Major Rune of Tormenting

The Major Rune of Tormenting rests on the palm, a shard of obsidian carved with fevered precision, its surface a whisper of heat under the skin. Its edges catch glints of lamplight like a shard of night tucked into a sleeve, and the sigils etched across it glow faintly, as if embers remember their birth in a forge long ago. The texture is cool and grainy one moment, then almost slick the next, a paradox that hints at a history of trials and near escapes. When you hold it to the market lantern, you can feel a pulse skitter along your nerves, as if the rune is listening for the torments you’ve endured and the ones you’re about to unleash. It bears the weight of lore too, a relic rumored to have been pressed into service by a secluded order that believed torment could be disciplined, harnessed, even spoken into oath by a crafted circle of iron, bone, and vow. Its appearance is more than aesthetics. The red glyphs along the rim seem to rearrange themselves in the corner of the eye, like a coastline shifting with the tide. The rune’s central sigil—a stylized, chain-bound wraith—suggests a pact: torment as a resource, not merely a penalty to bear. In whispers carried by caravan guards and candlelit tinkers, the Major Rune of Tormenting is spoken of as a tool that makes torment more predictable, more personal, more dangerous in the hands of those who know how to listen to its quiet hum. The lore connects its power to the long-vanished war schools of the north, where torment was not just a weapon but a discipline—a way to ride pressure and turn fear into a sharpened edge. In play, the rune fits a story as naturally as a blade fits a sheath. When socketed, it tightens the threads of torment woven through a build, extending the window in which torment lingers and deepening the sting once it lands. It isn’t a flashy miracle, but a patient companion: a reminder to the tank that when they hold the line, torment can thread through the enemy’s guard, or to the support who counts on every condition to bloom at the right moment. For condition-heavy setups, it offers a steadier cadence—torment triggers more reliably, tools that apply it last longer, and a chain of effects that can bend a skirmish toward the party’s favor. It invites a narrative of slow decisions and careful timing, where each tormentous strike feels earned, not granted by a single burst of luck. Market streets lend the rune a different texture. In the quiet hours, traders at the Saddlebag Exchange spread out their wares on rough cloth and wooden crates, and the Major Rune of Tormenting glints among the others like a dark star. Prices drift with caravans, fortunes told by the season and the mood of distant battles. Some days you’ll hear of a bargain, a coin or two saved if you catch the right vendor, while on fatesick weeks it commands a sturdier sum. It’s not just the rune’s power that draws eye and coin—it’s the story it carries, the promise of torment acknowledged and redirected, a small artifact carving a larger image of struggle and strategy. And so, tucked against a rib of armor or wired into a weapon’s grip, the rune becomes part of a living epic: a reminder that even the most piercing of pains can be tuned, worn, and finally understood as a thread in the broader fabric of the world’s enduring conflict—torment mastered, not merely endured.