Berserker's Stormcaller Longbow gleams with a storm-blue sheen, its limbs carved from wind-worn ash and bound with copper sigils that crackle when the air thickens. The grip is wrapped in pelt-tanned leather, worn smooth by countless fingers, and the string hums faintly like a distant thunderhead as you nock an arrow. Along the riser, micro crescents of brass catch the light and throw a jagged glow on the hands of anyone who studies the weapon long enough. The wood bears notches from long campaigns, as if every arrow drawn left a memory in the grain, and etched near the grip is a rune of the berserker, the name whispered in the camps before a night raid. The Stormcaller's core is a shard of storm-sphere, a relic that seems to drink in weather and spit out electricity in neat, merciful arcs. In the world it travels, the bow is spoken of as a living instrument, a partner to those who fight with blood and wind. When it sings, the arrows crack like miniature lightning, charring the air with pale blue wisps that strike first at a target, and then leap to a second or third foe nearby. The weapon favors boldness: you draw and release with intent, and the storm answers with a spark that hones your focus, sharpening your sense of timing as if you were listening to a storm’s breath. It doesn’t merely hit; it threads a current through the battlefield, pushing allies to advance and forcing enemies to break cover. For any hunter who believes a fight is as much about weathering fear as weathering blades, the Berserker's Stormcaller Longbow becomes a thread in a larger narrative about courage, kinship, and the wild edge between control and chaos. Pricing, of course, is a rumor-swept thing, traded through bartered notes and bagged coin. I heard a broker at Saddlebag Exchange mention a price that would shame a buyer who undervalued the storm—two gold and fifty silver, perhaps, depending on condition and the telling of the tale. The stall’s owner added that the true value isn’t just the raw stats but the story it carries: the storms you’ve stood within, the bannermen you’ve stood beside, the way the string under your fingers seems to remember a storm you’ve survived. That memory is the true charge of the bow, a warm current that wakes when you raise it and seems to bow back at the edge of a lightning-scorched horizon. Whether you’re a scout who leans on precision or a frontline berserker who rides the storm, the Berserker's Stormcaller Longbow binds those two strengths into one whispered promise: that power can be patient, that a calm hand can coax a storm, and that some legends survive not just in the telling, but in the smear of frost on a steel string after the last arrow has flown. On the road home, markets trade relics for stories as much as steel; the bow becomes a compass, hinting at storms yet to rise.