Remnant of Ascalon

Remnant of Ascalon rests in the palm, a shard of tempered steel, the color of midnight ash. Its surface is matte but not dull, etched with runes that seem to glow faintly when you tilt it toward a flame. The edge is jagged, worn by time, as if it was torn from something larger and left to cool in a soldier's glove. A narrow groove along its length holds a thread of gold, almost like a seam where the past was stitched back together. On one face, a lion's head, half-silhouette, is pressed into the metal, the lines almost too crisp to be a memory. Something like a banner's torn edge clings to the bottom, a fringe of ember-gold that hints at banners burned in the siege. It's small enough to fit in a pocket, yet heavy with weight—this is not a souvenir but a residue of a city that once roared. The lore touches it then, gently: a remnant from Ascalon, the old walls and the last defenders who gambled their lives against tides of flame. People say it carried the sighs of the last watch, the prayers whispered as the sun broke through smoke. In the market’s dim light, it feels part relic and part rumor, something you hold while listening to a historian recount the siege, as if the stone and steel could tell you the calf-skin pages of a chronicle. That sense of a bigger story is what the Remnant offers. When you equip it or carry it, a soft shimmer blooms and a memory quest unfurls. It doesn’t grant power so much as invite you to walk a corridor of history—consult a wandering archivist, glean clues from rusted tablets, reveal the fates of the last guardians. The Remnant can be traded, used as a key to unlock hidden dialogue with a veteran historian, or offered as an emblem during a ritual that commemorates fallen heroes. It can also be exchanged with crafters who translate memory into light—unlock a unique Ascalon badge, or a portrait that records your journey in a living altarpiece. Prices drift in the same breath as rumors do; among players and traders, Saddlebag Exchange is where the chatter lands first. Listings hover between the practical and the poetic—some call it a centerpiece for a collection, others need it to complete a line of quest lore. The market swings with demand—the Remnant surfaces during anniversaries of the war, or when a historian’s talk triggers a new interest in forgotten walls. In the end, the Remnant of Ascalon is less a tool than a companion: a fragment that pins a living story to your belt, a compass for memory, and a reminder that even a city reduced to embers still has a pulse that beats in the hands of those who listen. And if you ever find yourself listening to the wind among the ruins, you will hear the city breathing again. The relic doesn't demand praise; it asks you to remember, and act.