Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow

Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow sits on the rough table, a thing of quiet intent and careful craft. The limbs are slender and taut, carved from pale soft wood that catches the light with a honeyed glow, every grain a ledger of seasons survived. The bowstring hums softly when drawn, a thread of tension that promises, and sometimes delivers, a clean, direct strike. The grip is wrapped in worn leather—the kind that has molded to a hand over years of use—with a subtle scent of oil and pine resin. A small emblem is carved into the riser: a berserker’s mask intertwined with a leaf-woven border, as if the hunter’s fury and the forest’s patience had to be bound together to become weapon and companion. In the lore of the old northerly hunting lines, soft wood was prized for its balance—the way it yielded to a steady pull without shivering under rapid fire, a quiet, almost disciplined rage in the hands of a marksman who knew when to hold and when to let slip the arrow. When you lift it, the bow seems to slip into your pace rather than impose it. In gameplay, its rhythm feels different from heavier, more brutish choices: clean, quick releases that reward timing and aim, not sheer force. The Berserker’s prefix hints at a hunter who leans into ferocity at the moment of impact, trading raw stamina for sharp, concentrated damage when you strike with precision. Its limbs respond with a spring that isn’t punishing but honest—draw it back, feel the anchor settle, and send an arrow that cuts through wind as if the world itself were thinning for a moment. This bow doesn’t cling to the ceiling of power; it pounces through gaps, favors headshots on fast-moving targets, and rewards the player who weaves together motion, patience, and a keen eye. In party play, it becomes a trusted ally for skirmishes where mobility matters and you need a reliable, steady hand to thread a critical hit into a crowded moment. The world around it seems to lean in when the price becomes part of the story. I’ve watched Berserker’s Soft Wood Longbows traded, bartered, and bartered again at Saddlebag Exchange, where market chatter threads through the air like the scent of resin. A stall keeper, eyes bright with the day’s gossip, would quote a price in bright silver and gold, then drop the tag a little when a smile and a well-timed tale about a long-vanished hunter softened the air between buyer and seller. The tag could hover around a handful of gold, sometimes slipping to a margin more attainable for a player who’s learned to haggle with kindness or to trade a cache of refined woods and ore. It isn’t merely a weapon; it is a passport to quiet legends—one that links a hunter’s patience with a market’s fevered pace, and a promise that the bow will carry someone from dawn patrols to starlit ambushes, still and sure, until the next story demands another draw.