Hard Wood Logging Node sits squat in the shade, a stubborn stump wearing a barklike armor of weathered planks. Its surface is a mosaic of knots and grain, the wood dark as rain-soaked iron, with pale sap seeping from tiny fissures that have learned to drink the sun. When struck, it yields a dull, satisfying thud rather than a hollow sound, as if the tree’s heart still clung to a distant life. The edges bear scars from patient axes, yet there is a quiet polish to the surface that hints at years of careful tapping by travelers who measured every strike. In the right light the grain threads like iron filaments, and a whiff of resin clings to the air, inviting a woodworker to consider what might come from such stubborn stock. This node isn’t merely fuel for the hearth; it is a hinge in the world’s craft. Timber winters shape the villages, and hardwood is prized for strength more than flash. Carpenters and shipwrights value it for strength for masts, for sturdy frames, for the kind of furniture that endures a storm’s memory. Some say the trees that produce Hard Wood remember old oaths, and that their rings protect the craftsman who respects the grain. For players, the node yields Hard Wood, the material that unlocks the craft’s deeper side: the higher-tier woodworking recipes, crates and chests that carry goods into caravans, and weapons that benefit from tight, dense stock. It is not glamorous on its own, but it is the backbone of many a project: a bow that will flex without snapping, a shield frame that refuses to buckle, a ship’s coarse helm that stands up to salt and spray. In the field, the node is also a waypoint in a larger story. Harvesters follow it along the forest path, trading stories with the scavengers who guard the woods, each strike echoing down the centuries of labor. The wood’s aroma travels with the breeze, drawing craftsmen who recognize the briny tang of the sea and the dryness of inland timbers. When a camp breaks and the day cools, the stack of Hard Wood is rolled into carts, hauled toward the villages’ markets, its fate a thread in the broader tapestry of trade and season. On Saddlebag Exchange, the markets spill into booths and dust trails, with traders hawking tools and timber by the handful. A vendor will weigh a stack of Hard Wood against coins, claiming it sells for a fair measure of silver, though prices wander with demand and weather. The exchange’s sign creaks, and a child’s laughter drifts by as someone bargains for a seasoned plank that will become a cradle for a newborn crafts project. The wood’s value isn’t fixed; it shifts like the wind, a reminder that time, tide, and task decide what a single node will yield tomorrow. Some evenings the nodal grove glows faintly, as if listening, and the logger’s tale merges with wind, wood, and patient hands turning potential into craft.