Rampager's Soft Wood Short Bow of Air

Rampager's Soft Wood Short Bow of Air rested in the palm of a forest scout's hand, its limbs smooth as river stone and pale enough to glow softly in dawn light. The soft wood bears a fine, tight grain that shifts with every touch, like wind over a quiet lake. A lacquered coat clings to the curves, catching sun and tossing it back in pale lacquered sparks. Along the belly of the bow run faint, rune-like striations, native to the Rampager lore—proof that this weapon once rode with hunters who tracked storms and spoke to air elementals in the treetops. The string sings when you pluck it, a tight, almost musical note that hints at speed, precision, and a hunter's patience. Its name promises more than its timber and tone; the 'of Air' suffix hints at winds held in check, at arrows that fly with a sigh rather than a shout. In skirmishes above the forest floors, it feels lighter than its weight would suggest. An archer learns to trust it when the ground trembles and the roar of beetles rises, because the bow carries momentum forward in short, controlled bursts rather than long, tired windups. You nock, you draw, and a shot threads through gaps in the canopy as if the air itself were part of the string—fleeting, precise, decisive. They say the wood remembers the footsteps of its original owner, who would pass quickly between branches, letting the wind guide his arrows to weak points and exposed ambitions. That lore seeps into the weapon’s feel: a particular ease with quick trades of distance, a tendency to favor speed over brute force, a trust in mobility over raw power. On the market, travelers tell me its price is not a prisoner of gaudy numbers but a bargaining chip among those who barter for stories as much as for steel. Saddlebag Exchange is where such tales surface—folded maps, mint-condition fletching, and a price tag whispered into the rain. A clerk with a hawk’s eye will tap his fingers on the counter and murmur a starting price in silver before the bow earns its keep in a buyer's hands. The balance tilts as coins exchange hands, and suddenly the Rampager's Soft Wood Short Bow of Air has new air in it—the air of a rider who will slip through gaps the untrained eye misses, the air of a hunter who would rather outpace a storm than outrun it. To hold it is to sense an ongoing conversation between wood and wind, a fragment of a larger story about rangers and wanderers who learned to live at the edge of a gust. In play, it becomes a partner in that drama: a faithful companion for scouts who feather every shot and a reminder that even a short weapon can carry long memories. When you walk away with it, you walk not just with a tool, but with a rumor ready to be whispered into the next campfire about where the wind has taken its favors.