaw's accidental three-line stanza and Arowe can't help but bask in the glow of their joint admiration.