Carrion Elder Wood Longbow

Carrion Elder Wood Longbow rests on a weathered market stall, its limbs blackened like burnished ebony, the grip wrapped in tattered leather that smells faintly of resin and rain. The bow’s belly bears a whisper of pale grain, as if the wood remembered every hunt before the caravan reached town. Carved along the upper limb are runes like moth-wings, and the sinew string hums softly when the air is cold, a sound that feels almost like a captured sigh. They say the elder wood grew from a tree that stood at the edge of a battlefield where carrion spirits lingered, a witness to every fallen rider waiting for dawn. In the moonlight its edges catch a pale glow, a reminder that this weapon did not grow from mere timber but from stories that refused to stay buried. When you take it in hand, the balance settles beneath the thumb as if the bow remembers you already, and every draw feels deliberate, the release clean as a whistle. In practice, it favors patient aiming and a steady, considered attack rather than reckless spray. Its arrows travel with a quiet certainty, skimming over brush and stone to find their mark with a hunter’s patience. The Carrion Elder Wood Longbow does not shout; it listens. It seems to drink in the hush of night and whisper back with a rare, lethal precision. Some say the lore threads through its grain, weaving a small curse that makes it less forgiving to careless hands and more grateful to those who respect the forest's old laws. In the world’s wider march, the bow’s role feels like a thread in a larger narrative. It suits rangers who walk with a pale glow of necromantic warnings around them, those who blend the bow’s long reach with healing and stealth. It rewards control and marked shots, boosts distance without surrendering power, and seems to harmonize with builds that tilt toward condition damage—poison blooming with every careful release, bleeding the enemy of strength as the hunt draws near. For a hunter who must split attention between a skittering horde and a wary caravan, the longbow becomes both talisman and tool, a way to thin the front lines before stepping into the fray. Market whispers color the tale as well. A hunter who once traded in such wares told me the going price can swing on a sigh, the right buyer meeting the right memory. At Saddlebag Exchange, I overheard a broker negotiating with a seasoned scout, the price tugging between silver and a hard-won tale from a distant map. They spoke of care, of the wood’s age, of how the string sings when a proper trigger is coaxed to life. The deal, like the bow, felt earned, not given—an artifact earned through patience, memory, and the slow weathering of a long road. So the Carrion Elder Wood Longbow remains more than weapon and wood: a ledger of nights walked, a promise that even darkness can be strung into hopeful mercy.