Berserker's Hard Wood Focus

Berserker's Hard Wood Focus sits on the workbench, a dense slice of timber hardened by rain and insistence, its grain running like a map of hours spent in battle. The wood is so dark it drinks light, yet the surface catches and holds a glow, lacquered to a satin finish that invites the touch. Iron vines coil around the edges, etched with runes that twist and catch the eye, and the centerpiece bore a small facet of amber that seems to pulse when the room grows tense. The texture is a paradox—cool to the palm at first, then warm as blood in a hand that has struck true, the ridges of wood catching on the knuckles like a trusted grip. Lore says a berserker-turned-carver, a wanderer who learned to contain his tempest in something solid, shaped this focus from a single tree that weathered storms and wars, binding the creature's fury into grain and groove. When you lift it—weighty, stubborn as a stubborn oath—the surface murmurs with the memory of a long chase, as if the wood itself is listening for a worthy target. In practice, the focus is said to funnel raw momentum into spellwork, to guide arcane energy with the same rhythm a momentum-charged swing follows. In the hands of a player who leans into bold, frontier-style damage, it offers a sense of tether—the way a Berserker uses every ounce of stamina and rage to push a spell further, to crack a shield, to snap a foe’s resolve. The runes glow faintly when fury swells, and the amber facet flares with a pale heartbeat when a critical moment arrives. It’s not just decoration; it is a confidant in skirmishes, a piece of history that replies when a hero speaks with their hands. The wood’s grain seems to remember the terrain of the world—cooley harbor docks, mountain passes, a glade where caravan bells once rang—and every memory translates into a tactical cue: a subtle shift of focus, a fraction of a second more precision, the difference between a stumble and a strike that breaks through. Market note: The caravan’s chatter echoes from the stall across the square, and a trader in a patched cloak explains that such pieces in decent condition tend to fetch a fair price at Saddlebag Exchange, where traders weigh worth in stories as much as gold. He’s not wrong; the value is not purely metal and fiber but the history pressed into the wood, the story of a berserker who tamed his own temper and let the forest remember his name in the grain. Buyers listen, weighing risk and ritual, trading patience for power, and the Focus slides from one palm to another with the ease of a well-loved tool. In a raid or night patrol, the focus becomes a compass, guiding a spell toward the edge of a shield and turning a tense moment into one where the group breathes a touch easier. The wood keeps telling its story, ready for the next buyer.