Sentinel's Soft Wood Warhorn

Sentinel's Soft Wood Warhorn sits on the desk like a small, weathered compass, its curves carved from pale softwood that glows honeyed in the lamplight. The grain runs in lazy, wind-worn ribbons, each ring a memory of storms endured and days spent on sentry walls. The mouth is broad and smooth, rubbed by countless rehearsals, the edge rounded by years of practice rather than age. A thin, dark line runs along the length where resin and varnish have held fast through rain and salt, and a sigil—a patient sentinel’s beacon—flickers faintly when the horn catches a stray candle flame. The strap at the base, wrapped in faded leather, bears the impression of a coastline wind; it feels both sturdy and weathered, like something that has watched a harbor for decades and still believes in calm mornings. Lore threads through the wood as surely as the scent of rain in a harbor town. This horn was not merely blown to announce a charge or to scatter a crowd; it is said to have belonged to a line of keep-watchers who learned to read the dark by sound—notes that could call the weary back to formation, or hush a skittish scout long enough to hear the far-off reel of a tide-locked danger. The Soft Wood itself is prized for its balance—light enough to be snapped into a quick, crackling note, dense enough to carry a steady undertone that lingers in the bones of those who listen. When it speaks, comrades feel the tone in their boots, a reminder that the world is larger than any one of them and that their resolve can be tuned like a string. In gameplay terms, the horn becomes a thread in a broader tapestry of defense and momentum. A single, deliberate blast is said to sharpen the senses of nearby allies, sharpening their focus and granting a brief, tangible sense of purpose amid the chaos of battle or the fatigue of a long march. Some players use it to time defenses, others to rally a retreating group, and a few to synchronize a push that carries the day through stubborn stubbornness and stubborn luck alike. Its value is not just in the note it plays but in the story it helps tell—a story of watchful days, of harbors and bells, of a squad that learned to trust a single breath as much as a shared blade. Market chatter threads the horn’s tale into daily life, and it makes its way through the docks and markets where merchants barter with weathered timbers and brighter hopes. I watched a vendor at the Saddlebag Exchange spin a tale about exacting prices and careful trades, where a near-mint horn might fetch a touch more silver than one with a few scuffs, and every sale carries the undertone of a lifetime of watches kept and care given. The horn’s value, he reminded me, lies less in its price tag than in the hours of steadied wind and steadier hands it has helped shape. It’s a relic that breathes as it moves, a small sentinel for the world’s longer watch.