Major Rune of Infiltration

The Major Rune of Infiltration rests like a shard of obsidian pressed into a worn leather case: the surface is midnight-black, etched with pale silver sigils that curl and shimmer as light crawls across them; it feels cool and glass-slick, with a stubborn grain where the carving catches on a fingernail, and a quiet pulse of air that seems to whisper of secrets kept in shadow. It looks almost fragile, a delicate thing meant to be hidden away until the right moment—a thing you touch only when you’re ready to bend the world around you just enough to pass unseen. Lorekeepers say it was forged by hands that learned to move through crowds without drawing a breath, a relic of a long-vanished guild whose only creed was to vanish before the loudest question was even asked. I found it tucked beneath a stack of weathered maps in a back room of Saddlebag Exchange, where the noise of the street thins to a murmur and every deal carries the scent of old parchment and oiled leather. The vendor spoke of it like a whispered rumor made tangible, a rumor with a price and a fate. The rune’s glow—cooler than moonlight on river stone—felt less like magic and more like a reminder: there are doors in every city that aren’t meant to be opened with force, but with patience, with the careful art of slipping between moments. The man’s fingers traced its edge, explaining how it had changed hands across several cities, each owner swearing it helped them move without drawing metal or alarm in their wake. That quiet confidence in his voice suggested not just power, but responsibility—the burden of a tool that makes you invisible to those whose job is to look directly at you. In the world of combat and exploration, the Major Rune of Infiltration is prized for its street-smarts as much as its arcane glow. Slotted into a suit of armor, it tightens the weave of a stealthy build: your footsteps fall lighter, your silhouette tightens in the lantern glow, and you gain a sharper sensitivity to the rhythms of guards and patrols. It doesn’t erase danger, but it shifts the equation, granting you more leverage when you time a flank, or slip past a sentinel’s blind corner just as he shifts his weight in the corridor. Players speak of it like a trusted ally for roguish paths and delicate rescues, a companion that rewards restraint and precise execution over brute, noisy resolve. It’s the kind of rune that turns a risky plan into a whispered plan, then into a successful quiet exit. Prices, as you’d expect in a market where legends ride on a clerk’s ledger, wobble with demand. The Saddlebag Exchange folks seldom fling it for a bargain, but they aren’t cruel about it either; a careful hunter can walk away with the Major Rune of Infiltration for a respectable handful of gold, especially if you bring a story in addition to your coin. And in those stories, the rune’s true value shines: not merely a stat boost, but a thread that ties together city legends, last-second escapes, and the old craft of moving through the world like a whisper in a crowded hall.