Berserker's Longbow

Berserker's Longbow rests on the counter, a creature of wood and weather, its limbs curved like a crescent carved from storm-kissed ash. The grip is wrapped in aged leather that smells faintly of pine smoke and rain, and a thin line of brass runs along the riser, catching light as if it remembers every shot it ever took. The bowstring is taut with a whisper of sinew, glinting in the shop lamp, while runic sigils—feral owls and roaring mouths—are etched along the belly in gold that has begun to mellow with time. At the tips, a small crest shaped like a hunting horn seems to tremble when you tilt it, as though it might breathe out a gust of wind and arrowflight in equal measure. It’s the sort of weapon that looks as if it could tell a story if you listened closely enough: a history of hunts, of fealty to the wild, of battles fought with a bow more than with a blade. The name isn’t merely a label. In the old stories whispered in taverns, Berserker’s Longbow is said to have been forged to echo the pulse of a berserker’s rage—the moment when fear slides away and only the next shot remains. When you lift it, that legend thickens around your shoulders: a sense that your aim has already traveled the distance between intention and consequence, that your feet carry you not toward safety but toward the edge where risk becomes reward. In practice, its presence on a ranger’s back is less about the flash of glittering crits and more about the inevitability of a well-timed strike. It rewards assertive play—the kind of hunter who doesn’t wait for opportunities but composes them with each breath, each pull of the string. The longer reach lets you orchestrate engagements from a safer distance, while the bow’s inherent ferocity translates into rapid, punishing bursts when the moment is right. It’s a weapon for the patient who also knows how to seize the moment, a tool that makes the hunter’s patience feel like a weapon’s advantage. Cast into the larger world of the markets and the markets’ songs, the Berserker’s Longbow also carries a practical weight. I found its value not only in the shine of its craftsmanship but in what it enables a hunter to do in the wilds and in the market days afterward. When it came time to price the bow, I wandered into the bustle of Saddlebag Exchange, where traders lay out wares like a map of someone else’s life. There, a bow like this sits among haggling voices and coin clinks, price-tagged with the care of a seasoned hand. The stall-rack quivered with offers, the talk weaving between stories of recent victories and near-misses, and the final tag settled somewhere around a tidy handful of gold—a figure that spoke to both its allure and its risk. If you can pull that price from a willing friend, you’re not just buying a weapon; you’re inviting a companion for the road, a partner in the moment when the world opens up and the next call to action arrives on the wind.