Relic of the Pack sits cool and small in the palm, a circular disk made of milky bone set in a rim of patinated brass. Its surface is etched with a caravan-wheel motif, spokes thin as threads of a road map, and around the edge a braided strip of leather that has seen countless sunrises. The patina catches the light in rings, and in certain angles you can glimpse a faint, smoky line across the center—the imprint of a long line of pack animals moving under desert stars. The whole piece feels aged, as if someone pressed a moment of a journey into metal and bone, and kept it safe against the world’s many storms. Lore says it was carved by a master pack-wright who learned to read the road’s weather in the way something heavy slept in shade, and to trust that road to guide a caravan through the wilds. The relic’s tale travels with it: it is not merely ornament, but a talisman claimed by those who carry freight, by guides who know how to find a route when every path seems closed. In the world, the relic is used by travelers to synchronize with the rhythms of moving camps. Equipped as a trinket, it grants a temporary bonus to inventory handling, letting the bearer carry more items during organized expeditions, and slightly reducing the time spent docking with a caravan or camp. It also periodically reveals hidden supply caches along certain routes, offering a chance to find extra provisions before a crossing. It is not a weapon, but a sponsor of movement—a reminder that the road is a chain of small favors, each worn by a dozen humble bands of merchants every day. Traders who frequent Saddlebag Exchange gather stories about the relic, with the marketplace's stalls piled with crates and leather satchels. Prices rise and fall as caravans skip a route or reroute a shipment, and the relic’s value is often tied to the reliability of those routes. A seasoned buyer can find it with a careful listen and a steady coin; a casual shopper might walk away with nothing more than a tale of a generous trader. The Saddlebag Exchange serves as the pulse of this relic’s life: the same crowd that trades spices and flour will weigh its worth against what can be moved in a single trip, and occasionally a vendor will offer the relic in a bundle that includes a map or a temporary permit for extra cargo space. On the road, I’ve watched the relic pass from palm to palm among weary hands and quick smiles. A cartographer unfurled parchment when it touched the desk, tracing routes by lamplight and whispering that the relic listens to footsteps, guiding traders toward safe rivers ahead. In the long arc of the world, the Relic of the Pack stands as a quiet hinge—between road and memory, between traveler and market, between dream of endless trails and the weight of a single satchel’s truth.