Rampager's Soft Wood Longbow of Agony

Rampager's Soft Wood Longbow of Agony gleams under the lamplight, its bow stave carved from pale softwood, sanded to a whisper, with faint rings like ancient wind-strokes. The limbs bend gracefully, a sinewed arc, lacquered in a dull amber that catches firelight. The grip is wrapped in worn leather strips, threadbare but smelling of rain and campfire; the stitching forms a rough circle that fits a palm as if it belonged there. The string is a taut thread of thrice-twined sinew, faintly creaking when drawn. On the riser a sigil is burned: a coiled serpent around a horned skiff, whispers of the long-vanished woods where the bow was born. The runes speak in quiet commands: Power, Precision, Ferocity; each etched to glow faintly when the bow hums in the hand. Legends say it was forged where the river meets the forest, fed by sap and secrets, and later tempered by a ranger who learned to let agony guide the aim rather than the heart. In the field, its softness belies the truth: the soft wood smooths the arc, reduces shock through the limbs, and makes a shot feel almost like a whispered warning. A hunter can draw it back with the quiet confidence of a promises kept, and the arrow slices through the air, leaving a telltale wake of magic that only the seasoned observer can read. In play it is a weapon of patient calculation. The Rampager’s set—Power to strike with raw force, Precision to kiss the odds, Ferocity to amplify the strike when the moment is ripe—gathers like weather before a storm. A Ranger with this bow does not rush; they compose their offense, drawing lines of tempo, letting enemies walk into the pattern of the next shot. The Soft Wood Longbow carries more than damage: it channels momentum, lets a spear of energy ripple through a crowd, and when the target falters, an expert shot can topple a shield wall with a single, precise breath. Prices drift in the market as markets do in real wind: a rumor of a rare quiver sent across the Saddlebag Exchange, a handful of copper chasing the glow of its promise. I watched a hunter haggle, listening to the clink of coins, the soft thud of leather, and the measured sigh of a trade completed. The bow found its new home with a keeper who believes every scar on the wood holds a tale—of missteps avoided, of a long night ended with a clean, quiet arrow to the heart of fear. And so the Rampager's Soft Wood Longbow of Agony becomes more than a tool; it is a narrative, a companion in the woods and a reminder that power, precision, and ferocity can be tempered into something almost humane—until the next shot is drawn. The day I walked away, the bow hung steady at my side, a quiet witness to every hunt I had witnessed since the first dawn. It asked for patience, not noise, and rewarded the patient with truth. At last.