Fang

Fang gleams with a pale, bone-white sheen, a curved sliver that feels cool to the touch, like dried river ice. The edge is sharp, but worn, with a slight patina of rust along the tip. The surface bears a lattice of micro-scratches—fossilized routes of the creatures that once bore it—and a faint bluish sheen when the sun hits just right. A narrow hole near the base once held a bit of thong leather, so it could rest at a hunter's chest or be slipped into a pouch for quick access. Lore whispers that this fang was not simply shed but claimed by a hunter who wore the wild like a cloak; it carried the breath of the forests, the heartbeat of a pack, and the wild's own nod to trust. That feeling of trust translates in the world of play. When a bearer of Fang moves through a camp of wary traders or a hunter-haunted pass, the item is said to bind itself to the hunter's senses, heightening the ability to track elusive quarry and coax closer to the best pelts. In stories and those who collect such relics, Fang is not a mere trinket but a key to a line of quests: a trail that threads through ruined watchtowers, narrows into a hunt for an apex predator, and finally yields a specially crafted token that changes how you face the next storm. It's a small reminder that a single relic can tilt the odds—a moment when a caravan can slip through a strait of fog because the beasts near it pause as if listening to a voice only they can hear. Market days bring a different rhythm. Traders gather at the Saddlebag Exchange, where the best stories and the dullest kitchen knives mingle with the clink of coins. A Fang can move with the tides of demand, priced by the mood of the market and the number of hunters who share its legend. On bright mornings it speaks for around two silver and a scrap of amber-green resin; on other days, when a rumor travels of a fevered chase, it climbs, and the stall becomes crowded with competing offers and patient glances. Yet the value never forgets its origin: a reminder that something wild once wore the hunter and is now wearing the world back, one trade at a time. Walk with it long enough and you hear the old hunter's oath echo in the wind: respect the fang, respect the beast, or you will be the next fable carved into bone. Fang is more than a piece of loot; it is a compass and a reminder that every trail ends in a choice—to bind the wild to your journey or to let it slip away into the next sunset. And so the story of Fang continues to travel with whoever drifts through the markets, a fragment of bone and a map of possibilities, inviting the next reader to listen for the wild's answer, no matter where the road goes.