The young man cautiously stepped forward. He carried a weighty responsibility upon him. Success and failure rested upon his ability to keep his hands steady. He looked to his left, to size up his competition.
The warrior opposite him regarded the young man with evident disdain. Still, there was business to be done. The warrior raised his sturdy wooden bow and pulled back on the string. He was an experienced man of war who effortlessly flowed through the same motions he had gone through, countless times, before. He stared toward the target for a moment or two.
The bowstring snapped through the air creating the familiar, whispering, crack, like that of a snake's strike. In the blink of the eyes watching, the arrow cut through the air, rocketing towards its target. A dull clattering sounded what had been expected: nothing. The arrow impotently struck the target, and fell to the ground nearby.
Only a few expected that the younger man's chances were better. Meaning to prove himself, he stepped forward and raised his own weapon. He was as accustomed to his motions as the preceding competitor was to his. Steadying his arm, he took a deep breath to further perfect his aim. He tensed.
A thunderous roar pierced the air. The larger portion of the audience was startled to the point of recoiling from their former positions, some even fled. As the initial shock faded away, the audience slowly absorbed the results.
With the thunderclap still ringing in the their ears, the audience took notice of the twisted and shattered piece of armor before them. The projectile had ripped through the front with such velocity and force that it had embedded itself in the back. No man could survive within that, the strongest of armor.
"There you have it, Great Lord."
A handsome and imposing man stepped forward. His imperious aura was greatly accentuated by his Elizabethan wardrobe. His golden curls radiated his joy at the success accomplished.
"There is the power of the firearm!"