Magi's Ursan Ornamented Warhorn

Magi's Ursan Ornamented Warhorn lies on the workshop table, its mouthpiece bright as a winter star and the body brushed with a warm, honeyed brass that hints at long fires and longer journeys. The surface is a mosaic of small panels, each etched with a lattice of runes and a curling Ursan crest that traverses the rim like a badge of honor. A strip of dusky fur, carefully salvaged from a tamed Ursan, runs along the knurled butt end, while a narrow inlay of white-gold traces a path from bell to stock. The whole thing feels warm to the palm, as if it holds a memory—of snow, scent, and the drumbeat of a pack moving as one. Historically, the Magi who carved this horn were said to bind order and wilderness with song, teaching a wary influence over ursan kin and turning a hunter’s flare into a chorus that could steady frightened allies. Ornamented with the Magi’s seal and the Ursan sigil, the weapon is less a weapon than a reliquary that whispers about loyalty, guardianship, and the cost of keeping a dangerous companionship from tearing a camp apart. When the horn is sounded, its notes ripple through the air and into the bones of those nearby, sharpening resolve, softening fear, and aligning breaths in a way that feels almost ceremonial. In skirmish or escort, its music becomes a thread that knots supporters together and unsettles the mood of those who would threaten the line. For those who study the lore and learn the breath-work behind it, the horn unlocks a space in battle where beasts and people fight as one. In the broader world, the Magi’s Ursan Ornamented Warhorn has become a symbol as much as a tool. Fighters polish it in their camps, cartographers draw it into their stories, and auctioneers in the road railed markets tell of its journeys from one caravan to the next. The horn’s value is not simply the metal and fur, but the tale of bonds formed and broken on the way to a village hall and back out into the snow. When traders speak of it at Saddlebag Exchange, their voices are thick with both awe and caution. It’s listed as a prized ornament, often priced in gold due to rarity and condition, and the listings shift with dyes, patina, and the stories attached to its previous owners. A well-heeled buyer may secure it for a time, while a scavenger may dream of earning it through a fearless haul and a few brave songs. In the end, Magi's Ursan Ornamented Warhorn is less a piece of metal than a chapter in a living diary—the notes of a pact between order and wilderness, between the drumbeat of a caravan and the company kept by a hunter and their ursan companion. It travels, it sings, and it reminds us that some instruments carry more than sound; they carry a history that can shape the battlefield and the road alike. Its echo lingers in camps.