Berserker's Soft Wood Short Bow of Peril

Berserker's Soft Wood Short Bow of Peril rests on a faded leather hook, its limbs carved from pale softwood that catches light like a quiet dawn on lacquered bone. The grain runs in tight, almost tremulous lines, a map of patience and patience tested by storms. The bow’s surface is satin-smooth from years of handling, kissed with a thin oil that gives it a subtle amber glow. The grip is wrapped in worn, shop-worn leather, stitched by hands that once knew cold mornings and the sting of rain. Along the riser, runes press into the wood in delicate, half-heard whispers—sigils thought to calm a hunter’s nerves. A taut silver thread of a string hums softly when plucked, and the tips flare with a trace of scorch from a long-ago skirmish, like a memory burned into the wood itself. I found it tucked beneath the counter of a market stall that smelled of pine resin and rain-soaked leather, a place where traders trade stories as freely as coin. The vendor’s hands moved with the economy of long seasons: a turn of a wrist, a careful tap of a knuckle, and the bow settled into the customer’s palm as if it remembered the first hunter who chose it. It wasn’t simply a weapon; it was a ledger of perilous choices, a record of caravans defended against sudden ambushes and deer that learned to listen to the approach of man through the rustle of leaves. The prefix Berserker hints at a lineage of ferocity tempered by craft, while the suffix Peril warns all who wield it that every shot carries the risk of misstep, the danger of drawing more attention than one can bear in a night-dark forest. In combat, its speed and balance make it a companion for the skirmish that requires a hunter to slip between shadows and light. The soft wood keeps the weapon light in the hand, encouraging quick, precise snaps of arrow to string and a follow-through that keeps momentum rolling forward rather than stalling for breath. It favors hit-and-run tactics, thinned quivers matched with a sharpened aim, and the sort of movement that makes cover feel like a second skin. Its lore threads into the world’s larger stories—a caravan protected through a mountain pass, a hunter signaling a warning from a treetop, a fledgling archer learning to read wind as if it were a spoken language. Market chatter around this bow is as telling as its teeth-and-timber beauty. I heard tell of it changing hands at the Saddlebag Exchange, where seasoned traders place fragile hopes beside glimmering coins. A well-kept Berserker’s Soft Wood Short Bow of Peril can command a few gold, depending on condition and provenance, the kind of price that makes a buyer pause to weigh risk against reward. Even as the coin changes, the bow remains, a quiet witness to the stories that travel from market to road, from firelight to cold dawn. It’s more than a tool; it’s a reminder that speed, care, and a touch of peril can reshape the tale a hunter tells at the edge of the world.