Cleric's Soft Wood Short Bow

Cleric's Soft Wood Short Bow rests in the palm of a monk-turned-scout, its pale limbs catching the candlelight and turning it to a warm, honeyed glow. The wood is serene to the touch, smooth as a whispered vow, with a grain that runs like quiet rivers under a temple roof. The limbs curve with a gentle resilience, not so harsh as metal, but enough to sing when the string tightens. A thin layer of oil coats the surface, catching a glint when you tilt it just so, and the grip is wrapped in worn leather that has learned the keeper’s grip and the pilgrim’s dust, offering a soft, almost forgiving bite on the palm. Along the riser, sigils—simple crosses, a halo-ringed circle, and a line that seems to breathe—juncture the wood with the care of a monk’s calligraphy. It looks like a bow that has done more listening than shouting, more healing than hunting, and it wears that history in the subtle roughness where fingers have pressed most often. In its lore, the Cleric's Soft Wood speaks of the places where mercy travels most slowly—roadside shrines, long corridors of stone, and markets where the ordinary citizen buys protection in the form of a precise gesture. Local scribes tell of a craftsman who tended the temple grove with a reverence that bordered on chant, choosing soft wood for its forgiving draw so a novice could learn without fear of overdraw. The bow’s name is a whisper of that philosophy: strength shaped for gentleness, power tempered by care. When a keeper trades the bow to a hunter who has sworn to guard a caravan or a healer who travels with a wounded band, the weapon seems to carry a mission—a reminder that true strength is as much restraint as reach. The wood’s warmth clamps softly around the hand, as if the object itself were always at peace with the person who carries it. In practice, its significance unfolds as a story about balance on the road. The short bow’s lighter draw makes it ideal for rapid, controlled shots in skirmishes where every move must be measured, and it finds a natural home in roles that emphasize support and precision over brute force. Archers who lean into mobility and lighter loadouts find this bow aligns with a rhythm—one foot in the shadow, one in the sunlit stance—where each shot punctuates a moment of care rather than a roar. It is the kind of tool that supports the mission of a party: keep distance, keep tempo, keep the door to safety ajar for those pressed by the day’s trials. On market days, stories often drift through the stalls of Saddlebag Exchange about its price—an approachable handful of silver, a figure a student or wanderer could earn with a single careful job. The vendors jabber about its ease of handling, noting how the wood’s softness keeps shoulder fatigue at bay during longer patrols. The bow thus travels from shrine to caravan to crossroads, not merely as equipment but as a talisman that reminds its bearer to aim with intention, to protect with quiet strength, and to let mercy guide every string response.