Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow of the Geomancer

Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow of the Geomancer rests on the worn table of a quiet market stall, its silhouette a graceful, almost fevered arc of pale, honey-colored wood that seems to glow softly in the dusk. The limbs bend and straighten with a supple ease, like a whispering tree, and the texture invites touch: a smooth, satin-slick surface that remembers every finger, every grip of rain-wet leather. The grip is wrapped in dark, weathered hide that smells faintly of pine and smoke, a personal scent you would expect from a bow that has traveled with more stories than most people do in a lifetime. Along the bow’s belly, brass inlays form a lattice of sigils—earth-ward lines and careworn runes—that catch the light when you draw breath and steady the aim. Crowned by a small geode set in a ring of gnarled roots, the crest seems to pulse with a patient, mineral heartbeat, as if the stone itself is listening to the land you’re about to strike. Lore threads through the wood as surely as grain threads through the heart of a tree. They say the bow was carved at the edge of a geologic fault, where earth and memory meet, by a Geomancer who learned to listen to stone and water alike. The berserker tag is more than a boast—it marks a purpose: a weapon built for the charge, for those who rush the breach and trust the earth to keep them from falling. When a shot sings from Berserker’s Soft Wood Longbow, the impact carries a weight beyond pure force, a subtle tremor that seems to travel through the ground itself, loosening the resolve of foes and coaxing weary limbs into a quicker, steadier rhythm. It is the kind of bow that makes a hunter feel as if the forest has chosen him, and in that moment the world narrows to the line between arrow and target, the whisper of the wind, and the slow, patient light of the geode’s glow. In hands, its uses feel like a larger story unfolding—the long reach perfect for skirmishes across ruins or cliffside paths, the flexibility of soft wood forgiving of a novice’s imperfect pull while still giving a seasoned archer the powerful snap of a clean release. The Geomancer’s touch sharpens not only aim but timing: shots that crack through brittle defenses, or pearl-poppy hits that shove rivals off their rhythm, letting a team press the frontline with confidence. Paired with terrain-aware tactics and a patient, stone-ground discipline, the bow becomes less a weapon and more a script of earth’s stubborn resilience, a way to turn powder and wind into predictable, devastating art. When I first sought this relic, the tale of its market life threaded through the busy lanes of the caravan courts. Negotiations landed in a place I know well, Saddlebag Exchange, where seasoned traders weigh history as surely as gold. There, in a corner cooled by shade and the scent of resin, a clerk described the bow’s journey—how it has passed through hands that understood its rhythm, how its value sways with the earth’s own mood. The exchange was patient: a price offered, then a counter, then a pause to let the geode’s glow settle and the sigils settle into memory. It felt right, as if the bow had chosen a buyer as much as the buyer chose it, a quiet agreement that this was the weapon for a lifetime of quiet storms and loud charges alike.