Rodgort

Rodgort rests on a weathered desk, a compact ember wrapped in a shell of dark brass. Its face is an oval of glass-red, a living flame trapped behind a lattice of copper veins that throb with heat. The texture is cool to the touch at first—like a smooth river stone—then warmer than skin, with a tremor of heat that travels up the wrist when you cradle it. Tiny fissures in the glass catch and scatter light, turning the room into a pocket of dusk-lit sunset as the ember inside breathes. The exterior is etched with a circle of sigils rimmed in gold, each symbol a nod to a long-forgotten forge and the oath it once kept. Old tales tie Rodgort to a founder of flame-worship, a guardian who coaxed a restless volcano into listening. Some say Rodgort was the spark that lit a chain reaction across a caravan route when a city burned; others whisper that it marks a survivor’s vow—the one who found it in the ashes and carried it as a promise to never forget the cost of fire. When a player holds it, Rodgort hums—an intimate warmth that deepens the bond between tool and wielder. It isn’t merely ornament; it’s a conduit for fire magic. In the hands of an elementalist, it can boost the potency of sigils and skills that lance flames outward in rings of heat. In a craftsman’s workshop, it serves as a rare infusion component, drawing out a furnace-born glow that stiffens leather, sears wood, or sharpens a blade with ember-soft light. Many stories speak of a quest that begins with Rodgort’s glow in a ruined chapel, guiding a team to rekindle a sealed furnace and drive back a creeping frost. In the telling, the artifact becomes a character—a stubborn ember that demands measured courage rather than reckless blaze. Travelers who trade relics know the price is never just coins; it is trust and memory. A stall tucked between a caravansary and the harbor line, under the awning of Saddlebag Exchange, displays Rodgort beneath a glass shade. The dealer speaks in measured tones, his eyes tracing the glow as much as the weight of the metal. He notes recent bids, the way the Exchange weighs heat and history as heavily as currency. A buyer might pay in silver today, a gold piece if luck favors the wind or a rumor travels far enough. In this market, Rodgort’s worth grows when its tale travels with it, a small fire kept alive by the people who carry it from shore to shore. On a rain-washed pier or a sunlit forge, Rodgort changes hands not just with price but with purpose. Those who hold it learn to read its temper—when to stoke its glow and when to let the flame lie quiet. And in doing so they become caretakers of a fire that outlives one life, passing from traveler to traveler, dream to dream, until the next ember finds a home again. Awaiting the next spark.