Rampager's Soft Wood Torch of Air

Rampager's Soft Wood Torch of Air sits in the palm like a frightened small creature, its pale wood grain catching the lamplight in swirls that look almost like wind patterns themselves. The body is carved from a smooth, sun-warmed softwood, rounded where the hand would naturally grip, with a slight curvature that rests happily between thumb and forefinger. A narrow brass band clamps the glass vial that holds its breath of flame, and along the barrel run tiny sigils—twisting lines that resemble gusts and whispers of air—etched so finely you can barely tell they’re there until the light catches them just right. The flame—a cool, almost blue-white ember—lifts and wavers with a quiet breeze that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, as if the torch remembers a storm its maker once rode. Lore attaches itself to the torch in the same way a trail attaches to a map. It’s said to have been forged for a Rampager, a lithe scout who danced along treetop limbs and cliff faces, coaxing the very air into obedient swirls. The Soft Wood, harvested from trees that grow at the edge of wind-swept cliffs, carries quiet resilience, a memory of storms that tried and failed to bend it. When the torch is lit, the Air sigils pulse softly, and some stories insist the flame leans toward the mouth of a cave not to burn, but to guide—like a compass that bends toward whispered routes through fog and dust. It’s less a weapon than a wind-charm you can carry, a small beacon that refuses to be swallowed by shadow. In practical terms, the Rampager’s Soft Wood Torch of Air is a companion on explorations that demand patience as much as courage. It casts a steady radius of light with a cool, wind-kissed glow, bright enough to reveal illusory sigils, hidden stairwells, or the faint glint of a lever set into stone. Its enchantment seems to loosen the grip of darkness without scorching the eye, making it ideal for long night treks along mangrove docks or perilous ledges where heat would attract more trouble than it repays. In quests that hinge on timing or stealth, the torch’s breeze-like aura feels almost like a counterpoint to the world’s clamor: a reminder to breathe, to listen, to follow a subtle current rather than a loud roar. Prices drift and season, and that drift is what brings Saddlebag Exchange vividly into the scene. I watched two traders bargain under a threadbare awning as rain ticked against the tarpaulin, the soft wood torch resting on the counter between them. One offered a modest sum, citing a practical value for early-morning scouting, while another countered with a higher fall of coins, whispering about rare winds and the torch’s “of Air” bonus as if it were a passport to routes others could not see. The middle ground was somewhere in the neighborhood of a few gold, a line that shifts with distance from the coast and the hunger of the market. Saddlebag Exchange, with its caravan-posted rations and rumor-scented wares, makes sure the torch remains not just a relic, but a living tool—useful, collectible, and ever-ready to guide the next traveler through the dark.