Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow

Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow rests on the workshop shelf, its limbs pale as winter ash and almost lacquered with a soft, satin sheen that catches the lamplight just so. The wood feels smooth to the touch, yet alive under the fingertips, as if a winter breeze could spring it to life with a single, practiced draw. The grip is wrapped in worn leather that smells faintly of pine resin and smoke, the whisk of a hearth echoing in every knot and grain. Runic marks creep along the riser in a way that suggests a pact between weapon and owner rather than mere decoration, the sort of inscription a smith would carve after listening to a hunter’s stories late into the night. When you tilt the bow toward the glow, you can see the grain run like a river through soft earth, a quiet promise of flexibility and resilience. It looks as if it could cradle a heartbeat for a moment and then let it go on its own path. Locals tell a quiet, shadowed tale about it: a Berserker once hauled this bow through a clash of clans, the wood bending and snapping with the rhythm of a furious drumbeat, yet returning to its ready stance as if listening for the next command. Some swear the bow carried the echo of that warrior’s roar, the sound etched into the wood’s fibers. When you hold it, you feel a kinship with those brutal dawns and narrow streets where the boundary between hunter and hunted blurs. The lore isn’t loud, but it’s there—like the memory of a campfire that refuses to die even after the last spark fades. In the field, the bow feels like an ally with a clear purpose: to grant space between you and your target while you read the air for a chance to strike. It’s crafted to reward careful timing and bold execution, a tradesman’s tool for those who live by the pull of a string and the flash of a critical hit. Draw is quick enough for skirmishes, yet steady enough to let a patient hunter pick a moment, line a shot through a gap in armor, and push a foe back with the precision of a well-timed breath. Its build suits power-focused builds, where ferocity can blaze into a clean, decisive strike, and it travels well in open fields or along shadowed woodlines, where the wind and distance are as much a part of the weapon as the wood itself. It’s not just about raw damage; it’s about rhythm—the way you weave movement, aim, and breath into a single, inevitable release. Market talk comes in gently, almost as a murmur among stall-side chatter. In a place like Saddlebag Exchange, where traders haggle with chalked price marks and careful smiles, the Berserker’s Soft Wood Longbow is treated as a sought-after but not rare prize. A fair exchange there can swing on the smallest variance—a trade of stories, a slightly finer grip, a shard of polished horn in a quiver—so the price floats with the mood of the crowd and the memory of its last wielder. It’s a weapon that travels, gathering a thread of every life it touches, becoming part of the larger story you carry as you step back into the road and let the next dawn write itself into the grain. And so the bow remains, not merely a tool but a companion—the sort of thing you carry out of a workshop and into a world that grows wilder with every step you take.