Berserker's Elder Wood Focus

The Berserker's Elder Wood Focus sits in the palm of a gloved hand, its surface a satin-slick swirl of dark amber wood. The grain runs like a map of ancient rivers, gnarly knots resembling saw-toothed teeth that catch the light as you tilt it. A shallow groove along the center holds a sliver of sunstone, pale and flickering, kept in place by braided copper filaments that tighten with your breath. Runes are etched along the edges—feral sigils that glow faint orange when you draw near a surge of adrenaline. The feel is warm, almost alive, as if the wood remembers every shout heard on a battlefield. People whisper that elder wood came from the forest that old gods once walked; the focus carries the forest's temper and keeps count of every wild swing. When a Berserker used it in a ritual skirmish, the sigils would flare and the ground would tremble, as if the woods themselves urged the wielder to press on. In actual play, the Berserker's Elder Wood Focus is not just a pretty artifact; it makes every strike feel heavier, every crit more precise. It channels the fighter's frenzy, turning raw energy into higher damage bursts and improving critical reliability. Your adrenaline pool refills faster, and certain skills gain extra range or impact while the glow in the sunstone pulses with your heartbeat. Warriors report that swapping to this focus turns a cautious approach into a measured, feral charge—enough to bend a fight toward a decisive conclusion. I watched a veteran trader at the Saddlebag Exchange examine a Berserker's Elder Wood Focus with a careful eye. The price tag, scrawled in copper ink, sat on a metal clip and read in looping numbers—enough to tempt a barter, not enough to bankrupt a camp. The seller spoke of demand in the raids and the quiet empathy of collectors who crave wood that remembers war. In negotiations, the focus changed hands with stories spoken softly about the previous owner's battles and long nights at the bazaar, trading tales for coin. The market, as ever, breathes life into these items; today it would fetch a bargain, tomorrow perhaps more. Carried from one captain to another, from one skirmish to the next, the focus becomes part of a larger thread—a thread that winds through forests, markets, and camps, binding those who rely on its cunning edge to the myths that birthed it. The focus speaks softly in quiet moments, when a scout creeps along a slope and a furious charge hinges on a single decision. In those breaths between clashing steel and colored banners, the elder wood seems to lean toward you, urging restraint as much as vigor, a reminder that true strength is tempered by purpose. So it passes from hand to hand, not as loot alone but as a talisman that binds a camp's fortunes to a single, living shard of myth. And somewhere beyond the firelight, you can hear a forest whispering approval.