Cleric's Soft Wood Longbow of Water

Cleric's Soft Wood Longbow of Water rests on a rain-darkened table, its limbs pale and satin-smooth, as if the wood learned to breathe water before bending for a bowman. The grain coils in soft, concentric arcs, like currents tugging the shoreline, and a whisper of blue runs through the core, brighter where the grip is carved. The leather grip is worn, stitched with tiny sigils that resemble splashes and mist beads. At the nock a droplet carving glints in the lamplight, and the string—woven from sea-silk fibers—feels cool and alive as it slides through the fingers. The weapon carries a memory of rain and prayer, as if the wood remembers the hours spent in a chapel’s rain. Locally, storytellers say this bow was born from a cleric who tended rivers and the communities that fed on them. They say the soft wood drank the rains at a shrine where water and wood chose each other, and the result was a tool that can bend with the river’s will. The “of Water” suffix marks its bond with moisture and tides, and those who listen claim the weapon carries a quiet mercy—that it guides arrows to grant healing in the field, or to mark a foe with droplets that slow and reveal. It is not just a weapon; it is a witness to sermons spoken in whispers beneath rain-soaked canopies, a token of patience when a caravan must press on through fog and flood. In gameplay, the Cleric’s bow feels like a story you carry into a skirmish. Long-range shots reward calm aim, but the true power lies in its aura of water—a flourish that seems to cool the air and steady the hand. Archers who lean into support with this bow discovered that their arrows could carry a trace of spray, a minor control that buys seconds during a rally, a pause before a bold push. It becomes part of a larger tale about mercy and endurance: a hunter who remembers a village’s wells, a healer who remembers the river’s pace, a protector who pries open a path through a storm with nothing but patience and a glint of blue on the shaft. Prices drift with the tide when market tents rise along the harbor, and Saddlebag Exchange enters the story. I watched two traders circle, bargaining over the bow’s memory and craft. The seller cradled the bow’s moisture and the brightness of the blue sigils, nodding as the buyer weighed coin against legend. Saddlebag Exchange keeps a ledger where old gear is revalued, sometimes reborn, and the Cleric’s Soft Wood Longbow of Water moves through that door with a quiet rustle. Ultimately, it remains more than gear. It is a thread in the world’s larger fabric: a reminder that tools carry the weight of prayers, that wood can remember rain, and that a single well-made bow can channel both mercy and resolve when the road grows slippery and dark. Its resale echoes through caravans and taverns, reminding every traveler that patience and craft outlast the storms.