Carrion Amulet

The Carrion Amulet rests against the collarbone like a small relic retrieved from a battlefield where the living raggedly refuse to die. Its centerpiece is a weathered shard of bone, carved with a spiraling sigil that looks half-eaten by time, set in tarnished bronze that has learned to resist rust. A threadbare ribbon of leather, blackened with age, threads through a loop of iron, so the piece sits flat and stubborn against the chest. The patina glows with a pale, sickly green when the light hits it, as if decay itself were trying to whisper a bargain. A few times the curtain of air is pulled back and you can catch a quick dull shimmer of resin at the seams, like sap that has turned to stone, a taste of preserved rot that tints the air around the wearer. In the stories that survive the road from the swamp to the city, the Carrion Amulet is tied to the old carrion rites, a lineage of necromancers who bargained with decay itself to untether life’s limits. People say the symbol was cast to remind power-hungry hands that every blessing comes with a hunger, that vitality must be earned by listening to the soft rasp of rot in the shadows. For those who walk as wardens of bone and breath, the amulet is more than ornament; it is a conduit, a tether to a southern bog where the dead write farewells in the fungus-spined air. When hung around the neck, it seems to quiet the chatter of quick, bright thoughts and turn attention toward the slow, patient work of decay and renewal. In terms of gameplay, the Carrion Amulet is a quiet engine in the shadows. It nudges your build toward enduring pressure and calculated risk: it lengthens the duration of pestilent conditions, makes life-siphoning tricks feel more approachable, and links your vitality to the steady churn of your minions or spectral allies. Put on the amulet, and your strikes carry a weight that lingers, turning skirmishes into tests of restraint as you drain a little power from the fight and give a little more back to your companions or to the ground you stand on. Market chatter in the city lanes is never far from such curios, and Saddlebag Exchange is a living reminder of that truth. I watched a Carrion Amulet cling to a velvet lining in a stall there, priced between dusk and dawn as traders argued the worth of bones and breath. The seller spoke in hushed, reverent tones about balance—how much decay you’re willing to invite, how much life you’re willing to trade away. It’s a delicate choice, this pact wrapped around the bone. For a wanderer who measures power by how quietly a world can bleed and how slowly it can heal, the Carrion Amulet is not just gear but a companion, a reminder that every victory leaves a mark. And in the crowded market and the quiet tomb alike, it asks you to choose what you feed the night.