Ravaging Steam Short Bow of Serpent Slaying

Ravaging Steam Short Bow of Serpent Slaying glints with a copper sheen, its slender limbs curved like a blade, a braided steam-pipe tracing the spine. Nail-head rivets mark every joint; the grip is wrapped in dark hide smelling of oil and rain. Along the belly run serpentine engravings, fish-scale patterns catching light as if the bow itself might awaken. When drawn, it exhales a soft hiss, a reminder that wood and steam fuse in stubborn harmony. A glass vial sits in a carved recess near the grip, filled with pale resin that gleams green—said to dull venom’s bite before release. Forged in a foundry beneath a ruined caravanserai by engineers who listened to the river’s hiss, the weapon carries the memory of serpent-hunters who walked marsh and canyon. The Serpent Slayers of old carved such bows into legend, promising that every slain serpent would travel as a tale to the next village, whispered under lantern light. In battle, the Ravaging Steam Short Bow turns careful aim into a chorus of precision: steam-blast arrows bite through scale with a sizzle, and a well-timed crit sends a scorching arc that seems to draw heat from the air. Against serpents, patience is rewarded—green glints on the string signal a moment to strike, and a shot that bites and boils in a single breath is never far behind. On the road, the bow feels less like a weapon and more like a companion in a longer, winding story. Its tremor-laden hiss seems to pull light from the world, guiding arrows to pierce tough hides and leave a brief plume of steam on impact, followed by a sting that slows, if only for a breath. The lore threads through every encounter, as if the weapon remembers every bridge crossed and every ambush by venom-stricken sentinels. Market chatter often centers on value, because a rare bow travels with equal parts rumor and weight. Saddlebag Exchange holds its price in the daylight and the dust—about 2 gold and 38 silver, give or take a copper at dawn's first light—enough to tilt a hunter’s balance between bread and bowstring. I watched a trader lay it out—a jade serpent charm traded for the Ravaging Steam Short Bow, a sealed vial of resin, and a nod that settled the matter. Prices rise when serpent sightings bloom along caravan routes and fall when marsh quiets, yet the bow’s tale travels beyond its owner’s feet. Its presence in the world is more than a stat line; it marks a hunter who reads the marsh’s moods—the rise of mists, the shimmer of scales, the hiss when a shot leaves the string. In tavern talk, veterans recall nights when heat from the bow flared just enough to scatter a pack of serpents, and caravans honored the gear that kept them alive. From vendor stalls to field camps, the Ravaging Steam Short Bow travels with stories, a reminder that warmth, steel, and serpents share the road and never travel together. Its legend grows with hunts.