Strong Soft Wood Warhorn of Fire

Strong Soft Wood Warhorn of Fire sits on the rough oak counter, its surface a satin of pale honeyed grain. The horn curls gently, like a branch smoothed by years of rain, its ends tapered to a stubborn point. The texture catches the light: a whisper of resin, a few charred flecks from a long-ago spark etched along the length. Sigils burned in ash wind their way around the midsection, outlines of a flame that refuses to die. The mouthpiece wears a cracked strip of leather, scarred from fingers that learned to coax notes from stubborn wood. Lore says this horn was carved from the heartwood of a tree that survived a dragon's breath, its grain thick with memory and heat. When you cradle it, you feel the warmth of a small hearth trapped inside, as if the wood itself remembers the crackle of embers and the glow of a campfire on a winter night. In the field, its true purpose reveals itself not as a weapon but as a conductor of fire and courage. A single blast can summon a ring of ember-laced light that brushes allies with warmth, quickening their breath and sharpening their focus. The horn's notes pull down the smoke and guide weary legs toward the next waypoint; they rally defenders, ease fatigue from tired bones, and invite the flame back into their hands. Those who carry it learn to listen for a subtle tremor in the horn, a hint of heat that grows into a blaze as the skirmish tilts. It doesn't merely deal damage; it invites cooperation, turning a scattered fight into a chorus of coordinated moves. In the right hands, the horn becomes a storyteller: it speaks of a harbor siege, a night watch under amber lamplight, a healer who follows the notes to keep a comrade upright. Nearby, the Saddlebag Exchange keeps a restless rhythm of trade. Lanterns swing, and parchment price tags flutter between stalls as merchants hiss out whetted bargains. A handful of Strong Soft Wood Warhorns of Fire move through the line, each with its own glow and crackle. The going price is usually spoken in silver—roughly in the high twenties to the low thirties—enough to make a careful buyer pause and think of hearth-fire and history. The Exchange isn't just a stall; it's a rumor mill where stories of forges, embers, and long voyages mingle with coin. A buyer can listen to the horn's warmth in the seller's voice, feel the wood's grain under a palm, and decide if the flame is worth the cost. Carry it into a dawn-lit camp or a crowded city square, and the horn becomes part of a larger narrative—one where communities barter, repair, and remember. The Strong Soft Wood Warhorn of Fire asks its owner to keep the flame alive, to feed the ember of courage in comrades, and to tell a story that outlasts the last skirmish. In every quiet flicker of its surface, there is a memory of wood, fire, and people who chose to stand together and sing.