Carrion Elder Wood Warhorn

The Carrion Elder Wood Warhorn rests on the shelf like a fossil of a long, hard-won battle, its curves carved from a single shard of carrion elder wood. The horn’s surface holds a midnight patina, matte and cool to the touch, with faint grain lines running like the rings of a tree that remembers every storm. Inlaid along the rim are pale bone accents, each tiny notch telling a story of failed ambushes and hard-won mercy, while runes etched in a soft argent glaze glow faintly when the candlelight hits them just so. The mouthpiece is gently frayed, worn smooth by countless mouths and winds that have blown through forgotten camps, and the scent of resin, earth, and a hint of mineral scent lingers when you tilt the horn toward the light. Legends whisper that this wood was grown from a carrion elder’s heartwood—trees that take their time to feed on what others leave behind, their sap thick with memory and mourning. To hold the horn is to feel the world lean closer, as if the living and the dead share a single breath for a heartbeat. It’s not merely a weapon or a display piece; it’s a conduit, a vessel through which sound becomes a living thing. When the warhorn is blown, the first note doesn’t simply travel outward. It curls around you, as sharp as frost and as old as the soil, and those who hear it swear they can hear the echo of marching boots and distant drums in the spaces between the notes. In the heat of battle, the horn’s influence threads through the fight in a way that feels both practical and poetic. Players who carry it discover that its melodies do more than announce their presence; they shape the tempo of conflict. A well-timed blast can rally allies, sharpening their focus and steadying nerves as if a practiced fencer’s feint gives way to a sure, clean stroke. The deeper chimes seem to braid with the necromantic threads that some builds savor, binding summoned echoes to the user’s will and amplifying survivability when the line begins to waver. The horn’s aura doesn’t demand the spotlight; it hums along the edge of action, nudging outcomes toward balance, mercy, or decisive momentum, depending on the wielder’s aim. The market tells its own version of the story. Collectors, crafters, and wanderers speak in whispers about how the horn’s price shifts with demand, rarity, and the mood of the season. On Saddlebag Exchange, it’s frequently listed as a centerpiece—rare enough to turn heads, common enough that a careful buyer can still chase a fair deal. A seller might push toward the higher end when a pristine specimen gleams under the right light, or ease off slightly if the bone inlays show a hairline crack that would be dismissed as character by some, but a defect by others. Prices drift with the breeze of trade routes and the weight of memory attached to each sale, and the horn’s value grows not just from its glimmer, but from the quiet history it carries. To glimpse it is to glimpse a chapter of a larger story—where wood, bone, and song converge to shape the fate of those who listen and act. The Carrion Elder Wood Warhorn does not simply sit in a display case; it calls out to the world, and those who answer often find their own story changing in its deep, sonorous wake.