Celestial Pearl Rod gleams, a slender cylinder of moon-bright pearlstone, with a hemisphere of opal perched at its tip like a patient star ready to spill its light. The shaft is cool to the touch, perfectly smooth, with faint striations running along its length, as if the rod remembers the tides of a night sea. Along its surface, a ring of minuscule runes coils around, each glyph catching the light and releasing a micro-soft chime when the rod is tilted toward the sky. The rod's color shifts with the angle of the room—silver and pale blue under lanterns, deeper sapphire when the clouds press in. Lorekeepers say it was carved by a shrine-keeper who believed the rod could cradle a portion of the heavens. They say a piece of a fallen moon was ground to a pearlcore and bound with celestial resin, then etched with constellations that only reveal their pattern when the wearer is aligned with the night sky. In stories told beside the brazier, the Celestial Pearl Rod was not merely a tool but a ward—an artifact that kept the balance between dawn and dark, guiding travelers through starlit trails and quiet coves when no other map would do. In the game-world, its significance grows beyond its beauty. It serves as a focused conduit for celestial magic, letting its bearer draw down the quiet force of night and star-touched wind. Shaded in the glow of auras, the rod lends potency to celestial attunement, enabling rituals and crafts that call forth small comets, lunar sigils, and protective veils. It’s not just a weapon or ornament; it is a key in a larger narrative about how the sky can be coaxed to listen. Players who seek it often find themselves stitching together a broader questline—a path that leads through old observatories, ruined temples, and forgotten stargazer lodges—where each shard or companion item reveals a little more of the constellation carved into the rod. Market stories follow a different orbit. In the back alleys and harbor lanes where Saddlebag Exchange hums, merchants gossip about its true price as if it were weather. Some days the rod fetches a tidy sum; other days, the market sighs and lowers its gleam. A buyer might pay around seventy to eighty gold pieces, depending on who’s charting the heavens that week and whose eyes have seen its runic glimmers in the light. A finder will tell you that it’s worth the wait, that patience with the coin and the night’s starry cadence pays off when the rod finally hums in your hands. And so the Celestial Pearl Rod continues its patient orbit, a quiet beacon in the bustle, reminding every reader and wanderer that some powers are not loud, but insistently radiant—like a story you hold, and it holds you back. If you drift far from the city lights, the rod’s soft chatter seems to guide your steps, a reminder that every purchase is a pact with the night. It will ask you to listen to the skies before you spend. If you drift far from the city lights, the rod’s soft chatter seems to guide your steps, a reminder that every purchase is a pact with the night.