Berserker's Soft Wood Focus of Life rests in your hand like a warm heartbeat carved into pale grain. The wood seems to drink light, a satin sheen catching in the bend of its palm-sized form, as if the tree itself inhaled and exhaled through its seam of copper-toned runes. Its surface wears the subtle fingerprint of years—soft textures where fingers would caress, a slight resinous scent that clings to the air after a dry brush of polish. A central, amber-hued core glows faintly when you tilt the focus toward your chest, as if a captured sun perched inside the wood, beating in time with the wearer’s own pulse. The top edge is carved with a snarling berserker’s mask, not for intimidation but as a pledge: to anyone who bears it, life becomes a shared shield. Lore threads begin to untangle from that simple object the moment you cradle it. Local storytellers swear the focus was hewn by a master of the old berserker clans, a craftsman who refused to let rage consume him and instead bound his oath to the living loom of a sacred grove. They say the wood drank in roars and whispers, and the amber core absorbed sorrow and healing alike. When the wielder channels life toward allies, the runes flaring along the grain seem to answer with a soft, patient hum—like a chorus waiting for the right note. In the field, it’s not merely a tool but a conduit: a promise that a battle’s frenzy can be tempered by mercy, that vitality can be braided through chaos until a wounded friend can stand again. In practical terms, the focus glides through combat like a steady tide. It shapes the wearer’s healing and protective arts, drawing vitality from the world and threading it into the party’s lifeblood. It doesn’t shout its power; it whispers through every shield it helps manifest, every burst of restorative light that skirts around the edge of a fallen comrade. Its life-sense is not simply about mending flesh but about sustaining momentum—keeping a frontline steady, letting a distraction endures, allowing the healer to breathe for a moment longer. To those who know the rhythm of skirmishes, Berserker's Soft Wood Focus of Life feels almost like a co-conspirator—calm in the eye of a storm, patient as a forest that remembers every step of your march. Market days always carry the scent of resin and risk, especially around Saddlebag Exchange, where seasoned traders haggle like old friends over campfires that never quite die down. I watched a wary collector trade forged copper and a tale or two for a glimpse of this focus, the dealer’s hand lingering on the amber core as if coaxing a memory from it. The price dances in the air—never fixed, always contested—tethered to stories of the grove, to the wanderer who found it, to the lifeblood it promises to carry through the night. In the end, it’s not just a piece of wood or a charm; it’s a thread in a larger tapestry—a whispered oath that life can endure even when the noise of war tries to drown it out.