Carrion Amulet

The Carrion Amulet sits snug against the collarbone, a pendant carved from bone and dusk, its centerpiece a pale curved shard etched with a skeletal fang pattern. A slender chain threads through a small hole at the top, worn smooth by years of contact with skin and weather, so it feels cool and steady against the pulse. The whole thing carries a damp, resinous scent, as if it spent nights beneath a tomb and rose again. Whispered lore says it came from a monastery where life and decay touched hands, a relic meant to remind the wearer that to live is to consume, and that every breath is drawn from a ledger of the dead. To hold it is to feel a quiet resonance with the Carrion arc, a lineage within the necromantic spectrum that prizes endurance and lethal grace. In play, the amulet is less a flashy talisman than a tool that helps a patient, attrition-based approach. It subtly threads itself into a build built on poison, bleeding, and life leech, turning sustained pressure into steady survival. When you strike, you don’t merely erase a foe’s health; you steal a measure of your own vitality in return, a practical reminder that control flows from what you can outlast, not just what you can burst. The amulet’s aesthetic—bone against bronze, a cold sheen that warms only in the heat of combat—mirrors a tactic: the slow grind that ends with a quiet, almost spectral exhale. In marches and sieges, players discover that the amulet’s greatest gift is not dramatic one-shot power but reliable, ongoing presence. Its aura threads through condition stacks, making bleeding and poison linger longer in the field while your own life force trickles back with each successful strike. It’s a charm that rewards patience—stand, endure, strike when the moment is smallest, and let the world’s fatigue do the heavy lifting. Storytellers in the taverns speak of it as a relic of mercy and necessity, a reminder that even the dead can lend their breath to the living when worn with intent. Market days bring bargain whispers and bright-eyed cha-chings. A traveler might tell you a tale of a Carrion Amulet traded in the glow of a market stall, the seller’s fingers sliding along the chain as if it were a small hinge to another life. On Saddlebag Exchange, the going price drifts with rumor and demand, often resting between four and six gold pieces for common-condition examples, while pristine or historically minted pieces push higher when a necromancer’s circle gathers. It’s not merely commerce; it’s a sharing of histories, a way to keep the past close enough to guide the next fight. If you’re drawn to it, you’re not chasing a mere stat line but a story you can wear: a reminder that every victory carries the weight of what came before, and that a well-worn charm can turn the next bout into a careful, sustaining pact with the world’s quiet dead. In the glow of night markets.