Berserker's Soft Wood Torch of Fire

The Berserker's Soft Wood Torch of Fire sits in the hollow of my palm, its shaft a pale, warm grain that catches the light like a sleeping ember. The wood is soft to the touch, smooth from years of handling, with delicate rings that feel almost like tiny hills beneath the skin. A brass nozzle crowns the head, scarred from countless battles and wrapped in a strip of leather that’s darkened to a coffee-brown by smoke. The flame that blooms from its mouth is a vivid, hungry orange, leaping and curling with a life of its own, as if eager to carve a story into the air. Along the haft run slender sigils—runic fishhooks and wind-slashes—glittering faintly when the blaze catches a draft, a whisper of lore inked into the wood by artisans who believed flame could sing back to the heart that fed it. Locals tell of this torch as more than a tool; it’s a relic woven into the very practice of the berserkers who once walked the edge between ferocity and fate. They say the Soft Wood Torch was gifted to a rally of front-line scouts who needed light without the fear of splinters or brittle staves cracking under pressure. The wood’s tenderness, contrasted with the iron will of its users, gave the flame a certain temper—bright enough to scatter shadows, steady enough to burn away fear at the edge of a cliff, and careful enough not to scorch what lay deeper in the cave’s marrow. In stories shared around campfires, the torch is a kind of companion: it blinks in the wind, it guides the way, it remembers the footsteps of those who once carried it into the night. When the ember settles, the surface of the wood remains smooth, as if time itself polished away every rough moment of fear that the torch might have seen. In the game’s world, this torch is both beacon and tool. It illuminates, yes, letting explorers peer into alcoves where hidden glyphs shimmer only when the light is right. It can be used to burn away stubborn vines, to trigger delicate environmental puzzles, or to keep your mercy and your fury balanced as you press deeper into a ruin where shadow pools like ink. The scent of resin on the wood—the way the flame licks the air with that distinct, almost ritual heat—reminds a traveler that the torch wasn’t just carried in daylight; it was a standard bearer in skirmishes, a signal to rally allies when the night grew thick and the path seemed to vanish. Prices drift in the bustling market, and here the tale continues at Saddlebag Exchange, where a blade-witted broker eyes the torch and mutters of silver begin to mingle with the crumbly sound of old coins. The shop’s chalkboard bears a price tag that shifts with demand: a few silver for a bright, common flame, a touch more when the wood’s grain is unusually fine or the sigils glow with a stubborn, hunter’s light. A traveler might barter a rolled map, a length of sturdy rope, or a belt of salt-brined meat to seal the deal. I watch a merchant wrap the torch in oiled paper, the scent of pine and smoke escaping as if the item itself wants to tell a longer version of its journey. I pocket the torch again, feeling the wood’s warmth through the sleeve, and step back into the night. The Berserker’s Soft Wood Torch of Fire isn’t merely a thing you carry; it’s a partner in your voyage, a spark that invites the next chapter to begin.