Cleric's Soft Wood Warhorn

Cleric's Soft Wood Warhorn gleams in the lamplight, its pale honey grain catching every ray as if the wood itself remembers every oath spoken within its core. The body is slender and warm to the touch, carved from a single branch of soft wood that smells faintly of resin and rain, with subtle checks and striations that look like tiny, patient prayers repeating themselves along the shaft. The mouthpiece is wrapped in a veil of linen cord, frayed at the ends, while the bell unfurls into a gentle, leaf-formed flare that catches light and turns it into a soft, autumnal glow. Across its surface, delicate runes run in a pale ash-blue, not harsh enough to shout, but persistent enough to remind any observer of the clerics who once pressed the horn to their lips and let breath become blessing. In the stories told by caravan masters and temple scribes alike, this horn is said to carry the memory of old healing hymns, a relic wrought by hands that believed sound could steady a wavering heart and steady a painted flag in the teeth of a storm. It feels, when you cradle it, as if the weight of those benedictions sits at rest just behind the lip, waiting for the moment to rise. Its significance in gameplay is less a single trick and more a cadence, a rhythmic thread that binds a group through a long, dangerous march. In battle, the Cleric's Soft Wood Warhorn offers more than a sharpened note; it releases a measured resonance that steeps allies in renewed vigor, lends steadier footing to skittish feet, and lends a tempo to healing that makes the frontline feel almost choreographed, as if the team moves in time with a shared keeper’s heartbeat. Healers and guardians prize it not for a flashy strike but for the way its calls weave protection and restoration into the fabric of a skirmish. A blow on the horn might not topple a boss, but it can tilt the balance of a fight toward safety, guiding retreat routes, sharpening a wary stance, and turning a tense moment into a sustained passage of survivability. The item’s lore—its roots in a grove that supposedly lends calm to fevered minds, its rumored ties to a cleric order that fused song and sutures—lends it a gravity that makes it feel less like loot and more like a chapter in a larger, living story of mercy and endurance. Market whispers float through the world as surely as breath in winter air, and the Cleric's Soft Wood Warhorn travels along those currents with the same patient patience as the trees it came from. On Saddlebag Exchange, the price of a well cared-for specimen rises and falls with the season and demand: pristine examples with bright runes can command several gold, while worn, burlap-soft variants drift down into the silver and copper tiers, more common but still cherished by those who value its history over its bragging rights. Traders speak in soft, hopeful tones about a horn that has seen escortDuty, campfires, and temple corridors, and they smile when a buyer recognizes the lineage in its grain and the quiet strength it lends to a party in need. In the end, the Cleric's Soft Wood Warhorn is not merely an item to be bought or sold; it is a companion that remembers footsteps and prayers, a tool that keeps a group upright when the road grows long and the night grows cold.