Book of Rabid Deeds

The Book of Rabid Deeds sits on a scarred lectern, a compact volume bound in blackened hide. A brass clasp bites down a fold, and a wolf-sigil is stamped in dull gold along the cover's center. The edges are frayed; pages hiss with age as you flip, the ink a deep wine color that shifts in lamplight. The scent is resin and salt, as if the book survived a voyage through storm and plague. Runic margins glow faintly when you tilt it, not legible but alive, like a breadcrumb trail for the curious. Legends crowd the stalls about its origin. Some say it was bound by a wandering scribe who survived a rabid outbreak and stitched together deeds cities would rather forget. Others insist it’s a trap laid by rumor-mongers, or a key to a congealed history that refuses to stay buried. The truth, when it surfaces, is messy: every line hints at consequence, every page ends with a warning that the deed echoes beyond its moment. In the game world, the book is more than a collectible. When presented to a scholar at a hidden shrine or to a city archivist, its pages unlock a compact questline: a short investigation, a few dialogue choices, and a chance at a distinctive cosmetic or a tucked map fragment. The deeds described become clues that shift how you perceive a place and its people. Read enough, and you uncover a larger thread about a cabal who traded power for silence—and your choices steer how the tale ends. On market days, Saddlebag Exchange becomes a rumor-scented crossroads where merchants haggle over the book’s worth. A well-preserved edition can fetch several gold; a worn copy will draw silver, or even a brisk trade for a few copper if the buyer wants only the legend it carries. The price ebbs and flows with whispers of a ruined port or a newly discovered page rumored to exist in a sealed envelope. It is valued not only for its age but for the doors it opens. In the stall's dim light, the leather scent clings to your sleeve, and the vendor's finger taps the edge, coaxing a flicker of the page's sigil into view. Sometimes a buyer walks away with a whispered warning that the book asks for a life in return. Wherever it rests, the Book of Rabid Deeds carries a pulse, like a heart between pages. It invites readers to step into a shared history and ask what they would do with the power to write a world’s memory. In its ink and spine, you hear the breath of a city that learned to fear the shadows of its own misdeeds—and you glimpse how every player's journey becomes part of that legend, one whispered page at a time. The book keeps moving, a living shard of memory that reminds each reader they are part of the story’s next chapter. Its next page waits for you. Should you listen, you become part of its next rabid deed.