Cleric's Soft Wood Longbow of the Geomancer

Cleric's Soft Wood Longbow of the Geomancer glows with a warm, amber light, its pale limbs bending like a quiet sigh in the sun. The wood is soft to the thumb, the grain running in smooth, deliberate arcs that feel almost like a map pressed into daylight. The grip is wrapped in a worn leather that smells faintly of rain and pine resin, a texture you want to hold before you even remember why you're holding anything at all. Copper sigils coil along the upper limb in tight, geometric spirals, catching the light with a patient shimmer, while a small geode inlay nestles where the string anchors, glinting with a quiet, mineral heartbeat. When you lift it, the bow seems to listen, the wood and stone and earth exchanging a slow, approving tremor as if agreeing on a course of action before you even draw. Lore threads pull tight around its form, as if the timber itself carried stories of a forgotten order. The clerics who kept this bow spoke of geomancers who learned to coax stone and soil to yield without violence, to read the living ground like a supplier of whispers. They believed the bow could translate the world’s solid secrets into arrows that sing not merely through air, but through earth—inside the target, along the ground, into the very root systems that anchor a battlefield. So the Cleric's Soft Wood Longbow of the Geomancer isn’t just a weapon; it’s a conduit, a patient companion that teaches the shooter to exploit terrain as a partner, not a prop. In practice, the bow feels like a conversation with the landscape. Arrows shot from it carry an earthy resonance, as if the ground itself lends a fraction of its weight to the flight. A well-timed shot can crack a shell of dust into a stinging spray, or send a thread of roots curling outward beneath an opponent’s feet, slowing their advance and forcing a change of angle. The longer you spend in its line of sight, the more you notice the subtle interplay between aim and terrain—the way a slight tilt of the ground might guide an arrow toward a rocky outcrop that creates cover for an ally, or how a tremor in the soil can interrupt a charging foe just long enough for a follow-up strike. It rewards patience, precision, and a mind that listens for the ground’s murmurs as much as the target’s heartbeat. The bow’s mark in the wider world is quiet but enduring. It speaks to a culture that valued balance between wood, stone, and sky, a philosophy actioned through a ranger’s instinct and a cleric’s discipline. Adventurers tell stories of ancient quarrels settled not by sheer force but by finding the right angle where earth and weapon become one. In taverns and camps, the bow is whispered about as a rare bridge between two domains—fabric and field, prayer and practice—a reminder that sometimes the strongest power is the one that lets the earth do a little talking. Pricing, too, becomes part of the tale. At Saddlebag Exchange, where traders swap goods among carts and crates, the cleric’s bow is a coveted prize—but not an ostentatious one. A veteran dealer might offer eight silver, perhaps a handful of copper more if the crowd has just rattled the lanterns with a brisk morning trade. The price is a signal of respect for its lineage and the quiet strength it affords to those who understand its language. So the Cleric's Soft Wood Longbow of the Geomancer remains more than a weapon—it is a partner in the slowly turning wheel of earth and craft, a story you carry as much as you bear the arrow.