Berserker's Soft Wood Warhorn

The Berserker's Soft Wood Warhorn sits on the market table like a relic carved from storm-tossed timber, its grain pale as dawn and scorched with the lazy glow of runes. Its edges are rounded, nearly worn by hands that trembled with anticipation, and the wood's surface bears a whisper of resin that smells of pine and old battles. The horn's bell curves into a gentle arc, polished to a matte gloss, while the mouthpiece bears a scar of use where lips once pressed into rhythm with a bearer’s breath. In lore circles, it is said to be hewn by a berserker who collapsed in a woodsman's clearing yet woke with a voice that could rally a party in the heat of a siege. To hold it is to feel the weight of a long trek and a vow. When drawn, the horn channels a chorus of shouts that ripple through a party, granting a surge of vigor to nearby allies and sharpening the wielder’s own pulse in the moment of danger. I’ve watched comrades move as if the air itself had grown thick with intention, mayflies of fear turning into sparks of courage as the horn’s notes travel down the trench lines. The Berserker’s name isn’t merely decoration; it promises a kind of relentless energy—a belief that a well-timed breath can bend fate in the middle of a skirmish. In quieter hours, this horn becomes a storyteller’s tool, echoing the cadence of marches and the memory of a campfire where a leather-bound notebook kept everyone honest about what they were fighting for. Market lore, however, is a separate drumbeat. When you wander the river market, you hear whispers about supply and demand, about who carries the weapon and who remembers the old mercantile routes. Saddlebag Exchange is often the thread that tethers those whispers to coin: listings pop up like lanterns when the moon climbs, and a careful bid can turn a dream into a real thing. A recent listing described a horn with similar grain, and the chatter among traders suggested a price in gold that balanced value with risk, a number that would coax even a cautious buyer to test the water. The story isn’t only in the sound, but in the moment the buyer steps away with it swinging at their hip, ready to answer a call to rally when the night fog spills over the road. On the road, the horn’s wood seems to drink in moonlight, oils seeping into each tiny crease as if it remembers every alley, every campfire, every oath sworn under a banner. When a storm breaks or a patrol doubles back, the horn becomes a compass more than a weapon—an invitation to march forward, to trust the people at your side, and to believe that courage is something you can blow into existence with a steady breath. The Berserker’s Soft Wood Warhorn travels, sings, and writes world’s story in a note at a time, carried by hands that answer its call.