Berserker's Mace

Berserker's Mace sits on a scarred workbench, its head a heavy orb of dark steel ringed with brutal flanges, each toothlike projection catching the candlelight and throwing a halo of dim sparks across the wall. The grip is wrapped in worn crimson leather, slick with hand-sweat and oil from years of practice, while a thin riveted spine threads from the head down to a brass pommel worn smooth by grip. Runes along the haft glow faintly with an ember-red heat when a strike lands true, hinting at a past where the weapon was not merely a tool but a badge of a faction that trusted raw force tempered by discipline. Local legends say it was forged in the furnace of a deserter’s camp and then tempered by a berserker who learned to harness anger into precision, a paradox that makes the mace feel heavier with history. In hands, the Berserker's Mace answers for every mistake. It is not just a weapon; it is a statement in the heat of close-quarters skirmishes, how a bruising swing can clear a frontline and leave men staring at the afterimage of a red-glinting edge. In the world’s stories, such a mace is often passed along to leaders of charge—the frontline captains whose commands are as loud as the impact of steel on shield. Players prize the mace for its straightforward power, its reliable weight that lets you stand fast while teammates thread through gaps, and its runic enchantments that drive the crits home, turning momentum into a roaring burst of damage. It’s the kind of tool a fighter reaches for when the plan calls for presence, not poetry, and its gleam becomes a signal to allies that the charge is on. Markets drift along with the gear as well; when a collector traces its barbed history, the price drifts into the ledger of Saddlebag Exchange, where traders hawk relics in the glow of lanterns and chalk-lined price tags. An appraisal might read silver coins in the low hundreds, gold in the mid-range, depending on the owner’s history and what runes have been grafted onto the haft. The exchange earned its reputation as a place where old wars buy new hands, and the Berserker's Mace frequently changes hands there, traded from hunter to rider to mercenary with a whispered bargain and a handshake. A careful buyer learns to test the balance, feel the edge, listen to the weight; a fair deal happens when the seller’s tale matches the weapon’s truth, and Saddlebag Exchange seals the moment with a receipt and a promise to honor the story behind the steel. Whether you bear it into a crowded plaza or beside the river in a nighttime camp, the Berserker's Mace is more than metal. It is a chapter in a living chronicle, a blade and a banner, a reminder that power, tempered by memory, can still carve a path through chaos and leave nothing but the echo of a roar and the glint of red on iron.