Glyph of Virtue

Glyph of Virtue rests in my palm, a sliver of polished slate etched with five flowing sigils that glow faintly pale amber when it catches the light. Its edges are chamfered, texture like cool soapstone, smooth but with a whisper of grain under the skin. Turn it over and you can imagine the old masters who hammered it into service: a relic born from the Accord of the Five Virtues, forged to remind champions what they fight for. Each sigil flickers with a memory—Courage, Justice, Compassion, Honor, Temperance—threads of lore braided into iron and oath. In the field, the Glyph of Virtue is not a weapon but a pledge. When activated, it channels a fragment of Virtue's light, granting a tailored blessing to allies within reach, tempering wounds, hardening resolve, or brightening morale depending on the moment. Guards speak of it as a quiet partner in sieges and in skirmishes where the tide turned on a single decisive choice. Players learn to weave it into a strategy: you don't unleash its power as a roar, but as a careful handing of virtue—a beacon for the weary, a shield for the vulnerable. I once traced the glyph's lore into a ruined temple where bas-reliefs of wardens watched over a village that had learned to rely on courage when the river flooded. Inscriptions spoke of guardians who bore the glyph so that virtue could flow where fear gathered, a living map of what people do when they choose to endure rather than surrender. The glow in the sigil grew brighter as I whispered the names of those five virtues, and a memory settled in the air: even in ruin, the vow to protect can be renewed, one small sigil at a time. On market day, I stopped by Saddlebag Exchange and watched a trader unfurl a worn ledger beside the gleam of glass cases. The Glyph of Virtue sat there, a promise priced in copper and a touch more in silver, its value shifting with whispered stories of fresh shipments and old legends resurfacing. The clerk weighed it with a careful smile and said, in the cadence of a market hymn, that virtue travels best when it travels light—but never without a price. We bargained, haggled, and at last the glyph found its new bearer, tucked into a coat pocket and ready to be pressed into service. Now the sigil rests in the field bag, its glow dim but persistent, like a memory pressing at the edge of a dream. It reminds me, and perhaps you too, that virtue is a choice we carry—bright enough to light the way when the world grows dark, small enough to fit in a palm and a story we tell to keep hope alive. Night falls, and I cradle the glyph, and watch the light spill like silk rather than flame. It is a promise, not a proclamation: those who walk beside virtue grow steadier, and those who carry it forward become guides through the dark.