Shaman's Norn Short Bow of Water

Shaman's Norn Short Bow of Water rests across a weathered oak table, its stave pale as driftwood and etched with sigils that ripple like a living stream. The finish wears a soft gloss that catches candlelight and makes the grain curl into tiny, watery waves. The bow's tips are wrapped in sinewed leather, dark as thunderclouds, while a narrow band of mother-of-pearl threads the grip, catching every reflection as if it holds a memory of rain. The string is taut and pale, and when the bow is drawn the air cools, a faint mist sliding along the wood as if the weapon itself breathes water. The shaft is compact enough to swing in quick bursts, yet balanced so every shot lands with a clean, glassy hiss. The lore whispers of Norn shamans who walked the frost-rimed coasts, laying tides of blessing upon their people; this bow, they say, was forged in the days when the world still learned to listen to rivers. Its runes are not mere decoration but a pact: a promise to temper heat, to bend aggression toward mercy, to call rain after a drought. In battle, the Shaman's Norn Short Bow of Water becomes an extension of that oath. Its arrows seem to carry a cold kiss, a trace of mist that dampens the air between hunter and quarry. The water sigil gathers energy with each draw, and the first shot often paints a pale-blue echo in the target’s wake, a reminder that even a hunter’s bite can be cooled by a river’s memory. Warriors using it speak of precision and tempo, of a rhythm that mirrors waves: a quick flurry of darts that slides into a longer, patient follow-through. For explorers, the bow offers utility beyond raw damage; its blue gleam hints at hidden coves, submerged arches, and the way rivers wind through stone to feed a stubborn forest settlement. It is as much a tool of storytelling as of skirmish—an artifact that invites a narrator to tie a village’s drought to a lone marksman who learned to listen to water’s counsel. On the market, the bow’s value travels with the tide. A regular at Saddlebag Exchange once traded a morning’s catch and a polished shard of obsidian for a glimpse of its blue glow, humming that it would forgive a day’s rent if the buyer could name the river that inspired its sigils. The exchange hums with similar tales—rooms crowded with traders who barter not just for gold but for memory, for the sense that they hold a piece of the world’s rain in their hands. Holding the Shaman's Norn Short Bow of Water, you feel the current run through your fingers, and you suddenly understand why this weapon, and the legend behind it, keeps finding its way into the hands of those who listen closely to water’s counsel. In quiet villages, the bow’s blue breath becomes a bedtime story, a reminder that power and patience flow together, like rain feeding roots and reviving wells.