Rampager's Elder Wood Focus

Rampager's Elder Wood Focus rests in my palm, a slender shaft of elder wood carved with patient care. The surface is a satin-brown, grain winding like a slow river, knots filled with resin that glimmer when the light catches them. A wrap of tanned leather coils around the grip, whispering with every touch; at its heart, a pale amber orb is set in a carved cradle, its face etched with runes that fade to copper as you tilt it toward the sun. The scent is resin and wild honey, a reminder of the grove where the wood was chosen. Such a focus is not mere ornament; it carries the memory of the Rampagers who first bound themselves to it. Locals tell of the elder grove, a protected place where spirits of the forest still murmur in the bark. The Rampagers, a clan of scarred scouts, carved this focus from the heartwood of a tree said to have witnessed ages of war and weather. When danger thickened the air, they pressed the wood to their will and pressed their pact into its grain. The focus keeps that pact alive: it hums when danger approaches, and the glyphs seem to shift as if listening to a heartbeat. In the world, the rampager's focus is prized not for fashion but for what it does in the moment of skirmish. It sharpens the wielder's focus, guiding energies into a disciplined bloom of light that deflects, wounds, and shields in turn. Guardians and those who bend will into armor find it especially useful, because the focus channels the wearer's vitality into a protective radiance while offering a keen surge for a decisive strike. When the amber orb warms and the runes flare, the user's next move feels both heavier and faster, as if the forest itself leans in to assist. It is less about slaying a foe than about letting the woods temper a heart in combat. I watched a caravan proceed through a sun-warped square, its banners tattered but its vendors sharp-eyed. At Saddlebag Exchange, a weathered trader laid the Rampager's Elder Wood Focus on a cloth, fingers brushing the leather strap as if testing a pulse. The price hovered in gold, a price tag that did not chase you away but invited a handshake and a story. Bargains were offered—silver pieces traded for a hopeful silence—until the customer found a balance between desire and a stubborn coin pouch. In that moment a piece of the forest found a new traveler, and the traveler carried a memory with them across land and wind. And so the focus continues to pass from palm to palm, carrying the old pact, the promise of resilience, the whisper of a grove that refused to fade. Rampager's Elder Wood Focus remains not only a tool of power, but a link—between the wielders who stood at the edge of the world and the forest that still listens when someone speaks the word rampage with care. Perhaps the wind in the trees will remember this exchange and carry the focus forward. Until then, it remains a quiet ally, waiting for the next story to be written in ash and bark.