A wisp of silver vapor floated from the oracle's parched lips. Her once flaming red hair had withered away to nothing, but strands of white. Centuries had passed since the oracle had spoken and her voice was barely above a harsh whisper. Her body was nothing more than the corpse of a human. With a rasping voice she began to recite a prophecy.
Come forth to thine battle,
Of thy four of thee bow.
Three of thee past,
And out of thine future another must go.
One bandit, One mockingjay,
One courageous, One elf.
The winner shall be crowned by thou champion last,
Won with wit and aim,
The judge of thou battle will rule much thine same.
May the best archer win,
Let thou games begin.
The villagers gathered around the graveyard gates to behold the voice within. No one human dared to venture in to the graveyard to explore. It was not a place for any mortal soul. Even the few eternal did not dare to enter the land of the dead. For this was a sacred relic. These very grounds were the final resting place of an ancient creature, said to be passed. The Land of the Mortuus Est Oraculum. It didn't take a genius to figure out the latin translation; The Land of the Dead Oracle. A cherry name indeed. There was only one grave in the graveyard, no one would dare to enter the gates to bury other deceased. The land was silent as they watched hopefully, for a sign that the Greek Gods and Goddesses had spoken once again. But nothing more than a silver wisp floated up from the ground. Like a silver flower blooming from the ground. In the wisp was the words of the ancient prophecy. The wisp would travel far and wide to fulfill the prophecy. It quivered and drifted forward. There was a flash of blinding light as the wisp erupted spreading out across the land and farther. The wisp reached to the ends of the universe, to all times, all places, past, present, and future.
In the ancient times of Middle Earth when dwarves, hobbits, elves, and such had ruled, a great elven archer had disappeared. A few years later in the earth's timeline a bandit fox with who vowed to rob the rich and save the poor had vanished from England. Miles away a Scottish Princess had seen a sliver flare, moments before she had disappeared. Finally, centuries into the future a girl about to shoot a deer in the ruins of the America's had seemed to materialize into thin air.
The four archery legends had seemed to diminish from the very face of the earth, yet they were not gone. In an ancient land, in an future time, four heroes appeared. Each with only 3 possessions, their clothing, a quiver of arrows, and bow.