Recipe: Ruka's Short Bow

Recipe: Ruka's Short Bow rests on a weathered workbench, its ash wood gleaming with a marrow-dark grain and a thin lacquer that catches the lamplight like a whisper. The grip is wrapped in worn leather, stitched with patient care, and the limbs bend with a quiet strength that promises speed more than brute force. Delicate etchings trace the bow’s belly, spiraling vines, a subtle crescent moon, and the tiny hook of a hawk’s beak, faint signs of a craftsman who learned from wind and rain. A parchment slip is tucked under the string, the recipe inked in copperplate letters that smell faintly of pine resin and oil. When you read it aloud in a quiet workshop, the words feel almost like a covenant—an invitation to hunt with precision rather than glare. Ruka's name rings through the ruined markets of the last frontier as a legend of a hunter who carved his own fate from straight timber and stubborn patience. The short bow, not meant for siege or brute damage, is a tool of control: rapid, accurate shots that find their mark before the world can muster a counter. The recipe calls for tuning the stave with resin, reinforcing the bow with sinew binding, and fletching arrows with wild-pearl feathers that shimmer in torchlight. The texture of the finished weapon is a blend of smooth polish and deliberate roughness—gloss on the grip where the rain dampens it, rougher specks along the limbs where the wood's grain stands firm. In the lore that threads through the traveler camps, Ruka’s craft was said to honor a vow made to a guardian hawk, a pact that favors quiet observation and swift retreat when the odds tilt. The bow embodies that ethic: every draw is measured, every release calibrated to pulse with the rhythm of the hunt. For the player who loves stories as much as damage, the Crafting tab is a doorway. The recipe is not a quest marker but a hinge through which you step into a small, humming branch of the world where traders, woodsmen, and scavengers meet. In combat, Ruka’s Short Bow excels at control: you move between cover with the ease of a hunter switching blinds, launching fast, precise shots that harry a foe without giving them a moment to answer. It rewards patience and timing as much as aim, turning precognition into a tactical edge rather than purely raw power. And its value is never just in damage; it carries the weight of its origin, a story that threads through the market tents and hillside camps alike. I heard the price drift at Saddlebag Exchange, a whisper of coins and barter that makes veterans smile and apprentices swallow hard. The trading floor hums with rumors—some claim the recipe sits behind a glinting steel door, others say it’s a bargain if you bring the right blend of resin and sinew. It’s a reminder that crafting is a loop: you gather, you trade, you twist a path through price and patience, and you end with a bow that carries a little of Ruka’s wind wherever you go.