Berserker's Soft Wood Warhorn of Corruption

Berserker's Soft Wood Warhorn of Corruption sits polished and unworn on a battered desk, its pale grain swirling like wind-swept ash. The mouthpiece is carved into a snarling berserker's visage, a row of fanged spirals catching the candlelight. The horn's surface is smooth as river glass, yet not cold—warm to the touch, as if the tree still breathed. Along its length run runes etched in charcoal-black ink that gleam when the flame catches them, and a thin film of dark resin sits near the mouth like a dried breath held too long. The name itself feels like a dare whispered in a crowded tent: soft wood, for tenderness and resilience; Corruption, for the price paid when power travels through a throat it should not trust. The tale behind its origin is thick in the air around it. Some say the wood came from a grove touched by an elder hunger, a forest that whispered back to those who needed to listen more than they spoke. In the hands of a poised berserker, the horn becomes a conductor’s baton, guiding a chorus of courage. When it sounds, a tremor passes through nearby allies—shouts sharpen, tempo quickens, and the party moves as one. Yet the horn is not a gift without consequence. Its corruption-touched resonance lends a dangerous edge: battles sound louder, responsibilities heavier, as if the air itself is learning to bend toward violent intent. The horn asks for discipline as its price of admission, a reminder that power untempered can turn the room into a tavern brawl rather than a battlefield that honors strategy. In practice, its presence reshapes the rhythm of skirmishes. It does not merely buff; it writes a brief arc into the story of a fight—a call to arms that rallies, a cheer that steadies the line, and a surge that makes a stubborn push possible. Wielders quickly learn to weave its notes with other tools and talents, turning a measured tempo into a coordinated wave. When a line of enemies falters, the horn’s voice becomes a small quake, nudging teammates to seize the moment and strike with a united breath. It is as much a narrative device as a weapon, a character in the world’s ongoing drama, capable of transforming hesitation into momentum and momentum into a turning point. I crossed the wharf and stepped into the Saddlebag Exchange, where crates squeak with age and currency changes hands like a tide. There, the horn sits among price-tagged curios and the whispers of seasoned traders. It is not merely metal and wood; it’s a story you trade as much as you sell. The chatter suggests a price that reflects not only rarity but the demand from collectors and guilds who seek the horn for its lore as much as its power. Some buyers want it for the tale it carries, others for the way its voice compels a raid to move with a shared heartbeat. The stall’s ledger speaks to a healthy premium, proof that a single note can still open doors in a harbor crowded with memories. Put away in a quiet corner afterward, the weapon feels like more than armor and noise. It is a hinge in a larger chronicle—the moment when a forest’s echo meets a marching band and decides which side the next battle will stand. The Berserker’s Soft Wood Warhorn of Corruption asks you to listen, to choose courage, and to lead with both anger and care, letting the world hear your decision in a single, resonant note.