Shaman's Etched Shard of Vision

Shaman's Etched Shard of Vision rests on the palm, a palm-sized fragment of glassy midnight, its surface catching torchlight in a thousand pinpoints. The shard is cool to the touch, smooth as river stone, yet etched with copper veins that braid through the dark like roots of an old tree. Along the edges, runes—thin, precise, almost breath-like—glimmer with a soft emerald glow when a storm hums overhead. Lorekeepers say it was chipped from a ceremonial mirror used by a long-vanished shamanic circle, a relic meant to cut through weather, to listen not with ears but with memory. When you cradle it to your chest, the shard seems to inhale, drawing in sound and scent from the room: the smoke of candles, the tang of resin, and the distant murmur of drums that never truly die. If you tilt it toward a map, the etched copper catches a hint of the landscape beyond the ink, as if the shard is whispering about places your eye cannot yet reach. In the glow of a late-night camp, it feels less like a talisman and more like a conduit to a living past. Those who have known the Shard describe how it awakens in the presence of ancient rites, how it can be coaxed to reveal paths that are not drawn on any page. Wielded in the right moment, it grants a glimpse of hidden routes, a surge of intuition that helps you sidestep traps, and—if you are lucky—a memory of a masked figure’s true nature blooming into view. It is a tool for perception as much as a relic of lore, a small device that turns a single decision into an echo of a larger journey. Players have found that during certain questlines the shard becomes a key, tugging at a thread in the world’s weave and guiding the way toward a long-forgotten objective, a clue that had been waiting just beyond sight. Market chatter threads through everyday life as well. If you wander the bustling stalls of the Saddlebag Exchange, you’ll hear the shard spoken of with a mix of reverence and pragmatism. Prices drift with the season, and scarcity can tighten the copper veins that run through its surface. A seasoned trader might mention a modest gold or two when the piece is pristine and a little more when a story has grown around it. Condition, provenance, and the readiness of a buyer all color the tag, but the trade is never merely about coin. The Shard’s value, after all, lies not only in its power to reveal but in the way it quietly binds a buyer to a memory they didn’t know they were seeking. It’s a bridge between present errands and past rites, a small shard that makes the world feel both older and more immediate. So the Shaman’s Etched Shard of Vision remains, resting cool in the palm, wrapped in copper veins and the memory of drums. Its light flickers when it catches a secret in the air, and the world seems to tilt toward a story you have yet to tell—one where vision becomes a guide, and memory becomes a map.