Flawless Sylvan linden bow
This item was a prize from the Hunt for History.
Item
a flawless Sylvan linden bow
Show
This light weight bow has obviously been lovingly-crafted and shows many signs of care in its making. The pale wood stave is carved with the grain to maintain integrity and strength, and a subtle matte finish highlights the contours and smoothness. Finely-detailed designs have been painted fluidly along the face of the bow in muted taupe accentuated with deeper gray-green.
Details
No other details are known.
Loresong
It is dawn, evidenced by the vaporous runnels of mist rising from the dew-laden forest floor and the misty halo of light softening your view. Hovering amidst a cluster of linden boughs, you look down upon an aged yet spry sylvan and his young cohort, striding carefully across the flower-strewn forest floor. Wending from one tree to another, the apprentice indicates each by placing his palm on the trunk and turning a questioning look to the elder. The older sylvan smiles and shakes his head slightly, then indicates flaws revealed by his practiced eye in each tree's growth. Finally, one tree is thoroughly examined, and the sylvan men begin a ritual of purification and bonding.
Your vision floats quickly through the forest, taking a wavy track to a new destination. Drifting downwards, you phase through the walls of a small hide-covered dwelling that rests in splayed branches above the bole of an ancient tree. Inside, a large quantity of linden wood logs are stowed on drying racks, militaristically ordered into neat rows of similar shape and size. Centered in the room is a shallow ceramic bowl of glowing coals, providing a steady yet not overpowering dry warmth. Slipping slowly back out through the wall, your vision quickly speeds again through the forest, past glimpses of more hide dwellings perched in the forest boughs.
Warm yellow light saturates your sight, and you are again hovering over the older sylvan man. Holding a simple handaxe, he strips the bark from a long section of wood with carefully deliberate strokes. The scene plays out before you in jerky motions, hypnotic lengths of rhythmic motion speeding through quick interchanges of material and tool. The methodical process of ripping along the grain of the pale-hued wood, coaxing it gently into a perfectly balanced stave, is like a fluid dance between sylvan and timber. Using a smaller drawknife, the man pulls gently along the length of the pieces, periodically bending the wood into an arc and shaving off areas where the curve is not true."
Feeling a discernible passage of time as the vision swims into being, you are again floating through the now-familiar forest. Slipping once more into the tree-supported hide structure, the sylvan master bowyer is still laboring steadily. Fine-tuning an elegant bow -- testing it lightly with his adroit fingers -- a satisfied smile plays across his lips. His apprentice is there this time, studiously watching and listening as the master concentrates upon his craft. Time seems to speed, and the scene resolves into the two men bending over the finished staves, small paintbrushes artfully dancing over several unstrung bows and dipping into paint pots in a practiced tandem.
Your vision tunnels and then you are rushing through the forest habitation, slowing and then stopping at a hover over a long clearing. In the warm afternoon sun slanting through the trees you see a simple straw target, painted with a glowing yellow-orange nimbus. Focusing on the target, you see it suddenly explode in a proliferation of shaken particles by an arrow traveling completely through the red-marked center and halfway through the tree behind it. You turn and rush forward to see the old man and his apprentice, two hundred paces away down the strip of clearing. Smiling with satisfaction, the master lowers his bow and nods to the young sylvan. Exchanging the tested bow for a new one, the master draws another shaft to his ear and lets it fly.