Cleric's Elder Wood Short Bow

Cleric's Elder Wood Short Bow rests on the sun-warmed stall, its form a quiet conversation between age and care. The bow’s core is a single sweep of elder wood, its grain a soft map of rings that glow with a honeyed warmth when the light catches it just right. The limbs curve with a restrained grace, no savage arc but a patient bow that seems to lean into the moment, as if listening for the breath of the forest. A pale linen wrap coils around the grip, worn smooth by hands that have learned to trust its weight, and along the riser run simple sigils—wards and blessings pressed into the wood until they feel as much a part of the bow as its pulse of sinew and resin. The string is pale, almost milky, a whisper-thin thread that sings with every flex and release, and the sometimes-slight odor of resin hints at hours spent polishing and maintaining it to a quiet gleam. There is a lore in its polish that speaks without shouting. The Cleric’s Elder Wood Short Bow is said to be born from an elder tree that grew beside a forgotten shrine, where healers tended the wounded and spoke softly to the woods for protection. It is said the tree drank in prayers, storing them in its rings, and that the bow’s limbs have learned to hold calm in the moment of release—so that even in crowded streets or narrow forest lanes, the shooter’s aim remains steady, as if the very breath of the shrine steadies the finger. To hold it is to feel a lineage, a lineage of quiet guardians who swapped fierce force for focused light—a patient mercy that translates into precise shots and restrained power. In the stories of caravans and wayfarers, the bow is a trusted companion—not merely a weapon but a talisman that keeps the path clear and the heart clear as well. In gameplay terms, it’s the kind of instrument that lends itself to a world where restraint can be as decisive as a blaze of speed. Its balance encourages quick, clean follow-ups, letting a skilled archer thread shots through gaps in a skirmish with the same discipline a healer uses with a chant. The elder wood seems to temper momentum, nudging a player toward precision and timing rather than brute draw. For a character who carries mercy into the field, the bow becomes a way to protect allies—picking off threats before they threaten, tagging foes to keep a line of fire honest, and creating space for the group to regroup. In quiet moments between battles, the bow’s patina and carved sigils feel like a pact renewed—an oath that a person of faith and fortitude will stand between danger and the vulnerable. Market whispers weave through the narrative as travelers trade tales of scarcity and solace. In the bustling lanes where Saddlebag Exchange hums with traders and tailors, a cleric’s heirloom can drift between hands for a price that feels fair to both buyer and seller—a balance akin to the bow’s own: valuable, but not reckless. A keeper might note how the blade of the wood holds stories of rain and shelter; a merchant might offer a blessing for a well-loved piece, a touch of coin passing from one careful caretaker to another. The Cleric’s Elder Wood Short Bow remains, in the end, more than timber and string: a living thread in a wider tapestry, ready to be drawn, to protect, to tell the next chapter of those who walk the path between mercy and merit.