Track 15: Hallowed Ground

Track 15: Hallowed Ground rests on the shop counter like a coin pressed from moonlit brass, its face a pale streak of weathered metal etched with a ring of miniature archways and sigils. The surface is cool and slightly grainy, as if it had been rubbed by fingers long gone, the patina catching the light in subtle, frost-blue flecks. Around the edge a narrow brass lip catches every beam, giving the impression that the track was forged not just to be heard but to be handled with reverence. On the back, a map fragment is stamped in relief, a faded stamp of a battlefield clearing where stones once stood in quiet vigil, the place where saints were said to walk between memory and ruin. When you tilt it, the sigils shift to a softer glow, like a breath held just past waking. The lore around Hallowed Ground ties it to a chapel-city forgotten by most maps, a place where ground had been consecrated after a siege and the living were asked to walk softly, as though the earth itself still whispered. The track is believed to carry that hush, a short hymn pressed into metal that players can tap to summon the calm that once reigned there. Some say it was created by a caravan of reliquaries traveling along caravan routes, each one a gift to soldiers who survived the long night of a flank attack, a reminder that to tread on sacred soil is to tread with care. In gameplay terms, Track 15 is not just a keepsake; it is a tool that threads into the larger narrative of the world’s memory. When used in the field, the music spills out as a pale, auric veil, its resonance curling around allies within range. It heals gently, cleanses a condition or two, and lends a fleeting calm that steadies hands and brightens eyes for a breath longer than an ordinary moment. The effect is ephemeral, but in the right moment it can turn a skirmish at a shattered gate into a chance to regroup and repurpose a plan. And as the chorus fades, the ground itself seems to exhale a little, the players left with a sense that their actions—small as they may be—are part of a larger, and older, story. In markets that trade lore and relics, Saddlebag Exchange is where I’ve watched this track pass from hand to hand, sometimes sealed in a worn velvet sleeve, sometimes offered with a short tale about a monk’s last blessing. It commands a healthy price because it anchors memory as a usable thing, a token that can alter the tempo of a moment as reliably as any weapon or spell. People will haggle, pausing to listen to the track’s first bars before the deal closes, as if listening to history itself deciding whether to step forward or stay in the past. Holding Track 15: Hallowed Ground feels like gripping a doorway to what the ground once was and what it might be again, if only someone dares to walk through with care.