Ravaging Soft Wood Longbow

Ravaging Soft Wood Longbow gleams under the lantern, its limbs carved from pale alder that remembers every rain it has weathered. The riser is wrapped in weathered leather, stitched with copper rivets that catch the glint of firelight. The wood carries a soft sheen, a satin-smooth texture that yields a little to the touch and returns it with a ready spring when drawn. Faint runes run along the grip, tiny notches and scars from storms and skirmishes, a history etched into the grain. The bowstring, taut and singing, carries the scent of resin and old forest, and the fletching's pale feathers flare like incense at sunset when the arrow leaves the bow. The whole thing seems to hold its breath, as if it waits for the hunter’s call and then answers with a clean, quiet crack of motion. Locals tell of a bowmaker who wandered the timberlines after a ravaging winter, teaching apprentices to balance elegance with endurance. They say the Ravaging Soft Wood Longbow carries the memory of those who survived the woods’ worst, a pact that the weapon would demand respect as much as it offered speed. In some tavern tales it's whispered that the runes on the grip were pressed there by wardens who kept watch over the timber, ensuring that the bow would never help a hunter who forgot mercy. In combat, it feels like a long breath before the arrow learns the distance between you and the target. Its reach keeps danger at the edge of perception, while its springy core returns shots with a precise, almost surgical calm. For a ranger who dances between treelines, it turns into a companion that never tires—allowing patient skirmishes, clean punctures through leather, and swift dispatch of smaller threats before they scatter into the brush. For group play, the Ravaging Soft Wood Longbow shines when paired with misdirection and mobility: you pull, you draw, you retreat, you reappear elsewhere before the enemy regroups, leaving their casters uneasy about timing and vantage points. Its lore makes it a favorite for hunters who measure the world in bark, spine, and whisper of feather. One morning, a courier arrived with a wooden crate to the Saddlebag Exchange, where traders haggle beneath awnings that sag with rain. A seasoned dealer offered a well-kept Ravaging Soft Wood Longbow for about five silver, its price reflecting not just its condition but the story stitched into each joint and knot. The buyer—an apprentice with hands still tasting of pine resin—took the bow with a quiet nod, knowing every shot they would send into the wind would be part of a longer tale: a hunter’s oath, a village’s quiet defense, and the ongoing memory of a forest that endures even when it seems to bow to the ravagers. Thus the bow's story continues: with the bear in the brush, a hunter’s vow, a village’s quiet defense, and the ongoing memory of a forest that endures even when it seems to bow to the ravagers. It answers.