Apothecary's Elder Wood Longbow

Apothecary's Elder Wood Longbow rests in the pale morning light, its limbs curved with the quiet confidence of a patient cure. The elderwood core runs a heartbeat through the grain, a warm, honeyed brown that deepens toward the tips. Every ridge is smooth, worn by hands that have measured distances and weighed the air’s thin bite. A narrow brass ferrule anchors the ends, while along the grip a line of tiny sigils—herbal formulae etched in a patient hand—runs from nock to grip. A sliver of amber resin is set into a shallow recess near the grip, catching the light as if a drop of tincture might spill at any moment. The string sings softly when plucked, not with the harsh crack of timber, but with the refined note of a bow that has learned to listen to the wind. To the casual observer it might look ceremonial, hung for its elegance rather than its edge. And yet the lore threads its way into the wood: this longbow is said to be born from the work of an apothecary who tended the trails between markets and warrens, where herbs grew along stone and patient hands learned to harness poison without letting the body pay the price. They tempered it with care for wound and ward, stitching medicine and metal into a single, patient instrument. Those who carry it swear it has the honesty of a good recipe: precise, efficient, and stubborn about its purpose. The story travels with the shaft—of a healer who learned to balance risk and relief, of a weapon that keeps its promises when the wind is unkind. On the field the bow shifts from elegant sculpture to dependable tool. The draw feels balanced, the recoil almost imperceptible, as if the wood itself is listening for the moment the target’s breath flickers. In skilled hands it becomes a partner for the archer’s plan—an extension of focus that turns a stray shot into a counted strike. It favors patience and aim, rewarding clean, well-timed releases that stack damage with the careful application of conditions—poison, bleeding, torment, and the like—through the archer’s choice of shot and sequence. Hunters use it to thin a skirmish from the edges, to make a path for their allies, or to pin a foe with a single, well-placed shot that turns the tide. The weapon isn’t simply a means of dealing harm; it’s a conduit for a character’s craft—where medicine meets marksmanship, and the quiet ritual of preparation becomes the sound of battle itself. Market whispers drift in with the daily trade, and Saddlebag Exchange—where traders swap stories as readily as goods—offers the Apothecary's Elder Wood Longbow to those who listen to both the lore and the ledger. In pristine condition it earns its keep, a modest but meaningful sum that reflects its pedigree; nicked or worn pieces move quicker, priced to clear shelves before the next shipment arrives. Those who grin at the bow’s grain remember the apothecary’s vow: to heal enough to keep the arrow true, and to aim true enough to heal in return.