Seriously, sometimes those things can really cut your hand.

Manbearpig squinted and aimed his wicked-awesome bow at the target, using one of Ash's written down golden arrows.

He would break this run of bad luck, bad shots, broken bow strings, accidentally injured teammates and misfires.  He would.

Manbearpig became one with the bow, and, not unlike Luke Skywalker upon firing his photon torpeedos into the Death Star's really-should-have-had-a-grate-on-it hole, he closed his eyes, and prayed.  The arrow loosed itself, and became one with the bullseye.

"Holy Toledo!" Jay El quipped, breaking Manbearpig's trance, and informing him that he had, for the first time, made the shot.

In fact, not only did he make the shot, but, he'd made it right smack in the middle.

"I...  I did it?" Manbearpig gasped, agog.  "I DID IT!  I DIDN'T EVEN CUT MY HAND WITH THE FLETCHINGS!"

12 potions of cure light wounds popped out of the wall, and the room beyond the red line (which, for the record, he'd been standing behind like a good little druid) was engulfed in cold vapor.  "Good thing none of us were in there!" he smiled, picking up the potions, reloading, and firing again.

After that moment, it was as if a curse had finally been lifted on the druid.

"Bullseye!  Bullseye!  Bullseye!" He smiled, as more prizes, namely, 15 potions of endure elements, a wand of featherfall, and a mysterious "salve of the force" were deposited into the prizes section.

"Man!  I wish I'd had some golden arrows of my own to shoot.  I'll bet there was some other really neat prizes to be won!"

The universe glared at the pigman, accusingly.

: How could you best encourage a blogger to blog?