Berserker's Soft Wood Warhorn of Force

Berserker's Soft Wood Warhorn of Force rests on a rough-sawn display shelf, its pale grain like a map of weathered years. The horn’s body is tucked in a satin-smooth sheath of soft wood, a tone that glows amber when lamp-light catches its spiraled ridges. The mouthpiece gleams with a thin veneer of brass, worked into a gentle curve that invites a confident breath. A sigil of Force is etched along the butt, tiny runes curling around a brittle star, as if the horn remembers every shout that ever cut the air and chose to keep it. The scent of pine resin lingers in the wood’s pores, a faint memory of wind-swept forests where storms learned to pause and listen. It isn’t heavy, yet you feel the weight of a hundred battles when you lift it; the soft wood yields a hollow, singing resonance that grows warmer in your hands, as if it’s coaxing your courage out of you. Legends say it was carved for a berserker who carved his name into the world with every charge, a rider who could bend a scream into momentum. They say the horn learned to speak in the living language of force—not mere raw noise, but a disciplined roar that stitched focus into motion. When the veteran who wore it rode into a siege, the weapon’s notes didn’t simply fill the air; they braided with the unit’s heartbeats, nudging muscles to tighten, signaling allies to tighten formation, and guiding the charge with a bright banner of sound. After the battle, the horn’s wood retained the scent of rain on iron, and the sigil seemed to glow faintly, like a remnant of a storm that never fully broke. In the telling of it, the Soft Wood Warhorn is less a tool than a story you strap to your side, a memory that can be called forth at will. In everyday skirmishes and grander confrontations, the instrument becomes part of a larger narrative: a voice for the vanguard, a conductor for a chorus of warriors. When you lift it and coax the air to listen, the battlefield answers with a chorus of force—boons flickering across the ranks, granting fleeting bursts of Might, endurance, or speed. It’s not simply a damage object; it’s a moment-welded memory that turns chaos into coordinated movement. For a guild on the march, the horn marks the moment when a scout’s whisper turns into a plan; for a lone wanderer, it’s a beacon that aligns fear into focus. Market echoes sometimes shape these memories, too. At Saddlebag Exchange, the horn has traded hands a few times, pricing itself against the pulse of the market and the hunger of a veteran’s purse. I watched a transaction unfold where the listing hovered around a few gold coins, with the brass mouthpiece catching the sun and sending a brief flare of gold dust across the stall. The seller spoke softly of the horn’s history; the buyer spoke of a future war-won rally. In the end, it wasn’t merely a price point but a belief—that a weapon forged from soft wood could carry a brittle, brilliant force into the next storm. To own Berserker's Soft Wood Warhorn of Force is to cradle a line of history in your grip and to trust that a single note can bend a day toward courage.