Berserker's Serpent's Wrath Torch rests in my palm, a shadow-black shaft polished to a nearly obsidian shine, its tip shaped like a curling serpent's jaw. The carved scales along the length catch every lamplight and fracture it into a thousand dark reflections. The head of the serpent anchors the flame, its eyes set with green glass that seems to pulse as the torch breathes. A leather wrap coils around the grip, worn smooth from months of use, and a hammered bronze ferrule keeps the head and shaft in a merciless embrace. The flame itself burns with a curious emerald heat, riding the air with a hissed, almost reptilian whisper. Legends say it was forged under the long noon of a war camp, blessed by a hunter who tamed a venomous sovereign of the sea and the desert. The Serpent's Wrath speaks to those who chase the roar of battle: when the torch is raised, the surrounding air seems to tighten, as if the serpent itself is listening for reckless courage. In dusk-lit ruins and ringing halls, the torch's glow becomes a beacon of resolve, a symbol that a fighter's will can heat iron and fear alike. On the field, it serves as a practical light and a story-saturated badge of identity. Off-hand, it can be wielded in tandem with a mighty greatsword or a flameseared rifle, enabling quick lantern-throwing and close-quarters combustion. The Serpent's Wrath doesn't just light the way; it tightens the bond among frontline allies, its glow curling along the edges of a shield wall. When foes press in, the torch's ember seems to grow hungrier, and players report a small but perceptible increase in aggression from berserker-styled builds, as if the flame itself feeds off their rage. In world events that hinge on escorting caravans or dispelling cursed darkness, a bright green blaze can be the difference between a failed retreat and a rallying cry. Of course, tools like this travel between hands and markets, carried by caravanists who claim to have brokered it from a smith who lived by the river bend. In Saddlebag Exchange, a bustling marketplace where explorers trade curios and rare finds, the Torch often moves with a price premium, measured in gold and sometimes in gleaming serpent-iron trinkets. Buyers haggle; sellers test the flame's color under a sunlit awning; and every listing carries a short tale about the warrior who once kept the torch burning through a siege. A fair price shifts with demand, but the glow remains constant, a reminder that some relics stay alive by the stories people tell about them. To carry Berserker's Serpent's Wrath Torch is to carry a vow, a bit of heat and history, tucked into your belt as you step into the night. Some nights I watch the green flame dart along a shield, tracing a story in the air only the patient listener can hear. It reminds me that in combat, a quiet flame can guide the wary and bold alike, through any night.