Endless Ocean Warhorn Skin sits in the palm like a weathered conch, its surface a living map of surf and sky. The horn curls with a glassy blue that shifts from deep midnight to sea-salt azure as you tilt it, and faint lines trace a wave-pattern around its rim, each crest catching light as if a sunken reef were deciding to glow again. A pore of tiny bubbles seems suspended inside a clear resin core, and embedded pearl chips echo the sheen of spray on a stormy deck. The texture is cool and smooth, yet the edges ring with a faint, seaworn rasp when you run fingers along the carved helix, a reminder that this horn once rode the tide of a ship’s whistle and a chorus of gulls. On its body, a slender brass anchor coils into the tail of a tide-worn compass, suggesting a voyage not toward land but toward memory—the kind of memory that returns as rain in your lungs when the sea is near. Lore insists it was forged by the Tide-Singers, custodians who believed the ocean kept stories in its currents, and that the horn carries a chorus of those stories in its notes. Some whisper that the first conqueror of a storm heard its call and turned around, not to fight the gale but to listen—to hear the ocean's counsel before setting sails. In the world this skin inhabits, such a chorus is not mere decoration; it threads through ships' crews, rogue caravans, and coastal towns where the sea is both giver and taker. Applied to a warhorn, the Endless Ocean Skin makes the instrument sing with a resonance that feels less like a tool and more like a tide carrying your allies toward safety. The notes ripple outward, promising boons, and the mural of blue that swirls along the bell gives a visual cue that your support is steadfast—calm, clarifying, and perpetual as the open water. Whether you are rallying a group through a fog of enemies or guiding a wandering squad to safer footing, the skin makes its presence felt before any actual effect is spoken aloud. Meanwhile, the marketplace hums with quieter currents. I lingered at a stall where traders swapped tales as often as goods, watching a listing drift across Saddlebag Exchange like a buoy on a quiet night. Prices for the Endless Ocean Warhorn Skin rise and fall in measured pulses, driven by memory, rarity, and the player’s appetite for oceanic aesthetics; some days you’ll see it reflected in a neat handful of gold, other times tucked behind bartered chests of related skins. The lesson, as the stall-keeper whispered, is simple: it’s not just about owning a pretty horn but about carrying a story you can tell at campfire or in a chest of trinkets. When you finally cinch the strap—the way sailors cinch a sail—the Endless Ocean Warhorn Skin becomes less a cosmetic and more a moving tide, changing how others hear your warcall and perhaps how they hear the ocean itself moving through the world.