Shaman's Norn Bow of Water

Shaman's Norn Bow of Water rests on a weathered oak beam, its limbs curved like a seafloor driftwood, carved frost-silver patterns tracing the grain as if rivers themselves had etched a map. The bowstring is pale leather, taut as a fish's spine, while the grip is wrapped in worn seal-hide that smells faintly of rain. Along the belly, runes glow with a pale blue-fire sheen, tiny droplets perched in the inset hollows, waiting for a storm to release them. At the tip, a carved teardrop motif catches light and seems to tremble, as if it could cry a small tidal wave if summoned. The whole thing carries a chill that clings to the fingers, a reminder of the water spirits that tempered it. It is said to have been gifted by a nomadic Norn shaman who walked with the river spirits, trading heat for mist to keep caravans alive through flood and drought. In the old stories, an archer who could hear the river's heartbeat learned to bend arrows into droplets that glide on air until they touch their mark, healing wounds or washing away curses as they pass. In the hands of a hunter who knows the shorelines, the bow becomes more than wood and sinew; it is a guide in rain-slick canyons, a signal-fire for lost wanderers. When drawn, the arrows emerge not as hard points of impact but as shimmering beads of water that spray a mist, sometimes healing an ally a breath at a time, sometimes dampening a foe's fury by washing away embers. In practical terms, those who carry it learn to thread distance with care; the shots arc and then release a ripple of moisture that can nurture a tired scout or wash away lingering heat from a skirmish. In a convoy crossing marshland or a ruined outpost, the bow's water magic becomes a quiet partner on the frontline, granting a moment of reprieve to a wounded companion, cleansing a lingering condition, or slowing a charging foe with a cool, damp pull on their momentum. The weapon's true strength, however, lies in its ability to weave support into every encounter: while you keep eyes on the horizon, your teammates feel steadier, their movements steadier, as if the river itself were guiding your aim. A day at Saddlebag Exchange makes that promise tangible. I watched a seasoned trader circle the bow with a careful hand, fingers brushing the carved teardrop as if testing a pulse. The discussion tipped between ash-gray leather and gold coins, the bargaining as fluid as a current. The price hovered around a respectable handful of gold, with the seller weaving in the bow’s lore—the Shaman’s bond to rain, the river-spirit oath to protect travellers through flood season—and the buyer weighing risk against reward. They spoke of storms on the horizon, of how demand for water-wreathed arms rises when rains return and rivers surge. They negotiated, a little smile here, a firm nod there, until an accord settled and a new keeper of the bow stepped into the day’s light. The Saddlebag Exchange crowd murmured approval, the market breathing with the slow, inevitable rhythm of tides. And so the Shaman's Norn Bow of Water continued its quiet journey, ready to guide another hunter, healer, or scout along the road that forks between danger and mercy.