Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow

Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow gleams with a honeyed grain, its limbs pale and supple as if the wood remembered every wind it rode. The grip is wrapped in worn, sun-dark leather, the kind that smells faintly of smoke and pine, and the string pulls taut with a whisper that feels like a heartbeat. The limbs curve with a quiet grace, and a faint, almost ancestral rune is etched into the riser, catching light and then sinking back into shadow as if the bow itself holds its breath. It looks as if it were carved not merely to pierce targets but to carry a story—one told by a berserker who learned to temper fury with focus, who swore an oath to the forest and to those it sheltered, keeping his temper in check only long enough to aim and release. In tavern whispers and market rumors, the bow is tied to that old vow. The wood’s softness—a paradox for a weapon meant to strike hard and fast—lends a forgiving release, a straight, clean fly that feels like it wants to be courteous even as it flies toward danger. The berserker who carved this bow believed flexibility could be a form of discipline, a way to bend rage into precision rather than reckless crash. Legends say the handle bears the mark of a hunter who walked between storms, trading bracing fear for careful sight, and that the rune was pressed in by the smith to remind the bearer that power demands restraint. When the arrow leaves the string, it carries the memory of that vow: not to waste life, but to lend it to a greater purpose. Gamers know this bow by more than its beauty, of course. Its Berserker’s designation signals a familiar trio of traits—Power, Precision, Ferocity—that suit a build hungry for crit potential and quick, brutal bursts. In practice, it rewards a swift, mobile archer who leans into puncturing shots and leverages ferocious crits at decisive moments. It’s the kind of weapon that makes you trust your aim, then trust your instincts rather than your reflexes alone, because the wood’s give and the rune’s quiet charge coax a cleaner release and a sharper bite from every arrow. In a skirmish or a siege, the longbow becomes a storyteller on the wind: one shot, one breath held, one tale told in the plume and dust that follows the strike. I found it tangled in a day’s errands, trading hands along the bustling edge of Saddlebag Exchange, where merchants swap stories as freely as wares. The vendor’s stall smelled of oil, leather, and rain, and the tag on this bow told of its blessing and its balance: Power, Precision, Ferocity—Berserker’s—ready for a hunter who respects the balance between heat and restraint. The price lay somewhere between a handful of silver and a more generous gold, depending on condition and who was willing to bargain, a reminder that even a legendary feel will bend to market weather. I walked away with the bow’s soft wood humming in my pack, carrying with it the quiet vow of a berserker who once stood against the wind and chose to aim true, even when the world demanded chaos.