Giver's Soft Wood Longbow

Giver's Soft Wood Longbow rests on a weathered display rack, its pale limbs curved into a quiet arc, the grain running like wind-streaked sand. The texture is smoother than it looks, a deliberate work of oil and time, and the grip is wrapped in worn leather that smells faintly of sap and old rain. The string, taut and sure, hums faintly when the bow is drawn, a thin, honest note that makes the room feel more like a drawer of memories than a shop. Along the belly a single sigil is etched—an unassuming Giver rune, tiny but steadfast—calling back to a name whispered in village lore: the Givers who kept messengers fed, repaired bridges, and carried hope as if it were a bundle of letters tied with twine. The wood has that soft sweetness that comes from quiet, nurturing hands rather than the harsher scars of battle, a reminder that weaponry can carry a gentler history as well as a sharpened edge. Those stories aren’t just on the surface. In the hands of a ranger or any archer who respects distance, the bow’s character becomes a part of the hunt. Its wood lends a forgiving recoil, and its weight sits steady in the palm, encouraging careful aim and patient timing rather than reckless volley. Arrows whisper through the air, and with this longbow, a shot isn’t merely a strike but a narrative beat—the moment you decide to wait for the opening, to thread a clockwork trigger through danger and mercy alike. In play, that translates to cleaner hits, fewer wasted shots, and the chance to keep a fleeing foe from slipping into cover. The bow’s lore threads into the world: a tool made by those who believed that strength should protect, not merely conquer. On market days, you’ll see it traded among others with equal gravity, if not as much flash. A merchant at Saddlebag Exchange will weigh it against other relics, murmuring about woods, weather, and the old stories that slow time in a village square. The price lands somewhere between practical trade and the memory of what it represents—a fair sum of coins, enough to buy provisions for a caravan, perhaps more for a traveler who treats every arrow as a page in a larger chronicle. Buyers and sellers trade glances as if negotiating not just value but trust, and the bow passes from one hand to another with the same quiet dignity that marks the Giver rune on its belly. To own it is to carry a promise: to shoot with intent, to move with care, and to honor the quiet duty that first gave this longbow its name. Beyond the bench and the ledger, the Giver's Soft Wood Longbow leaves a trace in the world it threads through: in the quiet of a patrol, in the relief of a wounded ally, in the moment when a messenger returns with good news. That is how an item becomes more than wood—it becomes a memory in flight.