Libeh's Truthteller

Libeh's Truthteller rests in a weathered velvet pouch, its surface a polished obsidian pane that seems to drink the light rather than reflect it. Along the edges, coppery filaments braid into the stone like roots, and a slim brass hinge catches a glint of sun as if winking at you. On the front face, a single feather etched in shallow relief trails a path from bottom to top, as if the truth itself were a flight you could follow. When you cradle it, the texture shifts under your fingers—cool, then grainy, then impossibly smooth, as if the relic remembers every handshake, every whispered bargain it has witnessed. The lore around Libeh—either a famed scribe or a rumor woven from half-truths—speaks of a pact to bind every confession to an unbreakable record. The Truthteller is said to carry Libeh’s oath on its inside, keeping a ledger that cannot lie, even when tongues falter. In practice, the Truthteller is less a weapon than a key. When pressed into a tense dialogue or used during a mystery’s breaking point, it seems to glow with a pale, moonlit glow, nudging the conversation toward statements that ring with sincerity. NPCs lean forward, the room grows quieter, and a map of inferred motives materializes in the air as faint runes trace across the air between speaker and listener. It doesn’t force truth so much as invite it, turning suspicion into questions and questions into pathways. Those who carry the Truthteller often find that decisions hinge on the quality of testimony they elicit: alliances forged in candor last longer, lies unravel faster, and a confession in the right moment can unlock access to sealed rooms, concealed vendors, or previously closed quest arcs. It is prized by investigators, archivists, and even the occasional bargain hunter who believes that every deal deserves a clear conscience. The market in which these relics surface is never dull. At Saddlebag Exchange, a caravan-stall tucked behind the old city gates, traders haggle with an energy that matches the relic’s weight. The badge on the leather awning reads a mosaic of creases and stamps, and a grizzled vendor—eyes worn from years of listening to whispered admissions—will tell you that the Truthteller is “worth its silence.” Prices drift with rumor and demand, sometimes secured against a modest payment of silver, sometimes bartered for a story that proves true under its gaze. You learn to listen for what the market doesn’t say as much as what it does: a sold truth sings longer than a silenced one, and Libeh’s Truthteller keeps score in a language all its own. Walk away with it, and you carry a weight that changes not only what you hear but how you hear it—the steady, patient drumbeat of truth in a world of many voices. It is a companion to risk and memory, a quiet companion for those who seek the honest path through crowded markets and crowded minds. In the end, truth travels wherever someone bets on sincerity and patience.