Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow

Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow glows under the lantern, a slender arc of pale, honey-toned wood with grain like river routes carved into parchment. The limbs are smooth and flexible, catching the light with a quiet sheen, while the ends are wrapped in a dark lacquer that hints at discipline and durability. The grip, snug in the palm, is wrapped in weathered leather that smells faintly of rain and pine sap, a tactile reminder that this bow has been held by hands that knew wind and distance. A thread of runes runs along the upper limb, shallow and almost shy at first touch, but when the light catches them just right they kindle with a soft amber glow—proof, I’m told, that the wood remembers its makers as much as its current bearer. In the workshop where the bow was born, the soft wood earned its name for the yield it offered the draw. It isn’t the stiff, uncompromising bow that punishes a hurried shot; it’s forgiving, almost conversational, yielding to a steady hand and a patient aim. The edge of the grip is chipped from years of practice, the kind of wear that speaks of long mornings spent tracing a single target’s arc. The lore tied to its name is visible in the little sigils carved near the nocking point—tiny reminders of the Berserker’s oath: fierce in battle, precise in craft, restrained in ego. To carry this longbow is to carry a memory of those who charged forward with fury tempered by discipline, a reminder that raw power shines brightest when guided by skill. Its significance in the field isn’t about brute speed alone but about the balance it affords. A berserker who can draw smoothly and release with clean timing finds the bow’s true voice: longer range than a typical shortbow, steady rhythm, and a precision that rewards patience over pure impulse. It excels in hold-and-sweep tactics, where a careful archer threads shots through gaps in armor or vegetation, turning distance into advantage rather than fear. In group skirmishes, its reach lets you peel away threats on the edge of the fray, while its lightness keeps you mobile when the frontline shifts. In solo explorations, it rewards careful pacing—two or three well-placed arrows can outpace a dozen hurried attempts. Market whispers circle the campfire and the stalls of traders, where Saddlebag Exchange hums with barter and rumor. I’ve watched this bow drift from hand to hand as coins trade palms—priced by supply and need, by the mood of the week, by the luck of a finder who stumbles upon it in a shaded market stall. The price isn’t a fixed verdict but a negotiation, the kind that can swing a few silver one day and a few gold the next, depending on demand, condition, and who’s willing to bargain. A hunter might snap it up for utility; a collector for its lore; the Exchange, with its bustling boards, keeps the line between those worlds clear and moving. So the Berserker’s Soft Wood Longbow persists, not merely as a tool of archery but as a bridge between memory and method. It’s the sort of weapon that makes a rider think twice before charging, a scout pause before the wind, and a fighter listen for the quiet promise that a well-placed shot can make all the difference when the world demands restraint as bravely as fury.