Berserker's Soft Wood Torch

Berserker's Soft Wood Torch rests in my gloved palm, its shaft a slender fuse of soft wood that bears the smooth sheen of long use. The grain winds like a calm river, and the surface feels warm to the touch, as if it kept a memory of every hearth it has lit. A brass cradle holds a modest amber flame that flickers with a hunter’s resolve, throwing quick triangles of light across rough timber and coarse leather. Carved runes along the length catch the glow, faint outlines that whisper of old rites and the ferocity of berserkers who once trusted their nights to this very tool. The top wears a knurled cap, the lower end a shallow bulb where resin glints, and a leather thong loops from it so it never slips from a grip meant for sudden action. In the world around the torch, the soft wood carries its own lore: not merely wood and flame, but a symbol of resilience. Those who bear a Berserker's torch are known to seek out dusk-lit ruins, drawing courage from the glow as much as from the weapon at their hip. Travelers tell stories of how the torch's light seems to brighten when danger closes in, and how a ritual shine in the flame can steady a wavering hand before a charge. On the trail, the torch is a practical companion. It illuminates dark caverns and hidden nooks where sigils sleep behind dust, reveals faint engravings that might unlock a doorway, and act as a beacon to rally scouts and marksmen when a patrol breaks into a skirmish. Its warmth is described by veterans as boosting morale in a tense camp, turning a restless watch into a shared moment of calm. For crafters and scavengers, the resin and wood are common enough to barter, while for frontline travelers it stays compact enough to tuck behind a belt or sling over an shoulder in a pinch. In fights, its glow can deter ambushes, and in exploration it reveals paths that no map would name. I learned wandering stalls near Saddlebag Exchange, where traders whisper about prices as if they were characters in a story. A leather-tagged clerk named Mirelle offered a fair sum for the torch, enough to buy rune fragments or a small parcel of lantern oil, depending on mood and demand. The offer swayed with the crowd: a lamp-flicker here, a lull in the trade winds there, and suddenly the Berserker's torch was more than a lit stick; it was a credential, a reminder that humble light carries weight in a world that never sleeps. Placed in a pocket of the world’s memory, the Berserker's Soft Wood Torch becomes part of a larger tale—a light that keeps dusk from turning to night and a caravan moving when the world seems overcast. It promises heat against cold, courage against fear, and stories that outlast the flame whenever someone tucks it away and steps forward, torch in hand, into whatever comes next, soon.