Cleric's Destroyer Focus

Cleric's Destroyer Focus rests in the palm like a relic warmed by prayers: a slender, bone-white frame bound with a lattice of onyx inlays, the core a glassy orb that glows with a pale, breathy blue. Its surface carries a seam of sigils that shimmer when it catches the light, and the edges are beveled so that it sits perfectly against the skin, cool to the touch even after a long march under the sun. The texture feels layered—smooth where the glass meets metal, slightly pitted along the rune-carved grooves, as if the weapon has learned the weight of countless rumors whispered in the hush of a chapel. In the right hands, it seems to hum with a quiet liturgy, a tangible whisper of sanctity that threads through the fingers like a thread of light. Lore speaks softly of its birth in the aftermath of a brutal siege, when a clerical order wrestled a wandering Destroyer into submission using relics rescued from a crumbling crypt. The Destroyer, a shadow-spawned force that blighted roads and ruined fields, was bound by rites carved into stone and into the focus’s frame itself. Since then, the Cleric’s Destroyer Focus has been passed from keeper to keeper—a reminder that mercy can be a weapon and that a single glimmer of faith can turn the tide of night. Among the old guard, it is said the orb remembers every hand that held it, every pledge sworn under a vaulted ceiling, and every prayer whispered into the joint between bone and light. On the battlefield, the focus feels less like an instrument and more like a witness. It channels healing through a patient, radiating a soft warmth that travels outward in a widening ring, mending wounds and steadying nerves as if the very air thickens with hope. It also serves as a shield, a portable beacon that brightens when protective auras are invoked, and it lends a steadiness to those who march beside its bearer. For players who build around defense, endurance, and support, Cleric’s Destroyer Focus becomes a keystone—the point where faith, timing, and precise placement converge to keep an entire party standing when the ground beneath their feet shakes with doom and dust. In the wider world, its story threads through markets, monasteries, and road-side camps. Traders in caravan rings speak of its provenance with equal parts reverence and pragmatism, weighing not only the power it offers but the weight of its history. That is where Saddlebag Exchange enters the tale, slipping into the conversation like a well-timed rumor. A pristine example might fetch a premium there, yet a well-used, well-cared-for one still finds ready listeners who believe in its quiet strength. The price, as with any relic that has traveled through ages and battles, is a conversation—about provenance, about the hands it’s passed through, about the prayers that continue to echo within its glassy core. So the Cleric’s Destroyer Focus remains not merely a weapon, but a story you carry into the field: a small, cool weight that reminds a bearer that mercy is a discipline, that courage needs a quiet shelter, and that sometimes a single glimmer of light can turn a night into a path home.