Strong Longbow

Strong Longbow rests on a weathered peg by the door, its body a warp of rosewood with a subtle red-gold sheen where the varnish has worn thin. The limbs are slender but unyielding, carved with a running deer that seems to leap in the light, and the grip is wrapped in leather scarred by rain and years of steady hands. The string remains taut as it should, smelling faintly of sap and oiled leather. In its heartwood there is a rumor of a forest spirit guiding the shot, and old-timers swear the bow was forged by a master bowyer who bargained with the Sylvan Court for a tool that would listen to wind and wait for the right moment. Its finish is not flashy, but its lines speak of quiet confidence, a weapon meant to be drawn in the hush before battle rather than shouted about in the marketplace. In play, the Strong Longbow becomes a patient companion. It favors those who learn to read the wind and the terrain rather than those who rush to the front line. A longer draw gives a more telling arc to the arrow, a cleaner strike on distant targets, and a rhythm that can outpace chaos when enemies spill from the brush. A ranger can pace a patrol along riverbank cliffs, pop a shot to pin a skirmisher behind a boulder, then melt back into cover before the next alarm rings. Its arrows feel like whispers—the kind that finds a seam in armor, a pulse in a distracted foe, and leaves a trail that marks the hunter’s path for miles. The bow’s lore threads through the world: caravans tell stories of harvest festivals where a guardian kept watch with this very longbow across their shoulders, and a hunter once used it to honor a fallen ally by guiding a shot into a darkened tree hollow where a spirit was whispered to sleep. If you watch its draw closely, you can feel the bow's heartbeat syncing with your breathing, a patient partner in the hunt. Some elders claim it carries the memory of the first wooden longbows used by frontier trackers, a little legend you can hear in the creak of the grip. Market days bring its own pulse. Traders in the caravan circle speak in low, even tones, and the Saddlebag Exchange becomes the stage where pride and practicality meet. A clean, used Strong Longbow might fetch two to three silver, depending on the grain, the finish, and whether the sinew still holds a true rhythm. Some buyers offer leather pouches, a map sketched on oiled parchment, or a handful of practice arrows in exchange. The point is never simply utility; the value is braided with memory—the hunter who carried it through a season, the daylight they saved, the quiet pride of a shot well placed. Prices vary with season and supply, and at the Saddlebag Exchange you can watch traders bargain with stories as much as silver. When the sun sinks behind the pines and the embers of the campfire glow, the Strong Longbow remains where it was hung—a link between wood and wind, a dependable partner in the stories that trudge along the trails of the world.