Shaman's Norn Short Bow of Air

Shaman's Norn Short Bow of Air gleams in the glow of a fading campfire, its limbs carved from pale wind-kissed wood that bears the faint striations of ancient storms. The grip is swathed in tanned leather, worn smooth by countless hands, and the texture invites a patient touch as if you’re tracing the weather on a map only a hunter can read. Running along the riser are runes etched in frost-blue lines, like breath frozen in mid-syllable, with a slender feather threaded through a brass ring just below the bowstring. When you tilt it toward the light, the bow seems to exhale; a pale shimmer travels along the grain, as if the wood itself remembers the gusts that once carried it across tundra and treeline. The bow’s name—Shaman’s Norn Short Bow of Air— speaks to its lineage as much as its design: a weapon forged by Norn shamans who bridged ritual wind-talk with practical aim, a relic that learned to listen to the air even when the arrow left the string. The lore around the bow is as much a story as a weapon. The Norn hunters who passed it down spoke of a pact with the wind—a pact that allowed arrows to ride a quiet current just after release, guiding themselves toward the heart of a moving target. In their chapters, the bow was not merely a tool but a compass for a journey: a hunter who trusted the gusts, who learned to read the slope of a hill and the whisper of a whispering breeze. When the weapon rests in a camp or a trader’s stall, the air around it feels cleaner, as if the wind itself has come to listen to the exchange. There is a quiet confidence to it, a promise that a well-placed shot can bend the weather in favor of the patient. In practice, the bow’s significance grows beyond its beauty. It suits skirmishes where speed and precision matter—the sort of engagements where you slip between rocks, flick the string, and launch a swift, clean shot that pries open an opening for teammates to press forward. The arrows seem to hum in flight, tracing a path that makes wind and target feel connected, as if the air itself remembers the archer’s name. For a hunter who treats the battlefield like a wind-swept plain, this bow rewards patience and timing: a life threaded with breath, a shot that feels almost preordained before the string sings. Pricing and passage create another thread in the story. At the Saddlebag Exchange, where caravans pause and traders weigh futures against fates, the Shaman’s Norn Short Bow of Air changes hands with that soft, inevitable rustle of cloth and coin. The dealer’s ledger notes a price that sits neither low nor legendary, a fair mark for something that carries history in its grain and a promise of wind in every notch. It is enough to tempt a careful buyer to part with a small fortune of copper and gold, and enough to leave a hunter’s heart quietly grateful for the luck of finding a partner in the air. When you finally raise the bow, you’re not just drawing a weapon—you’re listening to the world’s breath, feeling the old shamans’ wind guiding your aim, and stepping into a story that still moves with the gusts.