Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow of Serpent Slaying

Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow of Serpent Slaying gleams in the early light, a pale-hued arc of tempered wood with a grain as tight as a drumbeat. Its limbs cradle a quiet strength, smooth to the touch, the surface lacquered to a satin gloss that catches the shopfront glow and mirrors it back in a patient, almost listening way. The grip is wrapped in worn, dark leather that smells faintly of smoke and pine resin, comfortable enough to tempt a hesitant hand into snug certainty. Along the riser, runes are burned with careful contrast, a serpent curling its spine into a name—Serpent Slaying—while the name Berserker’s glints at the base, as if to remind any observer that fury can be harnessed as finely as a bowstring. The string itself is a pale, taut thread of sinew, singing when drawn, a note that tightens the air like a held breath. The bow’s lore is threaded through with quiet legends. Some say it was forged by a berserker chieftain who rode the marsh winds and learned to read the patterns of venomous coils as one reads a map. Others whisper that a hunter-queen blessed the wood after a great serpent swarm was driven back from a village, gifting the weapon with a swift, merciless grace against serpents. The Soft Wood, delicate to look at yet unyielding in its fibers, seems to drink in the damp air of the lowlands and return it with a crack of wind and a flash of quiet resolve. When the target is a slithering threat, the bow’s lineage feels almost perceptible—a patient, serpentine patience that makes a hunter trust the quiet between breath and arrow. In the field, the Berserker’s axe-keen edge of its history translates into hard, clean hits, and its performance feels inseparable from how you move through a world built on peril and opportunity. The draw is smooth enough that you scarcely notice it until the rhythm of the shot begins, and the arrow leaps forth with a sharp, piercing bite. The Serpent Slaying designation isn’t mere flourish: it translates into tangible gains when your quarry wears scales and fangs—bonus damage, a hint of extra precision, a focus that tightens when serpents slither into view. It’s a weapon that rewards a measured hand, not just a blazing charge; it invites a hunter to anticipate, to time shots between the curl of a creature’s strike and the telltale shimmer of its scale. The market is a living, shifting river, and Saddlebag Exchange is its busy current. I watched a trader unveil this bow beneath a canopy of drying hides, the crowd murmuring as he laid coins on the counter with that practiced air of one who has seen every price in every season. The tag read in neat script, gold-on-leaf, a price that turned heads and drew in a few hopeful hands. It wasn’t a steal, but it wasn’t an absence of value either—the kind of gear that endures, that carries a lineage, that feels priced not only in gold but in stories. Saddlebag Exchange, with its ledger of bargains and bartering, made it feel accessible to a determined hunter who believed a weapon’s worth is measured as much in memory as in damage. Holding it, you sense the world steady around you—the soft wood breathing with the pulse of old hunts, the serpent whispers tucked away in the grain, ready to unfurl when the moment calls. It’s not just a tool of war or a trophy: it’s a conduit for a very human impulse—to face danger with quiet craft and to let a weapon’s history steer your own.