Berserker's Soft Wood Warhorn of the Geomancer

The Berserker's Soft Wood Warhorn of the Geomancer rests on a sun-bleached cloth, its pale body catching the light like a desert husk of wood polished by years of use. The horn itself is slender and slightly curved, the grain of the soft wood ribboning in delicate crescents along its length. A faint resin gleam clings to the surface, as if the timber drank a thousand autumns and kept the memory in its fibers. The bell of the instrument is cast in weathered bronze, darker where it has learned the touch of fingers and breath, etched with runes that mimic river stones and the patient work of a hand sinking into earth. A Geomancer’s sigil—an iron-gray glyph of earth and root—is burned into the butt, a quiet badge of loyalty to those who understand soil's stubborn truth. The mouthpiece is smooth, worn by countless blows of wind and roar, the edge softened by rain and travel, inviting a bold, deliberate breath. Holding it, you feel the horn hum at your fingertips, not with electricity but with memory—the memory of marches that carved canyons into the map and of berserkers who trusted their voice as a weapon as much as their blade. The Soft Wood speaks softly at first, a tremor that sounds like a forewarning, then swells into a crackling, tremulous sound that seems to hitch itself to the stone beneath the army’s boots. Those who recognize the Geomancer’s touch hear a promise in that timbre: the ground will remember you if you remember the ground. In combat, the horn is more than a sound; it is a bridge between fury and focus. Its vibrations ripple along the battlefield like roots searching for a seam in the earth, coaxing stone and soil to temper the charge of a frontline berserker. When blown with purpose, it calls upon earth’s patient strength, granting the wearer a surge of power and a temporary shield that shifts the flow of momentum from reckless rush to controlled momentum. Allies find themselves steadied by the low, rumbly note that steadies the line, while foes feel the ground shift beneath them—a tremor of distraction that can turn the tide when the horn’s call lands in cadence with a well-timed strike. The Geomancer’s motif threads through the weapon’s legend: a bond between fury and the patient tower of earth that holds its ground even as winds of war whip around it. Market tales tell the horn’s story as much as its sound. Traders speak of it with a trader’s reverence, the way a good carving speaks of a patient hand, the way a rumor grows a story, then tightens it with a price tag. Saddlebag Exchange becomes the narrative’s crossroads, where a neat ledger glances across a rough counter and a potential owner imagines the horn’s echo in a caravan’s wake. A few gold and a handful of glimmering coins might fetch a skilled craftsman’s bid; a more daring buyer could swap rare earth sigils or a trove of bright catalysts, hoping the Geomancer’s discipline will do the rest. In days when the earth is loud and the air is full of marching feet, the Berserker’s Soft Wood Warhorn of the Geomancer remains an emblem: a weapon that blows not just sound, but a story of resilience, loyalty, and the stubborn patience of ground that refuses to yield.