Major Sigil of Celerity

The Major Sigil of Celerity sits in the palm of your hand like a folded wind trapped in glass: a disc of pale, glassy stone with a silvery rim, its surface etched with veins of frost-blue runes that shimmer and rearrange themselves as you shift the sigil to catch the light. The texture is cooler than metal, almost slick, yet with a faint grain that tells of a slow, patient crafting. When you hold it up to a lantern, the glyphs pulse—a soft heartbeat of teal and azure—as if the sigil remembers every sprint you’ve taken and every road you’ve left behind. A thread of gold filigree traces the edge, implying both ancient promise and a practical fate: speed granted to anyone who has the nerve to wear it. Lore hints that it was born in a workshop where couriers once raced time itself, a token forged to honor those who carried messages across perilous stretches before the roads of stone and sun existed. In practice, the sigil feels like a pledge you carry on your belt, a compact between will and wind. When the wielder lands a critical hit, the Major Sigil of Celerity awakens with a glint and spills a swirl of swiftness for a brief moment—two seconds or so—enough to turn a stumble into a sprint, a retreat into a dash, or a chase into a closing of distance. It doesn’t turn you invincible, but it does tilt the clock in your favor, letting you weave through choked corridors of battle with the grace of water slipping around stone. For those who build around mobility—scouts, thieves who crave precise repositioning, quick-footed engineers, or guardians who want to peel away from crowd control—the sigil feels like a quiet partner who knows when to push you forward and when to stay invisible in the blur. Each successful strike can tease out a little more tempo, letting you thread through fights that would otherwise leave you behind. The sigil’s place in the world is not merely in combat numbers but in stories of movement and mercy—the kind of relic that makes a caravan feel lighter and a skirmish feel shorter. It’s a symbol of how information and goods travel faster than armies and how a single, well-timed surge can change the course of a day. In crowded markets and quiet workshops alike, people speak of the sigil as a reminder to keep pace with what the road demands. And when one is priced, the chatter moves to the Saddlebag Exchange, where traders and wanderers haggle over gleaming slips of fate. A well-tended Major Sigil of Celerity might fetch in the neighborhood of several gold more or less, depending on condition and demand; a seasoned tempter of luck can bear away a tidy sum—enough to buy a few extra miles of road or a promise of faster, safer passage through the next district. The market breathes with the sigil’s legend, and every sale writes another line in the slow-growing epic of speed. So you carry it not merely as a stat stick, but as a living thread—one that ties a fighter’s pulse to a village’s heartbeat, a courier’s route to a callous map of danger, and a story of movement that keeps outpacing the night.