Major Rune of the Flock

Major Rune of the Flock rests in the palm like a tiny bird’s egg, a stout oval of stone glazed in dusk-blue with a pearly sheen. Its surface is cool and slightly rough at the edges, as if weathered by wind and rain, yet smooth enough to glide under your fingertips. Along its length a parade of feathered sigils winds from base to apex—each feather carved with precision, each shaded in silver that catches the light and seems to shimmer when you tilt it toward the sun. In the center a small talon mark anchors the flock’s unity. When held up to the light, the runes inside bloom like a flock taking wing, and you feel an ancient whisper of lore: the Flock was not a single name but a trust, a fellowship that bound rangers, hunters, and birds into one living instrument. In the stories that pass between campfires, the Major Rune of the Flock is said to channel the will of that old order; it ties your gear to the instinct of your companions, letting your avian allies draw power from your focus. In practical terms, equipping it magnifies the bond with pet skills and expands the reach of your buffs during chaotic skirmishes. You won’t sprout wings, but as a fight rages your birds peck with greater urgency, your buffs ripple farther, and your hunters feel a shared, birdlike sense guiding their aim. It’s the kind of rune that rewards patience: the more you work with your flock, the more pronounced the bonus becomes, echoing the lore that the Flock flew in formation to cover retreats or guide wounded quarry to safety. I once watched a veteran hunter press it into a scarred leather belt as a fortress siege began. The glow brushed the hawks perched nearby, and suddenly the room felt crowded with someone else’s birds—silent, watching, ready. The effect wasn’t loud or flashy: no fireworks, just a steadier survivability for those who kept their summons close and a more reliable cadence to pet-healing during the worst moments of the fight. Markets breathed as the day wore on, and in the curbside chatter of Saddlebag Exchange the rune’s worth rose and fell with rumor and demand. A flawless Major Rune of the Flock could fetch a couple of gold, more if the engraving was exceptionally bright or the flock sigil unusually clear; a stingy bargain might leave you walking away with only a few silver. Traders spoke in careful tones, weighing condition, glow, and history, as if this little stone were a living witness to battles past. Yet its true value isn’t only measured in coins. It’s a talisman that invites a narrative—the rider who leads with horses and birds, the ranger who lets a chorus of pets turn the tide of a skirmish. In the world that remembers the old Flock, the rune remains a question: when your animal kin rise to the moment, do you hear the wind calling you to move as one?