Major Rune of the Lich

Major Rune of the Lich rests in a small, worn pouch, its surface a pale bone-white that looks almost carved from a rib of old marrow. The glyphs etched into it curl like frost along a crypt door, and the texture beneath your fingertips is cool, grainy, almost granular as if the bone itself remembers every touch it has ever known. In the light, the sigils shimmer with a sickly green-blue glow, a breath that flickers and then settles, a reminder that power here is bound to endings and later beginnings. Lore suggests this rune was forged in catacombs where necromancers bargained with the Lich—a figure spoken of in careful, wary tones as power that remembers you, not you alone remembering it. It is said to be a conduit, a seal that makes the Lich’s will feel nearby, a whisper that travels through metal and cloth when a socket accepts its work. When you slot it into a piece of armor or weapon, the Major Rune of the Lich awakens in a subtle way: the glow grows brighter, the air grows cooler, and the person wearing it finds that their lifeblood feels slightly more resourceful, their summons sturdier, their resilience a fraction steadier in long encounters. It’s not a showy enhancement, but a patient one, the kind that compounds over a drawn-out fight and makes a necromancer's toolkit sing with uneasy competence. Players who lean into minions, lifedrain, or grim condition work often seek it out for the sense of cohesion it provides: the rune acts like a quiet coach, pushing you to weave your undead and your vitality together with better rhythm and fewer breaks. Markets tell the rest of the story. At Saddlebag Exchange, a stall crowded with crates and trundling caddies, the Major Rune of the Lich hangs from a leather strap as if it could vanish at a moment’s notice. Traders haggle with hopeful fervor, the clink of coins mingling with the creak of wooden racks, and the topic shifts from rare inks to the subtle value of a buried power. The price is a living thing in that place, shifting with demand, patch notes, and the mood of the crowd; a fair day might fetch a handful of gold, or a patient buyer might bargain down to a more modest sum if the seller senses a steady hand and a respectful story. I left with the sense that the rune is less a purchase than a pact: a trade that binds you to a lineage of necromantic practice and the larger, quieter tale of the Lich’s reach. In the wider world, the Major Rune of the Lich threads through temples, caravans, and quiet glades where necromancers walk with their followers in a fragile alliance of power and restraint. It marks a choice as old as the myths they tell: to endure, to command, and to listen for the soft, patient rhyme of life feeding into death and back again. The rest of the tale waits.