As he stood in the midst of literally hundreds of archers on the palisade, Moptop felt a bit out of his element. He'd used a bow before, but his skills were severly limited, at best. Now, as flaming missiles from the enemy's trebuchet scattered across the field, he was expected to defend the castle? The commander gave the word and the men raised their bows.
"Ready!" Moptop struggled to bend back the bowstring, which was nearly as tall as he.
"Aim!" A huge swarm of hell-hounds charged across the field.
"Fire!" Moptop released the string, and the arrow seemingly fell out of his bow in a pathetic arc. The archers standing next to him glared in disapproval. However, a lick of flame from a trebuchet missile caught the fletching of his arrow, and the now-flaming stick spiraled down to the spot where the hell-hounds were now approaching the gate. Due to the apparently highly-flammable nature of the beasts, their entire regiment went up in flames, quelling their attack.
Moptop strongly questioned the likelihood of this turn of events, but determined it best to not dwell on it too much.
