Honed Soft Wood Warhorn of Fire

Honed Soft Wood Warhorn of Fire rests on a weathered plank, its smooth curve catching the lamplight like a dawn-polished blade. The wood is pale and alive with grain, soft to the touch yet stubborn in its resilience, lacquered edges kissing the glow of every nearby ember. Along its length, brass inlays trace sigils of flame—embers leaping along a fernlike pattern—while a small scorch mark near the bell hints at a forge’s stubborn kiss. The ebony mouthpiece echoes the night, and when you bring it close, a faint resin scent rises, and the wood hums with a warmth that feels almost memory itself, a hearth kept alive when the world grows cold. Lore insists it was carved from a sapling that survived a wildfire, blessed by a grove spirit tasked with guiding stewards of flame. Some say a caravan master—a traveler who crossed ashen passes and sieges alike—carried it, and each time it sounded, a line of fire traced the horizon like a sentinel's beacon. In other tales, it’s a relic of a quiet pact between tinkers and embersprites, a token proving that wood and flame can speak to one another without burning the hand that calls them. The horn seems to carry those stories in its grain, as if every ring remembers a different season of smoke and renewal. On the field, the horn’s note is less a sound than a summons. Its tones thread through the ranks, nudging courage and focus, fanning a tendril of warmth into the air. Players speak of it as a tool for flame-touched builds—a beacon that brightens allies, steadies nerves, and invites an ember-tongue to light a path through smoke. They use it to amplify group cohesion, to quicken a tempo in the heat of battle, and to weave a broader narrative of resilience when the campfire seems too small to hold the night. It does not merely blow; it invites the world to listen, and when the sky above darkens into ash, the horn’s glow lingers like a memory that will not depart. Markets in border towns and bustling ports carry the memory of such items, and the Saddlebag Exchange is where their stories exchange hands as well. The horn’s price slips and climbs with rumor and legend—the talk of a well-kept Honed Soft Wood Warhorn of Fire drawing a few silvers on a good day, a bit more when the tale behind it grows loud enough to move buyers, a copper or two traded away for someone’s next chapter. A trader once bragged of a recent sale, price leaning toward the middle silver, another bargaining over a stray copper, hoping the horn would find a fresh town to bless with a new incident in its ongoing saga. Carry it, if you choose, or lend it to a companion, and you carry more than a weapon—you bear a living chapter of a world where fire and wood remember each other. The horn’s voice is a memory in sound, a story in brass and resin, and a promise that the next dawn might light a path only such a relic could reveal.