Strong Dredge Short Bow

Strong Dredge Short Bow rests on the workbench, its limbs of weathered ash curved in a shy crescent, the surface lacquered to a satin sheen that catches torchlight and makes the grain look like faint ore veins. Its belly bears pale dredge sigils—mining runes—etched in a circle around the grip, where the worn leather wrap whispers of years spent in damp tunnels, resin and copper dust trapped beneath the grain. Iron bindings bind the two halves, each joint hammered with a patient rhythm, the string a pale catgut taut enough to sing when moved, and at the tip a small obsidian shard glints—a hunter's eye. The overall texture is that of cave dust lacquered to hide its age, the smell of rain-soaked wood and coal smoke clinging to it. Within its lore, the bow is said to have been forged at a mouth of a vein-fed forge, where the dredge elder breathed heat into damp wood and bound it with ore-scrap, turning a simple short bow into something a miner could trust in torch-lit corridors. On the field, its shorter form makes it nimble in tight quarters, spitting quick, precise arrows that carve through brush and skitter along cavern walls, ideal for scouts who skulk along cliff ledges or flank a rout. But in practice, players find it excels when you need speed and reliability in cramped spaces. On the morning of departure, a trader at Saddlebag Exchange laid the bow on a cloth, its sigils catching the light as if whispering a dare. We talked price, his eyes skimming the grain, and he matched the bow’s stubborn pride against a line of other relics—dent-rich blades, battered pouches, and maps smelling of rain. The ledger beside him updated with chalk and coin-press breath, a slow, sure rhythm that reminded me how Saddlebag Exchange works: not a place for grand crowds but a harbor for stories and deals. The Strong Dredge Short Bow isn’t just wood and iron; it is a thread tying miners and travelers to a shared memory of the cave and the road, a quiet partner that has learned to wait for the right moment. Because dredge work happens in tunnels that squeeze a man's breath, the Short Bow is built for speed in half-light. Its shorter limbs resist snagging on stalactites, and the grip fits a gloved hand without slipping. In skirmishes, its tempo favors rapid exchanges in corridors where every footstep echoes off stone, rewarding a hunter who learns to sequence shot and step. At Saddlebag Exchange a few weeks later, I watched a courier trade a cracked bow for dried berries and favors. The vendor weighed the wood and its sigils, naming the price in stories as much as coin. The ledger bore the Exchange’s mark, promising this weapon would travel with someone who respected the cave. Some nights, rain soft on the tent, the bow rests by the pole, and a hunter runs a finger over the sigils, listening for the mine’s voice—an old friend in a new road.