Cleric's Soft Wood Longbow of Venom

Cleric's Soft Wood Longbow of Venom rests in my hands, its limbs evoking a quiet dusk in a temple grove. The wood is soft to the touch, a pale, honeyed grain that seems almost alive under lantern light, as if the tree itself exhaled when the bow was carved. The grip wears the patina of long use, wrapped in a braided leather that fits the palm like a well-loved chapter of a sacred text. On the belly, fine runes loop along the stave in a leaf-lace pattern, a reminder that this weapon once stood at the threshold between mercy and violence. The string is taut and singing, a hair-thin line of intention that whispers when you nock an arrow. And then there is the venom—subtle, emerald-hued sheens crawling along the limbs, a quiet gleam that hints at danger without shouting it. Lore has it that this bow was forged in the shadow of a shrine where healing rites and old rites of vanquishing were braided together. The clerics who tended the grove believed venom could loosen the grip of a tyrant without ending a life full of potential for redemption. So the weapon carries a paradox: a tool of mercy wrapped in a hunter’s craft. When you draw it, the venom motif seems to pulse like a heartbeat—an aesthetic echo of the dual vocation these woodsman-priests once embodied. Some claim the soft timber came from trees tended by lantern-lit priests who prayed for steady hands, for patience in the face of creeping threats. If you listen closely, you can almost hear a distant sermon in the creak of the limbs as you shoulder the bow. In actual play, the Cleric's Soft Wood Longbow of Venom functions as more than a pretty relic. It is a weapon of calculated patience, ideal for controlling the pace of a skirmish. Its venom-infused arrows apply poison that lingers on your foe, letting you weave a chain of conditions that wears down even the toughest frontline, while your allies set up a chorus of curses and heals. Using it feels like guiding a whispered prayer into a noisy battlefield: you strike from cover, press the enemy into a corner, and let the poison do the work as you keep your stance steady and your aim true. It rewards positioning, timing, and restraint—the hallmarks of a cleric-archer who treats every shot as a careful blessing and every chase as a moment to rewrite a story with a cleaner end. The market remembers its rarity, and that memory travels with traders who barter for it in the bustle of the city’s docks. Saddlebag Exchange is the name that winds through the chatter when folks discuss price—words traded like coins, where buyers haggle over the bow’s worth, and sellers weigh the charm of its lore against the blunt arithmetic of gold. Prices drift with demand, sometimes steadier in the day, sometimes soaring when whispers of a hunt or a raid ride the wind. A traveler might tell you the bow sits in a mid-to-upper tier, a treasure for a hunter who respects the delicate balance between harm and mercy. So the Cleric's Soft Wood Longbow of Venom endures, not merely as a weapon but as a narrative—a hinge where faith, forest, and fieldwork meet. It is a story you can draw, an oath you can release with the perfect cadence of a long, careful shot.