Berserker's Soft Wood Warhorn

Smooth as a winter-burnished branch, the Berserker's Soft Wood Warhorn sits on the workbench, its curved horn carved from a pale, almost honey-colored soft wood. The surface carries a whisper of grain that runs like river lines, sun-warmed and slick to the touch. The mouthpiece is reinforced with narrow brass bands that glint when light flickers off the workshop lamp, and the bell is etched with a simple, feral motif—a stylized wolf’s head in relief—that hints at wild loyalties and long campaigns. A strap of rawhide, softened by age, loops from the base, so it can be slung over a shoulder without pinching the breath. The scent of resin and old campfire lingers in the air, and a faint, almost shy glow travels along the runes carved beneath its lip, as if the horn remembers every shout it has ever carried. Legends say the horn was born in a grove that cunningly swallowed daylight, where a berserker named Kethar coaxed a chorus from trees that bled sap and sound. The soft wood preferred the rhythm of a fierce heartbeat over dull metal, its tone bright and cutting, capable of lifting a chorus into battle-like a sudden dawn. In the mouths of the worthy, the warhorn becomes a storyteller, the wood singing of old raided camps and the moment a troop learned to move as one. It is not just a weapon but a vessel of memory: when the horn calls, banners snap, boots thud in unison, and the fearsome edge of the frontline is tempered by a sense of shared purpose. That lore threads through the shaft’s grain, a whispered contract with whoever lends their breath to the instrument. In the game-world, the warhorn is more than ornament; its user can unleash a cascade of shouts that buff allies and sharpen reflexes. A wind-like note can quicken movement, another can sharpen vigilance, and a bold, roaring cry can deepen the group’s resolve. The Berserker's Soft Wood Warhorn, given its lineage, tends to favor quick, aggressive cadence: it invites the bearer to press forward, to ride the momentum of a fight rather than retreat. Players tell stories about the horn turning a narrow breach into a widening corridor, a healer’s calm into a surge of offense, a skirmish into a controlled spectacle of ferocity. The wood’s lighter weight makes it a reliable partner for long skirmishes, where every breath matters and every yelp of the horn can steady a fledgling group’s nerves. Market days add another layer to the horn’s life. Traders huddle around carts, trading rumors and chafing at prices that swing with the season’s demand. Saddlebag Exchange becomes the chorus of that market—a place where a well-played piece can fetch a modest gold, while a well-preserved stem and intact runes might fetch a touch more from a collector who loves lore as much as power. For some, the value isn’t just measured in coin but in potential: the chance to breathe life into a new ally’s build, to set a fresh story into motion as a group heads into a raid or a rally. The horn’s sale becomes a hinge in a larger tale about what it means to lend voice to courage and to carry a name into the next encounter. Some items fade; this one lingers, its soft wood listening for the next call to arms.