Berserker's Soft Wood Staff

Berserker's Soft Wood Staff sits on the weathered workbench, the soft grain turning the late sun into a warm, honey glow along its length. The shaft is slender and surprisingly even, as if grown in a straight line rather than carved; its surface bears a whisper-thin glaze of lacquer that catches the light and scatters it into orange specks. The wood itself feels nearly alive under your fingertips—warm where the palms rest, cool at the tip—carved with a neat procession of angular runes that vanish and reappear as you tilt the staff. A simple leather wrap coils around the grip, worn smooth by a thousand holds, and at the butt a small brass ring threads through a leather thong, a traveler’s reminder to tie it to a belt or sash when the road grows too loud. Legends whisper that this staff was shaved from a grove that learned to endure madness, that its softness saved a berserker from snapping the very moment rage threatened to eclipse reason. They say the wood drinks the impact of heavy blows, returning them as a steadier breath and a steadier strike. When a wielder channels its temper, the staff seems to hum—a low resonance that makes the air feel thicker, the ground beneath you steadier. It is not a weapon designed to crush with brute force alone, but to sculpt a controlled storm: to extend reach, thread precise strikes through a crowd, and illuminate a line of allies with renewed courage. In proper hands, the Berserker's Soft Wood Staff becomes more than bronze and bark; it becomes a story you live through. It lengthens your reach, balances your steps, and unlocks a rhythm of skills that feel like counting heartbeats—attack, then arc, then shift, with a final surge that makes enemies blink and friends lift their swords with a little extra zeal. The bonus is a brief window where accuracy and ferocity meet, letting a practiced player choreograph a sequence that tears through the first ranks and clears a path for those who follow. It is favored by those who care about precision, timing, and the art of turning fury into momentum. On market mornings, I hear the clack of coins and the soft clatter of wooden shelves at Saddlebag Exchange, where traders lay out every possible variation of this staff: smooth, unadorned; engraved with a single sigil; or rare, etched with a constellation of runes that glow faintly when heated by a spark. Clean specimens tend to wander between four and six gold, depending on runes and the merchant’s mood; rarer variants with extra motifs can push beyond seven. I watched one go for a higher price after a buyer traded stories about a berserker who used it to calm a battlefield’s noise into a single, focused note. Bargains show up, too—the kind where the shaft’s old repairs peek out, and the price drops enough to tempt a careful buyer. Saddlebag Exchange isn’t just a stall; it’s a ledger of what the road has given and what it will ask in return.