Carrion Steam Short Bow of Bloodlust

The Carrion Steam Short Bow of Bloodlust rests on the desk like a relic salvaged from a siege wagon, its limbs lacquered ash that catches the light and seems to hold a rumor of frost. The grip is wrapped in worn leather, the texture grainy and warm to the touch, as if the wood remembers every mile traveled and every whispered bargain spoken in rain. Brass fittings coil along the belly, etched with a skeletal crow looping in flight, and vents near the nocks hiss softly, the weapon exhaling a faint reminder that it breathes with the world’s violence. The string is taut and pale, a nerve of iron ready to snap a foe from a distance or whisk a hunter into silence, and there’s a weight to it, the kind that speaks of decisions made in the moment between breath and flare. Lore has it this bow was born where carrion-fed iron meets ember-warm greed, in a ruin-smoked forge that traded heat for patience. An old forger bound a steam-driven mechanism to a supple sinew, then lent the creation to a hunter who fed it with the breath of battle. The Bloodlust rune—carved in copper and bone and threaded through the grip—drinks the heat of conflict and answers with a sharper sting whenever the bow finds its mark. In the field the weapon becomes less a thing you wield and more a companion, humming with predatory inevitability, a partner that seems to anticipate your next move as surely as the wind follows smoke. In practice, the Carrion Steam Short Bow of Bloodlust favors the ambusher who moves with the patience of a hunter. A well-timed volley can peel away the front rank, setting up a follow-up strike that sweeps through crowd control with cruel economy. When you time shots to exploit openings, the bow feels less like a tool and more like a companion in a chase, trading distance for leverage and turning a narrow corridor into a stage where you decide who breathes last. You can tag enemies with rapid arrows that layer on conditions and pierce armor, then slip behind cover as the steam vents hiss again, a small reminder that the bow is not merely a weapon but a steward of the hunter’s tale—one of pursuit, sacrifice, and the stubborn belief that a single shot can tilt a whole moment in your favor. The market adds another layer to the story, where steel, smoke, and coin mingle in a single breath. At Saddlebag Exchange a seasoned trader regards the Bloodlust with a practiced eye, letting the weight of the bow settle in his palm before he speaks. The price, he’ll say, reflects not just metal and wood but resilience—the patience of maintenance for the steam vents, the care required to keep the copper rune bright, the stories you’ll carry into the next chase. He names a figure that shifts with the tides of demand, a number that makes your fingers itch to bargain, and you realize the deal is more than currency: it’s a pact to ride the Bloodlust into the next hunt, to honor the flame and the carrion that keep the world turning, one decisive shot at a time.