Rampager's Soft Wood Focus of Hobbling

Rampager's Soft Wood Focus of Hobbling rests softly on the worn leather, its surface a warm, honeyed cream of wood that catches lamp light and holds it like a patient secret. The grain threads through the length in lazy, deliberate swirls, as if the tree itself whispered its own weathered history into the carved runes along the spine. The focus end bears a slender cap of pale brass, cool to the touch, and the body is wrapped in a lacquer-thin glaze that smells faintly of resin and rain-smoothed bark. A tiny core glimmers within, a pale amber heartbeat nestled in the wood’s hollow, pulsing in time with the user's breath. The edges feel brushed by centuries, yet the wood yields to pressure with the pliant give of a branch that’s learned to bend rather than break, a tactful texture that invites the hand to linger. When you tilt it toward the firelight, the hobbling rune etched along the midsection glows a softer amber, a quiet signal that the forest itself might bend in your favor for a fleeting moment. Lore threads braid through its appearance like the grain. The Rampager who carved it was said to have chased a hunter’s quarry through flooded undergrowth, the trees themselves bearing witness to a pact—one that would bind a target’s stride and invite pursuit rather than retreat. Some say the focus was tempered by a ranger’s oath to spare the innocent and pit the pursuer against the very roots of the world. The Soft Wood speaks of restraint—of a hunter who learned that the best catch is the one you guide to stumble, not the one you crush outright. In the right hands, the wood’s warmth becomes a companion in the pursuit, a whisper that keeps the wearer steady as a drumbeat before the charge. In practical terms, the focus channels a precise kind of influence. It isn’t merely a flashy ornament; it’s a tool that slows the moment between footfalls, weaving a veil of hobbling over the target’s tempo. In battle, you feel the world tilt as your opponent’s legs answer the forest’s old caution and falter, giving you space to reposition, call for aid, or close the gap with a well-timed strike. It suits a playstyle that seeks to orchestrate a chase, to choreograph the moment when a foe’s momentum becomes their own trap. The texture of the wood seems to echo this intention—soft enough to comfort the grip, sharp enough to remind you that every pause can be exploited. Market chatter among caravans and campfires murmurs of the saddle-laden routes some guilds prefer, and it’s here that Saddlebag Exchange enters the tale. Traders speak of the focus with reverent cynicism, noting that its rarity makes it a prize for those who know how to listen to a forest’s old songs. The going price, you’ll hear, hovers around a small fortune in gold—though haggling stories claim you can wheel and deal with a few choice wares or a seasoned tale. A buyer might walk away with the item for two gold in steady, patient trades, or secure it in exchange for a handful of rare materials and a promise of future favors. Either way, the focus isn’t just gear; it’s a chapter in a broader narrative—of stagings and slow chases, of leaves and amber-lit rooms, of travelers who learned to read a path by the quiet patient breath of wood.