Cleric's Soft Wood Longbow of Accuracy

Cleric's Soft Wood Longbow of Accuracy gleams under the lamplight, its pale sapwood arched with a quiet, confident intention. The limbs feel almost warm to the touch, as though the wood remembers long journeys and patient wind. The grip is wrapped in well-oiled leather that has darkened to a soft honey, fitting the hand like a familiar tool rather than a novelty. Along the riser, runes pulse faintly—a delicate scrollwork of vines and a small dove in flight—threads of silver resin catching the light as if the bow itself is listening for whispered prayers. The string, taut and slender, bears the scent of resin and rain, and when it’s drawn, there’s a subtle ring, not loud but clear, as if the wood approves the archer’s aim. Lore, in this case, lends a steady hand to the practical. It is said the Cleric’s Soft Wood Longbow of Accuracy was born in a monastery workshop where clerics learned to blend reverence with utility. The soft wood—chosen for its resilience and forgiving recoil—was treated with oils steeped in herbals and blessing, so that every arrow loosed might carry not just force but intention. The bow’s carvings tell of a covenant between hunter and healer: the vine suggests growth and patience, the dove a message of peace, the scroll hinting at memory. To shoulder it is to feel guardianship in the bones, as if the instrument has walked beside healers through villages scorched by summer heat and winter prayers. In the field, the bow earns its keep in quiet, consequential ways. Its accuracy enchantment—tied to the very fiber of its design—lends a measured steadiness to the shot, a tempo in which every arrow seems to know its path before it leaves the string. For a marksman who keeps one eye on the frontline and the other on the wounded, the weapon becomes more than metal and wood; it’s a companion who speaks softly when danger roars. Against ambush and skirmish, it allows a retreating warder to buy space for a retreating priest, or a guardian to cover a healer’s stance with a precise breath of wind-touched arrow. Even in the thick of a chaotic fight, the bow holds a rhythm: a measured pull, a calm aim, a clean release, and the next arrow ready as if it never paused. Prices drift through the market like a rumor you can almost hear in the air, and it’s often in the bustling aisles of Saddlebag Exchange that a balance is struck. A trader might speak of it like a relic—worth more than a common longbow, yet not so rare as to be untouchable—and a buyer smiles, weighing it against a small stack of gold and a few salvaged trinkets. The exchange feels like a small council of travelers, with stories of relics passed from cloister to campfire, all negotiating the same ache: how to keep a piece of mercy in the hands that must face the world’s harsher truths. So the Cleric's Soft Wood Longbow of Accuracy travels on, wrapped in whispers and wind. It is a tool, yes, but also a witness—proof that grace can be practical, that a single well-aimed arrow can carry a village’s hope as surely as any sermon. In a world where mercy and necessity collide, the bow remains a quiet oath, waiting for the hand that knows its weight and the heart that trusts its aim.