Malign Green Wood Longbow

Malign Green Wood Longbow, with a slender arc of seasoned yew polished to a mirror-dark sheen, catches the light and seems to pulse a soft emerald under lantern glow. The grip is wrapped in weathered leather the color of ripe moss, and the grain of the wood runs in wavering rings that circle like winter’s fire. Along the limbs, thin runes are burnt into the wood with a steady hand, filled with a slow green resin that gives the bow its name. When drawn, it hums a note only archers hear, a whisper of sap and rain, as if the forest itself has learned your name and is urging you on. The Malign coating is not paint but a living lacquer born of ash and dew, leaving tiny sap pockets that catch the light and flicker with every arrow nocked. Lorekeepers say the bow was crafted in a grove where the moonlight drains away into the earth, carved by someone who bargained with a shadow to give the wood a hungry edge. In the hands of a careful hunter, the Malign Green Wood Longbow feels like a conversation with the woods—a reminder that every shot has a memory. In gameplay, it is less a mere instrument than a story thread. Its limb-long precision fits the patient, methodical archer who moves through battlelines like a river through stones, waiting for the moment to release a single, decisive shaft. Arrows fired from it seem to carry a trace of green flame, a visual cue that the weapon’s condition stack is ready to strike. The longbow favors control over spray; it rewards re-positioning, timing, and the subtle art of weaving conditions into a fight rather than blasting through armor. In the right hands, it shines in stealthier skirmishes: you set up a corridor of pressure, trigger a poison or vulnerability stack, and let the forest’s patience do the rest as foes falter under the creeping green. Pricing rarely stays fixed in the world where traders swap stories with coin, and the Saddlebag Exchange is a known stop for those relic seekers. There, the Malign Green Wood Longbow can drift between a cautious two gold and a shining three, depending on the day’s mood and the buyer’s appetite for stories as much as steel. A hunter will haggle, trade a cache of greens, or barter for a tale about the grove where it was born, and the stall’s winking sign sways in the breeze as if to nod yes. Ownership, after all, is a thread in a larger tapestry: a weapon that has taught its owner to listen, to wait, and to strike when the moment is true. Beyond the belt and the field, the bow earns its place in campfire tales. Companions speak of its quiet certainty as night gathers; a single, clean shot that preserves a slim lead, averts ambush, or grants a hunter a last, grateful supper with the wood that kept faith long after the chase ends for those listening.