Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow of Hobbling

Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow of Hobbling rests in the palm like a slatted flame, its limbs curved and pale, the grip wrapped in worn leather that smells faintly of rain and pine. The wood bears a fine, satin sheen, as if the sun itself had pressed into the grain, with subtle streaks of amber that catch the light whenever the bow is drawn. The string is a thin, prepared thread of sinew, tight but yielding, and the notch ends are carved with spiraling runes that hint at a pact between hunter and storm. On the belly, a shallow rivet pattern holds the limbs together, and the decal on the riser—a snarling berserker’s crest—speaks of a lineage of fearsome skirmishers who trusted speed over heavy charge. The finish is lacquered in a muted bronze-green that ages to match the hunter’s weathered gloves, and the wood’s softness makes it feel almost alive, as if you could coax a whisper of wind from its heart if you coaxed it enough. Lore whispers that this bow was crafted by a circle of woodwrights who followed a berserker code, one that valued instinct over planning and reverence for the forest’s most forgiving timber. Soft wood, they claimed, bends without snapping, and in the hands of a true hunter it can sing out a shot before the target even knows what is coming. The Hobbling enchantment—faint at first, like a breath against skin—was said to slow the feet of those who ran beneath its arrows, a cruel mercy that kept pursuers from catching the ones who fled through thorn and shadow. In camps and caravans, storytellers link the bow to a hunter who refused to waste a single moment, trading a heavy shot for a swift, gliding arc that leaves enemies stumbling in a half-remembered stumble. In gameplay terms, the Berserker’s Soft Wood Longbow of Hobbling feels like a whisper in a war. Its low-rot weight keeps cadence steady, allowing a hunter to pepper a line of skirmishers with rapid, precise shots while the Hobbling blessing threads its way into the enemy ranks, slow and uncertain as their feet snag on loose gravel. Engage with care: when crits land in the right rhythm, the arc becomes more than mere damage; it becomes misdirection, a pause in which allies surge forward. The bow’s hallmark is momentum—fast follow-ups, clean kills, and a reputation among rangers that a single good shot can tilt a skirmish toward dawn. Market chatter echoes through the lanes when the bow appears on a stall rung by the Saddlebag Exchange. Bidders circle, haggling with coins that glimmer like chill water, offering a range of silver and gold that shifts with demand and the enchantments attached to the wood. A traveler once traded a bundle of leather, with promises of future hunts, for the bow and a nod from a dealer who knew the song of the trees. It’s not merely a weapon, a pocket of the wild, a ledger in a larger pursuit.