Superior Rune of Altruism

A small circular disk sits on the bench, its surface a tempered dusk of bronze and lacquered wood, about the diameter of a finger and a thumb pressed together. The Superior Rune of Altruism wears its story in subtle detail: a pair of stylized hands carved in pale silver, cupping a heart-shaped opal that glints with a quiet inner light. The rim is etched with a thread of runes that catch the lamplight, each mark a whispered oath rather than a boast. It feels cool to the touch, then unexpectedly warm when the room grows tense, as if the rune itself is listening for need before it speaks. Folklore clings to it as if to a relic: healers who carried this symbol swore a promise to place others before themselves, and in moments of crisis the stone would glow just enough to remind them why they began healing in the first place. In truth, the rune’s lore is not merely ornament; it is a compact of usefulness that binds to the wearer’s gear and breathes with the mood of the battlefield. When set into armor or a weapon, the Superior Rune of Altruism channels a thread of benevolence outward. In practice, that thread awakens when you mend a friend against a wound or shield a companion from a sudden strike, extending a soft, shimmering aura to nearby allies. It doesn’t roar with power; it hums with patient resolve, lengthening the duration of boons and sharpening the whispers of recovery that slip from your hands into the corps of your party. The effect feels less like a spell and more like an ally’s conscience made tangible—a reminder that every saved life is a small act of mercy that keeps the story moving, even when the night grows long. Those who wander between towns tell you the rune’s value is a patient thing: not a burst of advantage but a steady uplift that matters in the long march. It is the difference a healer notes as a caravan crosses a desert or a skirmish spills into a courtyard, where every extra moment of protection can mean the difference between a rout and a rescue. It’s a tool and a talisman, a weight of responsibility and a spark of hope, rolled into a single artifact that travelers carry as a pledge as much as a piece of kit. Prices drift through markets like the wind through camp banners, and in one memorable stop a trader at Saddlebag Exchange laid the rune on a weathered map with care. The negotiation was a lilt of coin and stories: a handful of silver, a preserved herb, and a whispered tale of a healer who once saved a village by sharing a breath of life with a single standing heart. The exchange felt communal, almost ritual, because this rune thrives where people look after one another. By night’s end, the buyer tucked it away with their other keepsakes, the room’s light refracted through the opal as if the stone were listening to the world’s breath, waiting to be called upon when the world asked for a little more altruism.