Honed Soft Wood Longbow of Chilling

Honed Soft Wood Longbow of Chilling gleams under the workshop lamp, its limbs pale as winter ash and the grip wrapped in softened leather that smells faintly of resin and rain. The string sings when you cradle it, a taut whisper that hints at years of patient, careful tempering. Along the belly, faint inlays of frost etched runes trace a pattern like breath on glass, and the whole thing feels both ancient and freshly minted, as if a story were pressed into its grain. The bow’s core is soft wood, chosen for flexibility, yet the craftsmen carved it with a hunter’s precision, so it bends with a living arc rather than snapping back like a dry twig. When it catches the light, you can see a little frost where the grain braids itself, a sign that the chill enchantment still lingers, not in flame but in patient, icy restraint. I found it tucked in a sunken corner of a longhouse stall, a relic offered by a traveler who swore wood had soaked up breath of a glacier. He told me the lore of frost wardens who once kept watch over river mouths and mountain passes, how their seal is said to reside in bow’s soft core, granting a measured frost on every hit. The tale is not loud, but it hums in the fingers of anyone who knows to listen: the Chill travels with the arrow, slowing the stride of those who survive the strike and making ambushes feel inevitable. It isn’t about raw power alone; it’s about pacing, distance, and the patience to let frost gather on the air before you release. In practical terms, the Honed Soft Wood Longbow of Chilling has a clear place in a ranger’s kit. You draw, you breathe, and the first shaft fans out a pale pall of cold before it finds its mark. The secondary effect lingers, a soft aura that dampens the charge of chargers and creates openings for follow-up shots. It rewards precision and timing, pairing well with traps, terrain, and a hunter’s steady mind. That is how it survives in the world: as a companion that doesn’t demand the spotlight, but earns it through every careful draw and every careful step. Market talk flows around it at Saddlebag Exchange, where curious travelers compare prices and stories. A bow like this, with its chill inlays and a reputation whispered rather than shouted, fetches a premium—a handful of silver, sometimes more if the wood remains particularly well-preserved or the inscription is unusually legible. People trade tales as much as coins, and the bow becomes a hinge in those exchanges, a reminder that the road is long and the frost is patient. When you carry it, you feel the world slow just a notch, and you know you’re not merely shooting a weapon—you’re continuing a quiet, glacial conversation between hunter and horizon. In frostbitten settlements, its legend travels farther than any arrow, shaping choices for those who follow winter paths today. Stay curious.