Major Rune of Speed

Major Rune of Speed looks unlike other trinkets clutched by merchants. A slender oval of obsidian glass is set in a ring of burnished brass, its edges softened by countless hands. The surface wears a fine lattice of blue enamel, like frost on a blade, and within the glass a faint current seems to move—the glow of a small sigil that resembles a swift wind curling around a bootprint. Leather-wrapped chafes and the faint tang of copper remind the wearer that this is a thing meant for travel, not ceremony. Lore tells of caravans who traded with moonlit couriers, crafting these runes to honor the moment when a path opened and the wheels carried a whole season’s hopes forward. They are kept in velvet pouches, then slotted into armor where runes dwell. In the field or in the thick of a skirmish, the Major Rune of Speed blooms into action like a sudden gust, a whisper of acceleration that changes the tempo of a chase or a retreat. When the wearer needs it most—mid-leap over a fallen gate, or to widen a gap between pursuer and pursued—the rune's power flares, and the world seems to rush past a heartbeat earlier than you expected. It doesn't fight for you; it lends you tempo. For scouts threading river crossings and rangers pressing into uncertain passes, that tempo is survival. For crafters and traders who cut through a bazaar’s maze, speed translates to time gained, words won and deals sealed in a single breath. The rune's enduring gift is not a roar of power but a measured invitation to move with the world instead of against it. Markets are where the rune becomes a character in a larger story. I’ve watched the glass glow brighter under sunlit awnings as the price tag moves between coins and stories. A steady customer once traded a stack of rare dyes for a single Major Rune of Speed, all within the bustle of Saddlebag Exchange, where hawkers lean over crates and whisper about weather and wind. Traders there know that speed is a scarce commodity, its value shifting with routes that grow perilous during storms or dragon sightings. A seller might boast that this rune can carve seconds from a journey, while a buyer weighs the risk of losing that edge when the caravan is shuffled by new meta demands. The exchange hums, and the rune’s blue sigil flickers, as if listening to every passing caravan, every footstep in the street, every plan to outrun a rival. Placed in armor, the Major Rune of Speed becomes a quiet ally in the traveler’s ledger, a reminder that momentum is often the first ally and last line of defense. Its story threads through markets, races, and ruins, turning a simple slotted charm into a partner in fate. When I pocket it at day’s end, I hear the whisper of wheels and a road that always wants one more step. Its glow lingers, promising another stretch of road, another chance.