I remember this tale all too well now that I have recently recounted it before dear Iselde and the barbarian Eniredir. I have never had the privilege to seek out the truth that was assumed behind these lines, and therefore I shall write it down as it is being told among our people.
It is the tale about the warrior Argolón and how the Creator showed mercy on one of our kind, bestowed his blessing and proved that we are his chosen children.
- Viraïgon
The Three Arrow-Tips
Argolón was one of the best warriors, a veteran, who remained for the Conclave several years on the field of battle.
His swords brought always death, whether against barbarians or orcs, whether against one or one-thousand. His fame grew, his banner was feared in combat and finally was his mere appearance sufficient to turn the tide of battle.
The Men of the East sought after a possibility to end Argolón.
So it occurred that they lured him and his unit during a battle there, where they had been gathering their best archers in secrecy.
As Argolón was now upon them to defeat the arch-nemesis, they fired so many arrows after him that the sky was darkened and the whistling of the arrows was louder than a rising swarm of birds.
But only three shots struck Argolón mortally.
With those three arrows within his heart he fell during the gallop from the saddle of his horse and did not move anymore.
The barbarians cheered, but even louder were the mournings of the dark elvish host that came over the insidious mankind like a storm of demons and slaughtered the enemy. No hail of arrows, no blade was able to halt them.
The greatest moment of immortality became at the same time the darkest for the Dark Elves.
The Creator hearkened to the song of the Dark Elves, saw how Argolón had fared and by what shameful means the barbarians had caused his death.
He held the warrior's spirit from traveling over the sea into the West and spoke to him: »If you are willing to remain in your immortality and yet endure the pain that has settled in your heart, so you will live. But should you remove the arrows and your blood no longer touches them, you will fall dead to the ground.«
Argolón opened his eyes and gasped of agony - but he rose up, broke the shafts of the arrows and returned to his host that hailed him with loud jubilations.
The warrior returned to battle once again and fought for the Conclave as if he would not feel any pain.
But the arrows cut gruesomely into his heart.
With every breath they stung him, with each motion they cut him and even in his sleep he had to endure their terrible presence.
But Argolón withstood the need to free himself of them.
As he now rode into battle again, it occurred that his swords broke on the many shields and weapons that he was cleaving. He threw the splinters away and stood before a giant, with nothing on his hands to cut the throat of the creature.
As it began to roar and strike, Argolón remembered the three arrow-tips.
Two or three, it does not matter, the warrior said to himself and pulled one arrow with his bare hands from his heart.
What delight it was to be freed from a piece of barbarian steel!
With the tip in his hand, he leaped up, climbed up on the giant and cut its throat so that the blood was spilled and the enemy sank dying to the earth.
And the warrior was celebrated as great hero.
Soon Argolón found himself on a new war against the men of the east. They overran a scouting party to prevent them warning their army of the approaching Dark Elves.
But one of the men could evade their blades, cowardly he snuck away and only an arrow could still reach him.
But the archers had emptied their quivers during the battle.
One or two, it does not matter, Argolón said to himself and pulled the next arrow with his bare hands from his heart.
What delight it was to be freed of another tip of barbarian steel!
He took a branch and bound the arrow-tip to it, took a bow from one of his soldiers and sent the arrow after the fleeing man.
Argolón slew the running coward, the warning never reaching the enemy host that was shortly after defeated by the Dark Elves.
The warrior was again celebrated as hero.
So did Argolón return to the land of the Conclave and into the arms of his love to rest from his endeavor. With less pain than usually in his chest, he sank down and fell asleep.
His love however called for one of the best healers in the city to aid her husband.
While the warrior was asleep, the healer freed him from the last arrow-tip.
Argolón opened in the same moment his eyes and recognized the mistake.
»Do not weep«, he called dying to his wife. »You knew not that I only live so long as one tip is surrounded by my blood.«
Then he perished.
But his wife knew what to do.
»If such is the price, then it is simple to be given.« So she took the arrow-tip and opened a vein in Argolón's hand, so that his blood was running into a bowl.
As she had gathered enough of his life essence, she let the tip fall within and bandaged the hurt hand.
In the very same moment, Argolón opened his eyes again in surprise. And as he saw what his love had done, to save him from his untimely death, he pulled his wife close into his embrace. For the requirement of the creator remained fulfilled.
So it came that from time to time, Argolón would give a bit of his blood into the bowl, so that the arrow-tip was always covered in it, to ride afterwards out into battle and to fight for the Conclave.
And as Death spared him, he rides on from fight to fight.
His love however began to teach our people about the love the Creator had still for us, to praise his kindness and to remind the Dark Elves how great the power and mercy of the One could be - and that one would need to understand how to interpret his words.
