Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow of Life

Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow of Life rests on a rough-hewn table beside the firelight, its limbs pale as cream and polished to a quiet gleam. The wood is soft to the touch, springy under the fingers, as if the tree remembered every season of growth and chose to forgive the years of weathering. The grip is wrapped in worn leather, dyed the color of dried pine needles, and along the belly runes glow faintly, moss-green and patient, waking only when the bow is drawn. The string is braided from horsehair and fiber, taut and singing with the promise of movement. Leaf motifs coil around the belly in a gentle spiral, and at the tips the wood thins to a whisper, as if the bow is always listening for a whispered order to strike. Legends say it was hewn for a berserker who learned to ride the line between frenzy and forest, who found peace with the bow by partnering with a living grove. The Life enchantment is more than a spark; it is a story in wood, a pact with something patient and green. When the bow finds a target, a thread of vitality travels along the shaft; the arrows bloom with a pale green light, and in small, quiet moments the wielder feels steadier, as if the weapon lends the heart a second breath. Gameplay uses it doesn’t simply punch through armor; it knits the fight together. A well-timed shot heals the user or an ally for a breath, the green aura lingering like dew on leaves. It rewards precision and timing, offering modest lifeforce to keep marching through skirmishes and ambushes. For scouts and keepers of caravans, the bow is a companion that turns distance into safety, and its arrows seem to know when a wound needs tending as much as when a foe needs breaking. Story: I remember a night where a convoy crossed a collapsing pass. The rider's bow sang; the berserker's longbow's lifeflow found wounded at the edge of the fire, and with each hit, the injured found relief enough to ride again. The attackers faltered, and the caravan pushed on, steadied by the quiet green glow that followed every shot. Saddlebag Exchange: Later, in the bustle of a crowded market, I found the Berserker's Soft Wood Longbow of Life displayed among other hunting gear. A clerk with bright eyes spoke of its price the way a poet speaks of a sunset—carefully, with reverence. The tag hinted at a fair, not extravagant, sum, enough to make a serious hunter smile, and I watched as another buyer bartered with stories, not coins alone. We settled on a price that balanced risk and respect, and the bow slipped into a leather sleeve, ready to sling across a saddle for the road ahead. Its life, once released, becomes part of the landscape—heard in the creak of branches, seen in the glances of riders who count themselves lucky to witness such a weapon's mercy. Its story moves, and true.