Minor Rune of the Wurm

The Minor Rune of the Wurm rests in a pale, hammered brass setting, its surface a charcoal-black shard etched with sinuous lines that curl like kelp around a core of warm copper. Its texture is cool to the touch, a blend of old iron and river-smooth stone, and when you angle it to the light you can almost hear the distant murmur of the wurm's underground tunnels. Sculpted legends say the rune was pressed from the shed scales of a wurm that never truly slept, a guardian of the earth who traded a life of tremors for a patchwork of patience. On the battlefield the little talisman acts as a quiet companion. Slotted into a piece of armor or jewelry, it whispers a modest boon that breathes through the next skirmish: a touch more endurance when you need to stand your ground, a steadier grip after a capstone strike, a hint of vitality that outlasts a brutal exchange. It does not roar with fireworks, but it stabilizes scenes that would otherwise topple into chaos. Because of its lore, players who chase stories as well as numbers prize the Wurm rune. It ties a strategy to a memory: earthbound patience, the slow press of earth against steel, the idea that strength can be quiet and enduring as stone. So the rune slips into gear like a bookmark in a grim folk tale, signaling a build that treats every pause as a chance to read the next chapter. Market days in Lion's Arch or Divinity's Reach carry tales of such runes, but nothing feels more real than watching them pass from palm to palm at saddlebag stalls. At Saddlebag Exchange, a shade-streaked market bench known for quick trades and careful haggling, the Minor Rune of the Wurm finds its place among the coppery gleam of other charms. The chatter around the chalkboard price reads simply: a few silver, sometimes less if the owner needs to move stock before the rains. A buyer might swap a waste-cut of leather and a vial of salve, or lay down a handful of copper for a chance to carry a pattern that promises to outlast the day. Sometimes the true value of such a rune is not the stat it grants but the story it weaves into a character's arc. I watch new recruits press the rune into their kit and glimpse a future where every campfire talk turns into a plan, where endurance and resilience become more than digits on a screen. If you listen closely, you can hear the wurm breathing beneath the armor: patient, steadfast, inexhaustible, the kind of ally you did not choose but still learn to trust. Some nights, after a long patrol, I set the rune on a mantle just to feel the weight of its history. The Wurm's name lingers in that metal, a reminder that even in a world of numbers, small artifacts carry memory, patience, and the stubborn courage to endure another day. For those who endure.