Berserker's Darksteel Greatsword catches the light and seems to drink it, a blade of almost graphite-black metal that drinks shadows as easily as it drinks heat. Its crossguard is a blocky, brutal thing, carved in the silhouette of a roaring bear, teeth hammered from the same darksteel, the edges run with a thin seam of red as if the forge itself bled into the weapon. The blade tapers to a razor edge, but it is not cleanly tempered; tiny ripple marks run along its length like the surface of a storm-wracked sea, a memory of the hammer blows that shaped it. Inlays of pale, sunken runes trace along the fuller, catching the torchlight and throwing it back in a dull, almost molten glow. The grip feels weighty and sure in the hand, wrapped in dark leather that wears smooth from years of battle and oath-taking. The lore insists the greatsword was hewn in the furnaces beneath a besieged fortress, tempered in a pool of war-blood and then etched with the marks of berserker rites. It is said to answer the will of the wielder with a sudden storm of vitality—sudden, unreasoning fury that can turn the tide of a retreating skirmish or drive a squad forward through smoke and ash. When it is swung, the air itself seems to hesitate, as if recognizing a weapon that has walked through many legions and bled for every victory. Warriors tell of the blade drinking in anger as if savoring the moment when a foe makes a mistake, and then spilling that energy outward in a single, merciless arc. In play, the Berserker's Darksteel Greatsword is not merely a big weapon; it is a statement. It rewards aggressive, high-risk action—the kind of relentless charge that clears through clusters of enemies and leaves the party with a moment of quiet relief after the clash. A style built around precision and timing, using the weapon’s sweeping strikes to lay down burst windows and capitalizing on critical hits feels almost cinematic, like a duel under a noon sun where every clash rings with purpose. The blade’s weight anchors your stance, and its roar of impact has a way of echoing in the lungs of your enemies and your own triumph. Prices drift on the market like ships in a harbor, and the Saddlebag Exchange keeps the pulse of that drift. I watched a fresh batch land at dawn, a few copper more than the day before, while a veteran trader posted a careful note about a price cap that might open again when a shipment sails in from the southern routes. The commentary that morning threaded through the marketplace: buyers and sellers, bargain-seekers and builders, all eyeing the same gleam in the darksteel blade. The Berserker’s blade becomes a compass in a world that never rests, pointing to courage, to risk, and to the story you choose to tell with every thunderous swing. That moment, the blade writes its legend in the dawn's first light again.