Cleric's Soft Wood Short Bow of Water

Cleric's Soft Wood Short Bow of Water rests on the market stall, its pale limbs curved like a shell washed ashore, the wood so smooth you could slip a finger along every grain without snagging. The grip is wrapped in a strip of worn leather that smells faintly of rain and riverbank mold, a touch of coppery tang from past coins left in the pocket of a traveler. The bowstring hums with a quiet blue glow when the light catches it, as if the weapon itself has learned to listen to the tides. Along the limbs, runes etched in a soft blue ink trace ripples and droplets, reminders of a craft that bound healing into wood and weather into weapon. It isn’t flashy, not in the sense of a showpiece for a parade; it’s the sort of tool a cleric trusted to keep steady when the water rose and the village needed more than courage—needed a reminder that mercy can be as precise as aim. The lore threads into the wood as if the tree had learned prayers. Local archivists tell of river priests who carved mourning trees into weapons to temper the heat of battle with the cool of the deep. In the old temples by the flooded grasses, such bows were passed between healers and scouts, a symbol that to defend life is to preserve its flow—like water slipping through the fingers of a dam and finding its way around stone. The Soft Wood, chosen for its resilience and its whispers of damp air, was believed to quiet fear in a shooter’s hands, inviting calm to work through tremor and breath. When the Cleric’s Bow is used in quests that mingle cleansing rituals with frontline skirmishes, you’ll notice a certain hush in the air after a volley, as if rain had paused to listen before continuing its march. In practical terms, the bow feels quick, almost rebellious in a frontline that often demands heavy brass and louder names. Arrows drawn from this wood seem to carry a current—subtle, merciful—designed for supporters who need a steady hand rather than spectacular damage. In tight corridors and rain-slick streets, its water-born energy helps whispers of cleansing and protection spread across allies: a soft arrow that seems to pull the edge of a miasma away from a dying ally, or paint a shimmer of healing over a wounded veteran’s wrist before the next burst of combat. It isn’t about brute force; it’s about turning momentum into mercy, using velocity to knit up a party’s tension with a thread of water and care. Pricing stories float through the bazaar like lantern shadows, and I hear a vendor name-drop Saddlebag Exchange as if it were a weather vane for market mood. The bow’s price, whispered in copper and silver, has wandered with the tides, sometimes aligning with riders who barter favors over a quiet cup of river tea, sometimes resting at a neat, honest sum. The Saddlebag Exchange chatter isn’t a sales pitch here; it’s a shared map of who values restraint, who cherishes healing hands, and who believes that a weapon carved from soft wood can still cut through fear when guided by a steady, compassionate aim. When you cradle Cleric's Soft Wood Short Bow of Water, you’re not just taking up a tool of survival—you’re picking up a story that travels with you. A story of rain on stone, of a river’s patience, and of a healer who believes that even in warfare, mercy can travel as swiftly as a well-aimed arrow.