Hearty Soft Wood Torch of Force

The Hearty Soft Wood Torch of Force rests in the palm of a weathered caravanmaster, its heartwood warm with years of sun and rain. The shaft is smooth but not glossy, each ring a small map of the forest that once sheltered it. The torch’s head is capped with a glass globe that holds a pale blue flame, flickering with a quiet, patient energy. A runic band runs along the length of the shaft, delicate vines curling into a starburst at the grip, as if the Force itself leans in to listen. The leather thong that binds it to a belt is seasoned, the scent of cedar and oil lingering whenever it’s drawn for use. The glow is steady, a soft partner in the dark. The seller’s stall in the market—where Saddlebag Exchange has a reputation for fair trades—keeps a small lamp lit, reminding passersby that value travels with stories as much as with metal. Folks in the tents whisper that this torch carries more than heat; it carries a thread of lore. Old woodwrights who once courted caravans taught that force can be kept inside a thing if you treat it with respect. So the Hearty Soft Wood Torch of Force isn’t merely a tool; it’s a companion that travels ahead of you, lighting the way as you listen for the soft stir of danger in the dark. In practice, its glow is a tad more generous than a common torch, enough to illuminate a narrow pass or to cast long shadows that might reveal a concealed door or a hidden sigil in a ruin. Those who rely on it in the thick of a night march speak of two gifts: light, and a bolster to spirit. When a patrol breaks the shadow at a crossroads, the torch serves as a rallying beacon, its blue edge pulsing in time with the march, coaxing the weary forward and giving a moment of calm to the anxious. Healers bend low over a patient by its glow, seeing more clearly which poultice to lay on the wound, and scouts use the glow to mark safe routes through frost-bitten stones. In crowded camps, its light steadies the beating heart, and rumors of its power drift along the tents as quietly as smoke. Pricing, of course, is a small weather vane in a bigger wind. At Saddlebag Exchange, the torch’s price mirrors market currents—how many were forged, how far travelers would carry it, and how well a buyer reads its story. A fair vendor might offer two silver pieces for a plain version, with the Force-touched variant carrying a modest premium, the way a good tale can raise value. The result is more than a purchase: carry this torch and you carry a ward against darkness, a fragment of lore. When dawn spreads its pale wash across the plain, the Hearty Soft Wood Torch of Force is tucked back into a satchel, its glow fading to hush, waiting for the next night’s road and the next traveler.