Penetrating Krytan Bow

The Penetrating Krytan Bow gleams with a lacquered wood that darkens to a dusky purple in the sun, its grip wrapped in worn leather that smells faintly of rain and pine. The limbs are slim and graceful, carved with Krytan sigils that thread from grip to tip in a rhythm of hunting and history. Along the riser runes—thin, sharp, almost deliberate—like the whisper of a craftsman's voice. When you lift it, the string sits at a light, almost human tension, and the bow's center feels balanced as a scale's hinge. The satin sheen on the wood catches dust motes, turning them into a constellation of tiny stars as you nock an arrow. The shaft itself is lighter than you'd expect, a curved thing built for speed as much as accuracy, with a crest of Krytan steel at the tip that gleams with a cold blade-edge quality. The arrowheads—the Penetrating part—are a whisper of tungsten-like metal, designed to bite through leather and mail alike, a promise spoken in cold metal and careful tempering. Lorekeepers insist the bow was born in the shadow of the capital's siege, when hunters learned to slip between guard lines and strike where armor thinned. They say the craftsmen laid a fragment of Krytan granite into the bow's grip, to remind the owner that even shielded hearts can be found by the patient curve of a well-aimed shot. In the heat of a hunt, its importance isn't only the power of the shot but the pace it gives the chase. A ranger can loosen a flight of arrows and watch armor buckle, then switch to a follow-up that knives through chain or breastplate with a grace no heavy crossbow could muster. The bow feels like a partner in a larger ceremony—the way it sings when you draw, the moment of hush before the arrow leaps, the crack of impact that echoes off stone and leaf. It teaches patience, too: the best penetration comes not from raw force but from alignment—the stance, the breath, the way you anchor your aim to a moving silhouette. Trade in towns and camps is never far from a weapon's story, and today the road spins toward the market where Saddlebag Exchange keeps its ledger. A broker with a keen eye to value eyes the bow's line and grip, weighing its centuries against the coin of the realm. He or she speaks in measured tones of a price that sits between glinting gold and common silver, a figure I scribble into a ledger: about 2 gold, 35 silver, depending on the season's mood and the knots in its strap. The exchange, practical as a well-tuned string, hands me a receipt and a belt pouch heavy with coins that will feed other journeys. Walking away, bow braced upright, I feel the world tilt back toward the wild—where the Penetrating Krytan Bow isn't merely a weapon but a story breathing in the hands of those who listen.