Dire Krytan Focus of Agony

Dire Krytan Focus of Agony rests on a tarnished velvet cushion, its body a shard of obsidian-dark metal curved into a precise crescent. The eye of the focus is a pale, misty gem that seems to drink the lamp light, bending it toward a cold center. Runes crawl along the edges, etched in silver and glow faintly when the room grows quiet, like frost tracing the bones of a landscape. Tiny filaments of crimson and violet thread through the alloy as if the stone remembers a ritual long forgotten. The grip is knurled with inlaid ivory, worn smooth by hands that refused to forget the past, and a soft breath fogs the air whenever the focus tilts toward a lamp. It feels heavy with a memory not entirely its own, as though Krytan smiths hammered it under siege and sealed a secret into its core. Its lore is not loud but persistent. They say it was forged in the old Krytan capital after catastrophe, a tool designed to magnify a wielder’s own pain into power. Some whisper that it bound restless agonies to its bearer, letting their will cut through the thrum of the world’s tremors. Others insist the focus was meant to temper ambition with restraint, a paradox coiled inside a gleaming shell. Either way, the artifact carries a weight that makes even the bravest pause to listen to the echo of distant bells and marching boots. In practical terms, the Dire Krytan Focus of Agony is a conduit. It concentrates spiritual force as you channel your spells, bending raw emotion into focused energy and, some claim, offering a sharper edge against enemies who shun mercy. It’s said to sync with a wearer’s stance and cadence, rewarding patience with steadier casts, and punishing reckless bursts with a sting of feedback that lingers like winter air. For a story-worn adventurer, that kind of feedback is both lesson and weapon: a reminder that power is never free and that pain can be turned into purpose if you walk the right line. The market rarely grants mercy to such artifacts, and Saddlebag Exchange proved that truth in price. A broker there parroted the old guild saying about rare goods, sliding the focus across the chalkboard of numbers until the tag read something substantial enough to justify the journey. I watched a buyer’s eyes widen, heard the soft click of coins, and felt the room tighten with the knowledge that this piece would not stay long in one place. In a world where legends slip between stalls and stories grow weighty enough to crack a smile, the Dire Krytan Focus of Agony remains a signpost: you can see where the world’s scars bite, and still choose how to wield the ache. Handled with care, it invites a student to listen for the tremor in the air before a spell, to read the room like a battlefield of choices. History remembers artifacts, and they remind bearers to walk with mercy, lest agony judge them.