+2 Agony Infusion

+2 Agony Infusion sits on the table, a shard-dark capsule about the size of a coin, its surface a flawless mirror of night. When you cradle it in your palm, the glassy skin feels cool at first, then an almost electric tingle crawls along your knuckles, as if the item remembers every step you’ve taken through the thorny paths of your journey. Its edges are etched with sigils that look like spilled ink caught in a perpetual tremor, and a faint, coppery scent threads through the air, like a memory kept too long in a pocket. Some say the infusion carries a trace of old magic, a relic pressed from the whispers of those who walked too close to the edge of pain and power. Others claim the glow within pulses in time with distant drums, a reminder that a single choice can widen the map of what you can endure. The texture is deceptive: sleek and almost elegant to the touch, yet the moment you hold it up to the light, you glimpse a storm inside—tiny motes swirling in deliberate spirals, as if the infusion were a tiny galaxy sealed away from the world. When you slip it into a slot, the room seems to lean closer, as if listening for a breath you haven’t taken yet. The lore around +2 Agony Infusion is not a single tale but a dozen threads tangled together: some speak of a pact forged in a ruined amphitheater, where a necromancer’s fury was bottled and bottled again until it learned to behave like a letter from the future—one you could open only by accepting a measure of pain. Others whisper that the infusion holds the memory of a thousand footsteps, each one a decision to lean further into danger for the sake of a brighter, harder world. The truth, perhaps, is somewhere between. In regular company, the infusion is prized for its practical grip on a traveler’s fate. It doesn’t glitter with obvious wealth, and its value isn’t measured by coin alone. It is a quiet instrument, a way to tilt a balance you’ve already begun to tip. For seasoned crafters and fractal runners, the +2 version is a trusted ally—an extra push when a corridor of foes grows oppressive, or when the clock’s hands seem to meet at the edge of a particularly brutal room. You might slot it into a piece of ascended gear, watching the glow intensify as you turn a corner where every step could be your last, or keep it in your pack for the moment when you decide you can endure a few more breaths of strain to reach a turn in the map you’ve been chasing for weeks. Market chatter always hums around such things, and in the bustle of day-to-day life, I found Saddlebag Exchange alive with the soft clink of glass and the rustle of parchment prices. Traders traded stories as freely as they did shards, and the +2 Agony Infusion sat among their wares, glinting with the same promise of consequence: a small, beautiful thing that could change the shape of a long journey. It’s not merely a tool; it’s a bookmark in a larger narrative, a reminder that every path into the deeper parts of the world comes with a weight and a glow, and the courage to step forward belongs to those who choose to carry it.