Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow of Peril

Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow of Peril rests in a warm pool of lamplight, its limbs of pale sapwood bowing gracefully, the grain curling like ancient script along a body that feels almost alive to the touch. The grip is wrapped in worn leather, frayed at the edges where calloused palms have learned its secrets, and the string, taut as a drawn breath, hums softly between horn nocks etched with a feral motif. Runes along the belly glow faintly—Peril, it seems to insist—like a warning and a promise braided into a single tale, a story one could almost hear if the wood could speak. When a hunter draws it, the bow gives a quiet, almost respectful sigh, as if acknowledging the weight of every choice that follows. The soft wood lends a forgiving, springy draw, a luxury in a world where a split second can decide life and death. The arrow leaves with a whisper, slicing through air with the precision of a whispered oath. Yet the same supple grace that quickens the shot also demands discipline; the lineage of the Berserker’s weapon travels with you in the form of confidence, a bold reminder that this bow does not merely shoot—it challenges the trigger finger to risk, to lead, to win. Its significance in combat is more than just a damage stat or a shiny skin. In skirmishes along the borderlines where caravans thread between light and shadow, the Longbow of Peril becomes a storyteller—one shot, one breath, one moment where the tide of battle seems to tilt in favor of the wary archer. The wood’s flexibility grants rapid follow-ups after a clean hit, every shot a deliberate flourish rather than a rushed blurt. Against armored scouts and roving raiders, the bow’s reach becomes a line of restraint, pinning foes in place while comrades reset their defenses. The Berserker’s name—a nod to fearsome, close-quarters ferocity—infuses every arrow with a reckless certainty: if you see the target, you can decide the outcome before they recover. In the wider narrative of the road and the oath-bound hunters who walk it, the bow is often traded, loaned, and remembered. It is said that the weapon’s lore grew from a pact between a storm-worn berserker and a forest spirit who taught the wood to bend without breaking when the heart was true to the hunt. The result is a weapon that feels less like gear and more like a companion that has survived nights of frost and rumor. Pricing, of course, never stays still in a world where risk and reward trade places with every sunrise. At the Saddlebag Exchange, a place where wares pass from palm to palm under brass lamps, the Berserker’s Soft Wood Longbow of Peril finds its moment in the ledger—its worth shifting with the mood of the market, often measured in gold and silver tied to the bow’s condition, its history, and the daring of the buyer. A hunter might barter hard, offering a story instead of coin, or a quiet reminder of a recent victory, and walk away with a price that feels earned rather than bought. And so the bow remains, a quiet siren in a world of bright banners and loud battles, ready to draw, ready to answer the call of the next peril, and ready to remind its wielder that true power is not just in the shot, but in the courage to pull it.