Dire Orrian Bow of Air

The Dire Orrian Bow of Air gleams with storm-blue grain, its limbs curved like the arc of a drawn breath. The wood bears the salt-gray of a ruined pier, polished to a mirror by hands that have waited through countless patrols. Runes of air, fine as spider-silk, thread along the grip and along the bones that brace the limbs, and the string itself hums faintly, as if a small storm rests just beneath the bark. The riser is wrapped in weathered leather, etched with spiral motifs that resemble gusts curling around a central eye. At the tip the wood splits into what look like wind-kissed feathers, quivering whenever the bow's owner shifts, as if ready to take flight. When drawn, the weapon seems to hold a whisper, a promise that every shot will slip through silence and snag the air in its teeth before finding its mark. Lore tellers speak of a hunter-shipwright who bound a living storm to a weapon, not through magic alone but by honoring the wind's memory—the way a gale remembers the shoreline it once kissed. The Dire Orrian Bow of Air feels less like metal and more like a rumor you can hold, a blade of scent and sound rather than mere wood. In the field it changes how a fight unfolds. A crisp, high-plying arrow leaves with the snap of a snapped mainsail, and it seems to ride a faint tailwind even before the first blow lands. Precision gathers around the shot, as if the heavens themselves conspire to place the bolt along a perfect line. Some say the bow grants a rare alignment of timing and wind—enough to nudge time by a fraction, letting a hunter outrun a charging foe or slip a shot past a crowded crossfire. It’s not just power; it’s the weight of a storm condensed into a form that can be shouldered, aimed, and released. That makes it a favorite among scouts and siege-breakers alike, who need distance and decisiveness in equal measure. It also binds stories to a coastal camp: a night when the wind carried the harbor's rumors and the bow drew a line through the fog that saved a caravan from a sudden ambush. Market whispers carry on the docks and lanes, and the Saddlebag Exchange keeps a ledger of those rumors in real time. A buyer might find the bow priced between scarce coin and the glint of a larger fortune, depending on who returns with a fresh storm or a new shipment of Orrian wares. Traders sketch their bids around the scarcity of leather and shard-iron, while veterans know to watch the wind in the market as closely as they watch the wind in the field. The Dire Orrian Bow of Air remains a badge of weathered luck as much as skill, a trusted companion for anyone who believes that, sometimes, the right gust is the best ally a hunter can have.