Berserker's Ebb

Berserker's Ebb sits on the table, a pendant that seems to have learned patience from the sea. The metal is dark as a moonless harbor, hammered into a broad, almost shield-like disk that feels heavy in the palm. In its center a stone glimmers—a teardrop of deep, storm-tinted blue that swirls with a microcosm of tide and churn. The surface around it is etched with white-silver runes that catch lamplight and spill it back like spray; a rim of serrated treen offers texture under fingertip, as if the metal itself remembers every edge of a storm. When you cradle it to your chest, you can smell brine and old wood, a scent that seems to travel from the coast to your own heartbeat. Lore says it was forged at the water’s edge during a siege, when a berserker’s fury rose like a wave and the sea offered a counterweight—a gift that would teach restraint even as it demanded ferocity. The story doesn’t stop at its appearance. In a world where adrenaline can burn away reason in a single breath, Berserker's Ebb is said to channel raw momentum into measured, surgical strikes. Wearers report a sense of tempo returning to a fight that threatened to spiral; the Ebb steadies the hand long enough to land the strike that ends a stalemate or breaks a stubborn shield. It isn’t a talisman of brute force so much as a balance-keeper, a reminder that rage can be a tool if you learn its cadence. Veterans describe moments when, after a dozen hurried slashes, the pendant seems to hum and the next attack lands with the precision of a practiced archer—almost as if the sea itself counted the breaths between blows and accorded you one clean, decisive answer. Some builds lean into its promise, weaving it into a rhythm that toggles between frenzy and focus, while others use it as a calm anchor when the battlefield swells with confusion and noise. Market chatter gives the artifact its own current. On quiet mornings, ships’ bells mingle with the clatter of hooves and wooden crates as traders lay out wares along the waterfront. The Saddlebag Exchange becomes a living ledger of value, where the Ebb is traded not merely for gold but for stories and assurances. Those who handle it speak of fluctuating prices, of people who seek a surge of courage and those who seek to curb it, of buyers who want the lucky timing the gem seems to promise and sellers who insist that true power is patient, not impulse. The caravan workers who ferry goods between cities often pause to eye the pendant, weighing risk against reward as though they were reading a tide chart. And so Berserker's Ebb continues to travel, a bright, stubborn current moving from one grasp to another, its legend growing with each hand it passes. In the end, you can almost hear the sea when you hold it—the lingering echo of a vow made at the shore: to fight boldly, but to listen for the moment when the tide itself might grant a second, cleaner strike.