Flame Ram Blueprint rests on the desk, parchment browned at the edges, its copper-ink illustration of a ram curled beneath a halo of ember-touched fire. The lines shimmer when a candle’s glow catches the surface, and the seal of a wax ram’s head presses into the corner as if still hot. The paper feels coarse, like lightly sanded leather, with a texture that bites softly at your fingertips and a smell of smoke and resin that never quite fades. The ink carries a subtle warmth, as though the design itself remembers the heat of furnaces and forge fires. If you tilt it just so, you can see a tiny rune etched along the margin, a sigil that seems to glow a touch when the room grows quiet. Legends say it was drawn by a caravan smith who learned to bind a fire-spirit to a sturdy creature of burden, a ram bred for desert winds and volcanic soil. The blueprint circulated through fireside circles, traded for a tale and a promise to keep the memory of that bond alive. Some say the ram in the image is a real, living thing, tempered by magma and oath, a guardian to travelers who dare to cross ash plains and ringed craters. Whether it’s superstition or fact, the blueprint feels hefted by history, as if the ink carries the heat of a forge long cooled but never forgotten. When you take the Flame Ram Blueprint to a skilled crafter, you unlock a recipe that births a mount veined with ember and speed. The Flame Ram isn’t just a ride; it changes your approach to distant ranges and hostile arcs. Its charging horn sends a wave of heat over the ground, shaking loose embers and lighting shallow nooks that would otherwise hide ambushes. It helps you push through scorched passes and crest slopes where the air itself seems to glitter with miniature sparks. In skirmishes, the ram’s bulk blocks lines of fire and debris, and its fiery aura lets you recover a moment faster after a clash. It becomes part of a larger journey, a companion that remembers the terrain you walked and the choices you made along a map that grows hotter as you push northward. Markets hum with that kind of story, and the Saddlebag Exchange in particular has a way of making these artifacts feel almost tangible again. The blueprints drift through stalls and back-alley traders, and the price threads through conversations the way a caravan threads through a canyon. A seasoned buyer might tell you a clean Flame Ram Blueprint fetches a solid pile of gold, often in the range of fifty to seventy gold when a seller has patience; rarer prints, lightly scorched and annotated by the old smith who drafted them, can climb higher. Buyers and sellers connect through Saddlebag Exchange, where listings carry notes about ink depth, parchment wear, and how the seal remains slightly warm to the touch, as if the forge’s breath still lingers in the margins. In the end, the blueprint is a doorway; it is memory and mechanism in one. That is the quiet magic of such documents: they are not just instructions but invitations to keep moving, to trust a fire-eyed ram as you navigate a world that never stops burning and rebuilding.