Berserker's Soft Wood Warhorn

Berserker's Soft Wood Warhorn rests on a rough-hewn oak table, its pale wood warm as first light and breathing a faint, resin-touched scent that hints at years of travel. The horn’s body swells from mouthpiece to bell in a graceful arc, the grain resolved into swirls like wind-tossed sand, and a lacquered sheen catches the lamp, turning the pale surface into a living map of every season it has weathered. A narrow mouthpiece dark with use anchors the end, while a brass binding catches the edge where wood and breath meet. A leather strap, cracked from decades of marching, loops near the middle, and a crimson thread knots its way through a small carved groove, as if to seal a promise spoken in a night camp when courage ran thin and the dawn felt far away. Lore clings to the wood the way rain clings to a windowpane after a storm. Those stories say the tree gave up its strength only to a Berserker whose oath bound him to the wind itself, a grove of soft wood that grew quiet in the shadow of war. When the horn is raised and the first breath is blown, the sound does not simply fill air; it threads through the ranks, a living chorus that nods to memory and fear alike. The notes carry a weight, as if the wood remembers the ground that trembled beneath marching feet and the edges of night that fell when the drums went silent. It is not merely a tool of noise, but a relic that keeps a chain of promises taut between fighter and kin. In combat, its role widens beyond melody. The Berserker’s Soft Wood Warhorn acts like a bellows for a battlefield’s soul, releasing something that feels almost tangible: a surge of focus and momentum that travels from the wielder to the line and into the nerves of every ally nearby. When the horn gives its call, the air seems to brighten; Might and Swiftness hint at themselves in the shoulders and ankles of those who listen, while a shared sense of fury tightens the group’s formation and clarifies the path forward. It’s a weapon that favors timing, not simply force, turning a risky charge into a calculated advance and a held breath into a song of renewed purpose. The wielder learns to ride the crest of its cadence, to blend personal adrenaline with the rhythm it imposes on the field. Market days bring the horn into living rooms as surely as into battlefields. I watched a vendor roll the Wood Warhorn across a cloth-lined counter, its brilliance catching the glow as if it wore a private halo. Saddlebag Exchange, the bustle of caravans and staccato bargaining, offered it within reach of a disciplined purse. It hovered in price between practical trading silver and the dream of something rarer, with bargaining to spare for a buyer who understands the horn’s memory. A trader whispered that the horn’s value climbs in the rainier seasons, when gatherings of war-born resolve push demand upward, and a seasoned tradesman teased out a story about its kinship with other Berserker relics, each note a link in a longer chain of stories. So the Berserker’s Soft Wood Warhorn remains more than carved wood and lacquer; it is a portable memory, an instrument that turns fear into focus and chaos into a path. It travels with the wearer not merely to strike a foe, but to remind every hearing heart that the world is built from those who answer the call with steady hands, loud lungs, and a shared, unbroken resolve.