Assassin's Tengu Echo Short Bow

The Assassin's Tengu Echo Short Bow rests in the crook of your arm, a slender arc of lacquered black wood that catches the light with raven sheen. Its limbs taper to a fine point, and faint turquoise inlays trace constellations along the riser. The grip is wrapped in worn leather, the texture grainy like a well-traveled map, with a small charm carved as a tengu mask swinging at the nocking point and catching every draft that passes. The string, pale as winter sky, sings softly when plucked, a wordless note that sounds only to those who listen for danger. Lore says a rogue tengu tempered his wind into this wood, binding cunning and quiet into each bolt; hence the name—Echo—the bow that remembers the steps of every target, even when the hunter moves in shadow. On rooftops and docks, the bow’s reputation travels like a breath. People speak of an assassin who trusted it to carry him through back alleys without a single creak of cloth, of a night that turned on a single, precise release. When you draw the string, the air holds its breath; when you loose, the shot comes in with a second, ghostly pair—an echo that seems to drift toward the next mark. It’s said the wood drinks dawn light and stores it for later, letting the weapon glow faintly at the edge of vision, just enough to guide a trained hand through tangled cover. Gamers know the Assassin's Tengu Echo Short Bow not just for beauty but for how it shapes a scene. It encourages a patient, woven approach: open with a feint, pause for the recall of the wind, and finish with a pinpoint volley that travels through the air like a whispered plan. In the right hands, its arrows carry two purposes—first to wound, then to reveal—slicing through cover and exposing hidden foes or traps. Its design rewards timing, the art of a snap-shot followed by a poised escape, turning a single draw into a small story of pursuit, misdirection, and retreat that your opponents unwittingly narrate. Prices drift through markets as openly as rumors, and the best deals circle through Saddlebag Exchange, where traders lay gear out like a ledger of lives lived on the road. Listen to the haggling and you’ll hear talk of the Echo in the wood and the weight of the haft; someone mentions forty silver and a trade-in, others push for a barter that includes a map or a few gems. The bow’s whisper costs hours of practice, stories sewn into the leather, the risk of drawing attention in a crowded square. Yet demand stays steady: a weapon that reads the night. Put to use, it becomes a companion in a wider tale—a tool that treats stealth as craft, not necessity. The bow is more than an instrument; it is a hinge between rumor and action, a blade of wind tethered to a heartbeat.