Malign Steam Short Bow of Force

Malign Steam Short Bow of Force gleams with a lacquered ebony grip, its limbs forged from steam-warped hardwood and riveted with brass that catches the lamp-light like mislaid coins. Along the belly run copper channels whose breath hisses softly when the bow is flexed, as if a small engine still lives inside. A cluster of gears sits near the grip, half-hidden beneath leather that smells of rain and oil. The string sits taut and hopeful, and a faint violet plume threads from a vent near the top stave, curling upward as if to murmur a warning. The runes carved into the wood resemble a clockwork tongue, and the label—Malign Steam Short Bow of Force—shimmers a little in the lamp glow. The texture is a map of contrasts: slick oil in some places, rough wood in others, and a lacquer that holds against rain and ruin. It feels alive, as if it remembers the hands that last held it and the storms it survived. In the field, the bow is a patient envoy of wind and pressure. Rangers learn to ride its balance, drawing the string to borrow a notch of force from the air. An arrow snaps forward with the rhythm of a ticking piston, shoving foes off balance, tearing open a flank, or driving them into the brims of a trap. The scent of steam lingers after each shot, like a memory of the forge. Some say the weapon is bound to an old engineer’s oath: a vow that the bow will never forget a master’s voice, and that it grows truer when the world tightens its grip in siege. At the Saddlebag Exchange, the saying goes that iron and wind meet at a fair price. A broker named Mira weighs the bow in the palm and speaks softly of its temper—how it likes tight spaces and quick hands, how its force works best when a hunter reads the terrain rather than the map. The price drifts with the market tide, but most days settle around a gold-sized sum that speaks to risk and rarity. The buyer learns to listen to Mira’s stories, because each tale adds weight to the bow’s next voyage, and the bow, in turn, carries the buyer’s own story to distant roads and crowded gates. Thus the Malign Steam Short Bow of Force remains more than a weapon: a rolling rumor in steam-gray morning markets, a companion to those who press forward, a reminder that even steel and string can carry a larger narrative than their maker ever imagined. Its legend continues to grow in taverns and field camps, whispered to hopeful recruits and seasoned scouts who swear the bow speaks to them when the night is still, urging them toward the next horizon and the next test of nerve.