Golem-Buster Short Bow

Golem-Buster Short Bow rests on a scarred oak table, its limbs curved in a precise, predatory arc. The wood is a deep, river-dark ash, grain running like a map of a long-forgotten battlefield. Brass filigree coils around the riser, gears and cog motifs catching the light whenever the sun slides across the window. The grip is wrapped in cracked leather as soft as an old glove, the texture cool and slightly tacky with oil, telling of hands that have worn it in. The bowstring is a pale linen thread spun with silver fiber, taut and singing faintly when drawn, as if answering a sleeping engine. On its belly, runes etched in a patient row glow a muted blue, hinting at a purpose beyond mere hunting—an oath to pierce the armored heart of living machines. Legend says the bow was forged in the shadow of the golem markets, by tinkers who learned to listen to metal itself. They hammered it into something lighter than a siege bow, yet stubborn as a dragon's scale, designed to slip between brass joints and shatter the hydraulic breath of giants. Its name traveled faster than rumor, a whispered assurance to scouts and engineers that you could turn a marching fortress into a memory with a direct aim. When the first batches reached the field, veterans spoke of bursts that punctured plating where steel sang, leaving golems to stumble as their gears lost spark. In use, the Golem-Buster becomes part of a larger story rather than a single encounter. Its balance invites precise, methodical shots at mid-range, rewarding patience and timing. A series of well-placed bolts can carve through armor plates, thread through exposed casings, and pop wheel seams that would swallow a stronger bow whole. For a hunter who treats combat as a conversation with old machines, the bow’s quiet efficiency matters more than showy puffs of flame. It teaches restraint, then delivers decisive blows, as if the weapon itself were narrating the battle’s turning point rather than the retellings of a tavern. Prices drift with rumor and risk, and the Saddlebag Exchange is where the trade winds gather. I watched a leather-faced seller cradle a Golem-Buster like a found artifact, whispering about rarity and upkeep as if they might become your first wards against a siege. The clerks offered a spectrum of prices, from bright silver to a cautious handful of copper, depending on condition, sigils, and stories carried by the handle. A buyer would walk away with a tale as well as a bow: that the golems of the frontier finally met their match and that the road ahead could be navigated with careful aim and a little engineering luck. So the Golem-Buster Short Bow rests on its stand, waiting for the next hour. It is not merely a weapon; it is a hinge in a chronicle, a partner in the arithmetic of courage, and a reminder that strength comes from a good aim and hands.