Rampager's Soft Wood Warhorn

Rampager's Soft Wood Warhorn rests on a scarred wooden counter, its pale grain catching the lamplight like a whisper of dawn. The horn is carved from soft wood, smooth to the touch, with rings that echo the growth of a tree that survived more winters than most camps could boast. A thin lacquer rides its curves, tinted amber near the mouth, sealing in a resinous scent of pine and campfire smoke. Around the lip, runes coil in a careful circle, hinting at a pact between hunter and herd that long predated the current caravan routes. Locals murmur that it was pressed into service when Rampagers stalked the ridges, the horn’s voice guiding not just the feet but the hearts of companions in a chase that could bend the weather. In the field the Rampager’s Soft Wood Warhorn does more than ornament; it is a tool and beacon, tuned to the rhythm of aggressive play. Swing the horn and it spills a chorus of boons—Swiftness to spur the party, Might to empower a strike, and a brief moment of Fate for a dangerous push toward the line. In crowded bivouacs the sound travels like a river through tents, a reminder that even a tiny horn can rally leaders to move with a shared sense of purpose. Carriers of such a weapon are not simply collectors of stats but narrators of their own expeditions, stitching the item into the larger story of how a caravan survives a season of storms. Prices drift through the market like a weather vane, and I learned of Saddlebag Exchange as a quiet hub where merchants trade old stock for fresh hides and luminescent ore, and where a Rampager’s horn might change hands for a bundle of copper, a handful of silk, or a whispered promise. To own it is to be threaded into the wild's memory, to hear the wood sigh with the same patience the hunter uses when tracking a wary trail. Some nights I imagine a cadre of scouts, horn in hand, skirting a frozen pass, and the Rampager’s Soft Wood Warhorn sounding a rhythm that keeps fear at bay while the pack threads through a storm. If we learned anything from the old roads, it is that such instruments outlive their makers, carrying forward the courage or caution of those who listened and followed. Collectors of relics might prize the Rampager’s Soft Wood Warhorn for its lineage, its craft, and the way it ties a single incident to generations of courage. And when the markets close and the lamps gutter, I hear the horn in the quiet, a reminder that even a soft-spun tree can carry a loud, relentless heart. So I trade stories and coins beneath the awning, watching the soft wood shine as a vow to the wild.