sling

the household's one weapon, and it had to earn that word. the shepherd's sling: string, string, and leather, cord and no forge — the humblest ranged weapon there is, and pastoral to its bones. the sling you make on day one is the sling forever. no tiers, no upgrades, nothing to grind toward. mastery is the whole progression, and it lives entirely in your hands.

hold to spin it up and it winds through three revolutions, each faster than the last, each announcing itself with an audible whum. no charge bar draws and the crosshair never changes — the sound and your own timing are the meter. loose on the beat and the stone flies true, flat and far; three well-timed revolutions carry farther than a bow, because a master slinger historically outranged archers, and the skill ceiling deserves a reward the game can feel. loose off the beat and it flies honestly somewhere — a believable, occasionally embarrassing miss.

ammunition is riverstones, which closes a loop the household already built: the same flat stone that skips across water and stacks into a cairn now also flies. the hit is modest — never above a full-charge bow — but it carries real knockback and a short stagger, because the sling's job was never the kill. it's reach, deterrence, and the first word in an argument. it will not loose at a tamed animal or a villager by accident, and the birds remember: sling a stone anywhere near a crow or magpie, hit or miss, and the flock writes it down.