Rampager's Soft Wood Torch

Rampager's Soft Wood Torch sits in my hand, its pale wood like driftwood bleached by sun, the surface smooth and cool to the touch. The head is brass-bound, a slender chamber that holds a stubborn, steady flame, while a line of dark sinew is braided around the grip and a leather thong rides the handle, worn soft by long journeys. Carved near the flame-holder is a Rampager sigil—a leaf-woven mark that once guided scouts through thinning forests and, legend says, kept ambushers at bay. The flame itself glows with a green-gold detour of light, as if the wood remembers every rain-slick trail it lit and every night watch it kept. In campfire stories, these torches were more than light; they were talismans, pledges that the bearer would endure the dark. The soft wood feels forgiving yet resilient, and it carries the scent of resin, smoke, and old woods, inviting the forest to lean in closer when you cradle it. Its glow is a heartbeat against the night. On the road it becomes more than a beacon; it is a tool and a memory. You raise it to reveal hidden inscriptions in ruined ruins, trace a rune toward a buried cache, or signal a companion in the chaos of a skirmish. The torch casts a wider circle than a mere glowstick, enough to light a camp, coax a weary traveler forward, or catch the gleam of coin half-buried in leaves. In expeditions it has saved me from muddy footing and creeping mists, but it’s the small rituals—the quick relight after rain, the steady flame as you vow to press on—that make it feel alive. When tucked into a harness or hung at the hip, it becomes a quiet companion, a reminder that even in fierce nights there exists a steadfast light that can guide a party home. In the right hands, it can be a storyteller’s instrument, revealing the silhouettes of old trees and the shapes of unseen foes beyond the edge of sight. In a world tempted by shadows, that light can tilt a vote, a trust, a path. Market whispers travel as easily as wind, and Saddlebag Exchange carries them with the wares. I watched a caravan vendor haggle over copper pouches while curious apprentices craned to glimpse the Rampager torch, its brass catch catching lamplight just so. The price floats in the market currents—a modest sum for a piece of field lore, sometimes a few copper, sometimes a silver or two for a better-made example, depending on wear and the depth of the sigil. A traveler might swap stories for a bundle of torches, or trade one with a young scout who believes the sigil will ward off bad luck on a night crossing the plains. I checked Saddlebag Exchange later, scrolling through listings that matched the torch’s rugged charm, finding a handful of softly weathered pieces, each with its own small tale etched into the wood. In the end, I paid the road’s price—the trust of a market and the quiet certainty that, when darkness falls, Rampager’s Soft Wood Torch will still burn to guide footsteps and steady nerves.