Cleric's Soft Wood Longbow of Bloodlust

Cleric's Soft Wood Longbow of Bloodlust rests on a linen cloth, its limbs pale as dawn ash, carved from soft wood with a warm grain that remembers the forest. Copper inlays coil along the riser, and the grip is wrapped in weathered leather. Runic marks run from limb to limb—one mercy-seal on the left, a blade-like sigil on the right—and at the center the heart-shaped motif glows when drawn. The string carries a resinous scent, and the sigil pulses crimson as the bow wakes. This bow’s tale begins with a vow, not simply a label. Forged by healers who walked the line between mercy and vengeful courage, it bound a shard of an ancient blood-crystal to the wood’s heart. Bloodlust does not tempt every archer; it tests a conscience. When the wielder acts with restraint, the life stolen from felled foes returns as warmth, steadying the chest in battle. If cruelty speaks louder than restraint, the glow flares and the weapon tests the will with each release. In practice, the weapon is a narrative engine as much as tool. Arrows whistle softly and strike with a trace of life drawn from the target, returning it to the bearer as a healing pulse. It rewards patience and discipline: stand firm in the storm, let Bloodlust feed only on just wounds, and the wielder grows steadier, more resilient. It shines in skirmishes where a healer can balance the energy it draws with mindful use, or in frontier towns where a single precise shot can change the tide without wider harm. The weapon’s footprint extends beyond the battlefield; it’s a market rumor, a tavern tale, a legend that travels with caravans. Vendors speak of it in hushed tones, recalling how it guarded a cliffside town during a plague or marauder raid, and how the town’s prayers followed the arrow’s flight. It has a rightful place in debates about mercy and power, and in the belt of every sellsword who believes memory endures in weapons. Saddlebag Exchange is the setting where memories exchange hands. A clerk weighs its worth and marks a price around two gold, with room to rise or fall with the market’s breath. The tag shifts with rumors, raids, and the appetite for a weapon that can heal as surely as it wounds. The story continues every time someone draws the bow, every time a life is saved or lost by the balance it keeps. Those who carry it learn to read the bow’s moods as they would a companion. An evening drill becomes ritual: test the draw, listen for a sigh in the wood, watch the heart glow brighten as restraint is chosen. The Bloodlust energy sharpens certain shots—armor-piercing and armor-breaking—but it must be earned, not coerced. In towns under threat, an archer with this bow moves with a healer at end of spear and shield. The life drawn from foes returns to the wounded, a careful counterweight that keeps a column from breaking. Market rumor holds that its owner’s calm hands are sometimes worth more than its price. Cleric's Soft Wood Longbow of Bloodlust endures as a relic of mercy tempered with hunger, a weapon that speaks softly and then, when the moment calls, burns bright enough to guide a village through the dark.