Berserker's Short Bow

Berserker's Short Bow rests on the workbench, a lithe instrument of wood and steel. The stave is carved from storm-dark yew, its grain curling like water‑drawn maps, polished to a glassy sheen that catches the flame’s reflection. The grip is wrapped in weather-worn leather, stitched with copper thread that has darkened to a soft patina. Small brass fittings run along the limbs, etched with a single looping rune that glints when light catches it. The string is taut and pale as an idle moon, the bow limbs bending into a clean, aggressive arc. On the underside there’s a notch of carved bone, a quiet detail that hints at a hunter’s lineage. When sheathed, the bow carries a faint scent of pine and iron, as if winters have kissed its edges and left a cold whisper behind. Lore whispers that this weapon was tempered by a berserker wardsmith who roamed frost-swept valleys, binding a hunter’s ferocity into the wood and giving the bow its uncanny balance. The runes are not mere decoration; they tell of a vow to strike swiftly, to give no quarter, and to return with stories rather than scars. To those who know the old stories, the Berserker’s Short Bow feels almost alive, the grain humming with a memory of first storms and first kills. In play, it’s the weapon of choice for a hunter who stalks the edge of a skirmish, trading distance for speed and precision. A long, patient pull yields a clean, true shot, while the shorter draw makes it snap to attention in close quarters, letting a wary archer volley before the enemy can blink. Its balance invites rapid sighting of targets, and the copper thread on the grip reflects a glint of intent—a cue to allies that a shot is coming, sharp as a whisper. The bow’s power lies not in brute force but in timing: a well-placed strike can turn the tide as surely as any heavy hammer, especially when paired with a supporting ally who can set up openings or shield a retreat. Market days bring a different kind of history. Traders gather beneath canvas awnings, and the Saddlebag Exchange hums with barter and rumor. A seasoned buyer might haggle over the Berserker’s Short Bow, testing grip and string, weighing the balance of its form against the stories etched into its bones. The price drifts with the caravan’s mood, sometimes measured in gold, sometimes settled in traded artifacts, always anchored by the bow’s promise: that a single shot, fired at the right moment, can turn a caravan’s luck and re-write a battlefield’s memory. Some nights, the item returns to the storyteller's fire not as weapon but as memory. Hunters speak of its quiet support in the woods, when a breath between trees becomes a chance for life spared or claimed. In those moments, the Berserker’s Short Bow stops being metal and wood and becomes a pledge whispered from one hunter to the next, a bond that travels beyond markets today.