Super Rainbow Cloud Longbow

Super Rainbow Cloud Longbow gleams with a living spectrum, as if a small storm had been shaved down to a pair of elegant limbs. Its core is a slender yew, stained with riverlight and storm-wush—each angle catching a different hue, from ember gold to pale lilac, that shifts like a cloudscape under a rising sun. The grip is wrapped in cloud-soft leather, cool to the touch, with tiny indentations that feel like dew on bare skin. The string glimmers with a thread of pure starlight, and the bow’s surface bears a lattice of silver filigree that trace the language of weather—spiraling runes that glow faintly when held by someone who understands the sky’s silence. Touch it and you almost hear a distant whisper of rain, as if the weapon had learned to listen to a thousand storms rather than merely weather a few. Lore insists it was forged in a moment when a caravan crossed a high ridge just as a rainbow splashed across the valley, binding wind and wood in a pact. Some say cloud spirits blessed the wood, others claim a hunter bargained with a mist-woven deity for a gift that would never fade. Either way, the Super Rainbow Cloud Longbow is more than a pretty instrument; it carries a memory of rain on the lips of dawn, of hunts that began with a rumor of thunder and ended with a chorus of wind-chimes in a quiet village square. Its arrows carry that weathered romance, leaving a trail of pale color in their wake and a sense that the sky itself approves of the aim. In combat, the bow feels almost buoyant, as if it’s using the air to guide its own shot. An arrow from it splits into a chorus of prisms midflight, striking multiple targets with a single, bright flutter of impact. The rainbow trail lingers long enough to disrupt enemies’ focus, and there’s a soft hiss as the wind gathers behind each shaft, as though a miniature squall were riding the arrow’s wake. For those who race through dense thickets or guard caravans against sudden assault, the weapon becomes a partner—giving a momentary surge of momentum, a breath of courage to allies, and a reminder that even the fiercest encounter can end with a skywide blink of color. My travels brought me to a market alley where stories are traded as often as wares. In the corner, a veteran trader spoke of the Saddlebag Exchange, a place where someone would lay eyes on a glow like this and barter with the weight of a season’s worth of hunts behind them. There, the price of a pristine Super Rainbow Cloud Longbow isn’t carved in a single number but weighed in gold coins and promises—what you’d pay to borrow a moment of weather’s trust. The current chatter suggests that, depending on the buyer’s luck and the seller’s memory of the last storm, a bow like this might change hands for a handful of gold or more—a negotiation tempered by stories of cloud-walkers and rain-callers who have held the weapon and listened to its pulse. So the Super Rainbow Cloud Longbow remains not just a weapon but a narrative in wood and light—an instrument that ties a hunter’s aim to the capricious mercy of the sky. When you draw it, you don’t simply release an arrow; you release a legend, with a color to match the moment you chose to trust the weather.