Major Rune of the Pack

The Major Rune of the Pack is a small, square tile of brass-aged metal, its surface etched with a looping, canid crest—two wolves interlaced with thorned vines. The edges catch the light like polished leather, and the back bears a faint, tactile grain that feels almost like the rugged hide of a hunter’s glove. In a quick turn, the rune seems to shift in color, as if a grain of dusk had settled into the engraving; a soft, resinous scent—pine and campfire smoke—lingers when you cradle it in your palm. It’s the sort of charm you could imagine tucked into a hunter’s kit, pressed into a cloak as a promise that a lone traveler’s steps won’t wander far from a loyal companion. Lore whispers that this rune carries the old creed of the Pack—the idea that a wandering soul is never truly alone, that kinship can be bound into stone and worn as a shield. In tales passed around campfires, a hunter would press the rune into the leather of a saddle or the rim of a shield, letting it hum with the memory of a trusted pack. Some say it was forged by a caravan’s scout who learned to listen to the rustle of fur and the heartbeat of the woods, a talisman meant to keep a covey of wary allies close at hand. Whether it’s memory or magic, the connection feels tangible, as though the pack’s gaze rests just behind your shoulder and steadies your aim. In actual play, the Major Rune of the Pack slides into an armor rune slot and snugly binds its energy to your character and, more importantly, to the living things you travel with—pets, summons, and the occasional trusted ally who fights by your side. Its presence is less about raw numbers and more about the spirit of cooperation. When you enter the fray with a companion by your side, the bond quietly strengthens: your pet’s ferocity ticks up a notch, its bonds with your own skill kit tighten, and the two of you feel a shared breath in the heat of battle. It’s a subtle boost that shows up most clearly in moments when the pack must move as one—dodging, circling, striking together—so the outcome hinges less on brute force and more on a practiced, almost familial rhythm. Market talk surfaces in the air as you drift toward the Saddlebag Exchange, where traders bargain with a practiced, soft emphasis. One seasoned vendor, who wears a weathered satchel as if it were a badge of honor, explains how the rune’s value ebbs and flows with demand for pack-oriented builds. A few coins here, a handful of gold there—price tags shift with adventuring seasons and the scarcity of good pets and those who train them. The exchange ledger glows with the glow of both need and lore, and the Major Rune of the Pack sits not merely as gear but as a promise: that you’re never truly alone out on the road, that your trail mates—whether real or imagined—still have your back. So the Major Rune of the Pack travels with you, a talisman of loyalty and collaboration, a quiet reminder that even in the wild, the strongest force is the strength of the pack.