Cleric's Ogre Effigy

Cleric's Ogre Effigy sits on a scarred market stall, the pale wood doing its best to resemble a patient, ponderous guardian. Its bulk is carved with deliberate roughness—broad shoulders, a brow creased with years of solemn duty, and hands that rest as if holding an invisible staff. The surface is a grainy map of tool marks and weathered lacquer, now dulled to a soft, satin tan that catches the light with a quiet, unassuming glow. Glass eyes, dark as dusk over river stones, catch a flicker of sun and give the figure a wary, almost kindly gaze. A hooded robe of burlap drapes across its form, stitched with seams that feel more like memory than fabric—frayed edges tell of long nights spent in quiet service. Running along the base are faint sigils, etched circles and a looping motif that hints at mercy and restraint. It is not a toy, nor a mere ornament; it is a reliquary of a story someone swore to tell again and again. The lore painted into its grain speaks of a cleric who sought balance in a world that ran hot with strength and conflict. The ogre, a creature of raw power and stubborn pride, is depicted not as an adversary to be conquered but as a partner to be understood. In the tale, the cleric returns to a border shrine where ogre tribes once raided, laying down the effigy as a promise that mercy could teach as firmly as a spear could defend. The ogre in the carving stands not as a conqueror but as a patient guardian, eyes softened by a pledge and a staff that once cut noise from fear now resting in quiet ritual. It’s a story told in the muted chimes of brass beads and the creak of burlap—one that invites collectors and role-players alike to imagine a moment when two very different worlds found a shared language. In gameplay terms, the Cleric's Ogre Effigy becomes a tangible thread in the tapestry of a player’s world. It serves as a centerpiece for guild halls and personal sanctuaries, a focal point for storytelling and ceremony. For those weaving narratives about reconciliation, it offers a concrete symbol to anchor scenes, a tactile cue that a fragile peace can endure amid the clangor of a living world. It also marks a streak of history within the player’s collection—a relic that speaks to the power of mercy and the value of understanding in the face of raw prowess. It’s the kind of item that asks to be placed, surrounded by other relics, and described aloud in a session where friendship, not fear, governs the evening. Market chatter has its own rhythm for this piece. Saddlebag Exchange, a familiar stop for those tracing the markets of memory, often teases out its price like a quiet rumor in a crowded square. One listing might show it priced modestly during a lull in festival traffic, another a touch higher when demand pulls at the threads of nostalgia. The price isn’t just a number; it’s a reflection of supply, desire, and the sense that this effigy is more than wood and ink—it is a shared myth, a reminder that even in a world built on power, mercy remains a collectible, a story, and a home for the imagination.