Berserker's Soft Wood Warhorn of Accuracy rests on a weathered bench, the wood pale with years and the grain carved with the patience of a craftsman who never rushed a blade. The horn portion curves like a drawn bowstring, its surface polished to a satin sheen that catches lamplight and glints with a whisper of amber. The soft wood frame carries a scent of resin and rain, as if the thing spent its life in a forest where sound could travel farther than fear. On its flank, runes in a rough, wolf-driven script wind around a crest that seems half-buried in bark—an emblem of the Berserker order, a memory of hunts and sudden courage, a reminder that even wood can be trusted to speak true. When you lift it to your lips and give a measured blow, the horn does more than announce your presence; it seems to tighten the air, nudge breaths into line, and sharpen the aim of anyone listening. In the field, it’s said to carry a blessing of Accuracy, a subtle pulse that steadies hands and nudges precision and crit potential for a handful of heartbeats after the echo fades. Players who pair it with the Berserker’s build notice the difference—the moment when a wandering swing lands true, when a scattered volley threads into a single, shared rhythm. It isn’t a talisman of grand enchantments, but a trusted ally whose voice steadies nerves and focuses eyes, letting a team thread a narrow corridor of success through chaos. The market hummed with this idea the afternoon I watched a trader name his price with a glint in his eye. In the Saddlebag Exchange, where old hands barter favors and newer ones test their luck, such relics drift between sleeves and sacks, weighing out value in coins, cloth, and maps. I heard a buyer whisper a figure, then pause as if listening for the horn’s own verdict, weighing metal against memory. The stall’s owner slid the Warhorn across the counter with a steady hand, as if offering a bridge between history and today. Saddlebag Exchange is the kind of place where a well-tuned bow can fetch a tale to tell at night, where the price tag carries not just currency but the weight of journeys signed in wood and wind. In its lore, the horn’s true value lies not just in its carved wood and polished horn, but in the moment it commanded a route, shaped a plan, saved a convoy. Some say a caravan guard wore it during a siege across a rain-slick pass, and when the call rose above the storm, allies found their formation again, eyes meeting in vow and quick, certain steps. That memory gives the item a heartbeat—a rhythm that keeps time with a company’s courage and a hunter’s patience. So it sits between quests and stories, a small tool that makes a larger world feel just within reach, its soft wood steadying the hands that will decide what happens next.