Berserker's Iron Dagger of Rage

Berserker's Iron Dagger of Rage glints in the dim torchlight, its blade a tempered strip of iron that seems to drink the light rather than reflect it. The steel bears tiny nicks and a dull red patina along the edge, like dried blood you wish you hadn't seen but can't forget. The grip is wrapped in worn leather, the knurled fuller under finger-tall ridges, and a brass ferrule catches the glow as if it wants to be noticed. Runes coil along the fuller—faint, meticulous lines that veterans swear hum with a memory of battle—and a carved fist sits where the guard meets the blade, as if the weapon itself is bracing for a storm. Legend says it was hammered by a berserker smith named Varo during a siege, when the ground shook and banners burned blue. The iron was tempered in a cauldron fed by embers from skirmish pits, and the blade was kissed by the smith’s oath—that any hunter who wields it must learn to look fury in the eye and walk away. Those who handle it swear the dagger carries a heartbeat of steel, a low thrum that quickens when the moment demands it. The runes flare red, and the wielder feels a chorus of battles urging boldness, not mercy. In combat, its edge favors quick, surgical strikes. Thieves and duelists prize it for the tempo, for the way its glow seems to fuse with the heartbeat of a blade dancer. When a strike lands and Fury — a boon that sharpens the mind and the eye — blooms for a handful of heartbeats, the next moves come faster, heavier. It’s not about brute force, but striking exactly where it matters, then slipping away before a guard can answer. The dagger’s lore is a companion in the field, turning a skirmish into a story you tell later in a flickering tavern, while the patrons lean closer to hear the sound of iron and courage. Market rumors drift along the docks, and the Saddlebag Exchange is the town’s heartbeat for oddities like this blade. A wary clerk tells you the dagger sits at a premium when supply dries up, often priced in coins and a few traded trinkets. In quieter days, a traveler might barter with a captain’s receipts or a crafted talisman, but more often the price is settled by a nod and a trade of stories. Some buyers want it for their own glory, others because they believe Rage makes them more honest in battle, or at least braver in the next skirmish. Either way, the dagger moves with the tide, finding new hands who suspect that rage can be tempered into discipline or unleashed into a hundred swift cuts. Some nights I’ve watched it rest beside a map of trade winds, its breath fogging the glass as ships come and go. For those who wield Berserker's Iron Dagger of Rage, every swing writes a chapter, and quiet moments become chances to listen to its iron heartbeat.