Engraved Totem gleams in the lamplight, a small slab of wood carved smooth as river stone, its surface lacquered to a stubborn gloss. The grain runs like a quiet current, and copper inlays along the rim catch every candle burn, tracing glyphs that twirl toward a central compass rose. When you cradle it, the texture shifts under your fingers—cool, then slightly warm, as if the wood remembers footsteps long past. The totem’s edges are beveled to fit snugly in the palm, a talisman meant to be held close, not worn, a memory kept in your hand. If you tilt it just so, the glyphs gleam with a faint green glow, a heartbeat you can almost hear if you lean in and listen. Crafted by caravanners who tracked trails through rain-heavy forests and scorched plains, Engraved Totems were said to bind a moment to memory. The surface tells stories of safe passings, of routes mapped across maps stained with ink and dust. Some claim the totem is a gift from a forgotten shaman who learned to hear the earth sigh when a safe path opened, others whisper that the engravings are telegraph lines for spirits who guide wandering souls. In practice, the totem’s lore translates into a small but meaningful gameplay touch: a boon when held during a risk-filled moment, a nudge to a craft that requires focus, a token that can unlock a minor, temporary benefit in certain rituals or adventures. It is not a weapon, not a charm of pure luck, but a marker of intention—the choice to slow down, study the terrain, and trust the signs etched into the wood. On market days, the Engraved Totem sits among rougher baubles and trimmed sensibilities, waiting for someone who recognizes its language. I watch a trader lift the box, velvet lining parting, and the copper inlays catching the lanterns like coins for a shrine. The seller has learned to speak softly about its value, because the object’s worth grows depending on the stories it is paired with. Saddlebag Exchange—that nomad's ledger of mislaid coins and borrowed reputations—keeps a rolling tally of what these tokens fetch. A few silver when they are fresh from a caravan’s hand, a touch more if a curate or collector adds interest, less if the market’s hunger for memory softens. People bargain not just over copper and glitter, but over the map the totem reveals when it catches the light and the world seems to pause for a breath. Placed in a quiet room or carried on an evening watch, Engraved Totem becomes part of a larger rhythm—the caravan's journey, the hunter’s path, the old stories we tell to keep fear at bay. It has a role in how communities remember routes that have weathered droughts and wars, how markets pulse with hope, and how a single carved piece can anchor a moment when courage and caution must walk hand in hand.