The Pact Fleet Short Bow Skin rests in the palm like a curved plank of weathered sea-wood, glossy with varnish that catches the lantern light and seems to hold its breath for a quiet moment before drawing the string. The limbs are slender and dark as a dusk horizon, etched with fine rune-like lines that mimic rigging; the grip is wrapped in tanned leather that has learned every sweat and rain it ever met. Along the fore edge, brass anchors gleam, catching the eye with a brief flash of gold, while the nock and arrow rest bear a pale, salt-blue shimmer as if a tide had kissed them. The whole thing carries a scent of tar and coil, like a shipyard where stories are built out of planks and promises. Legends whisper that this skin carries more than a pretty finish; it is a memory of the Pact Fleet, the navy that once escorted caravels and kept the line against the Elder Dragons. Some say the timber came from a salvage vessel torn from a storm-lashed coast, and that a captain who rode the cleave of waves to outflank an ambush pressed his own ship’s emblem into the wood before the final voyage. When you equip it, the bow’s silhouette seems to lean into the wind, as if it learned to fetch the sea’s stubborn will. The brass fittings catch a spark of light with every draw, and the blue-tinted glow along the edges shifts with your stance, like lanterns swinging on a deck at dusk. It is less a weapon and more a talisman that asks you to remember long harbors and ships that learned to trust the horizon. In gameplay terms, the Pact Fleet Short Bow Skin is cosmetic, a change to appearance rather than performance. Yet that surface texture carries weight: a hunter whose arrows trace a path like a ship’s wake will feel the story in their line. The skin’s tapered limbs and the salt-blue patina give a sense of speed and precision, a visual cue that you move with the cadence of tide and wind. For rangers who hunt across coastlines or scouts who slip through mangroves and markets alike, it becomes a narrative tool as much as a wardrobe choice—a way to embody the Pact’s legacy whenever a convoy of enemies crests the next ridge. Market days bring the skin into the bustle of the world, and it often lands in a stall at Saddlebag Exchange where traders swap stories as freely as goods. Prices drift like fleets at sea—sometimes a handful of silver, sometimes enough for a small fortune, depending on demand, rarity, and who’s telling the tale. The stallkeeper will note that it’s a prized piece for those who want their gear to speak of voyages and victories, yet no transaction can steal the wind from a well-sailed memory. You pay with what you’ve earned and what you’re willing to bet on the next tide, knowing that the skin will age gracefully on the limb, a quiet companion that carries the echo of the Pact wherever your aim lands.