Carrion's Ring of Chrysocola

Carrion's Ring of Chrysocola catches the light with a slow, almost clinical gleam, as if a shard of the sea had been pressed into gold and left a whisper of frost along its edges. The band is a coil of brushed bronze, pitted with tiny nicks from a long voyage, and a bezel of chrysocola sits center like a moon trapped in metal. Veins of teal-green stone run through the gem, a living map of currents, waterlines, and the sigh of a marrow-deep memory. In the lore that clings to this trinket, it is said to have risen from a carrion priest’s forgotten alter—not slick with gold or glory, but with the patience of scavengers and the hunger for transformation. When light strikes the chrysocola just so, it seems to breathe, drawing in the room’s warmth and exhaling a faint, coppery scent that no nose can quite place. With the ring on a finger, a healer or necromancer alike might sense a subtle shift in timing—the way a cast lands a touch earlier, or a shield rises a fraction before the hit lands. The ring doesn’t grant raw power; instead it pulls at what players carry on their backs: the weight of choices. Its glow cooperates with any of the ring’s wearer’s intentions, brightening most when courage and mercy align, dimming when ambition turns predatory. It’s the kind of artifact that makes a story out of a routine patrol: an old caravan committee, a night market under lanterns, a corridor where the scent of damp wood clings to everything. In practical terms, Carrion's Ring of Chrysocola is favored by those who juggle support roles and frontline skirmishes alike. The chrysocola’s mineral veins translate into bonuses that gradually sharpen a healing aura or help stabilize a ward, little by little, as if the stone itself peels back layers of fog from a tense battle. Crafters prize the ring for its hard-to-buff texture, which holds runes well and resists the chafing of hurried duels. When paired with others in a set, the ring’s energies harmonize, turning a scrappy crew into a well-tuned tool. Market talk, of course, travels faster than the pulse of a convoy. If you listen to the chatter by the booths near the river, you’ll hear whispers that Saddlebag Exchange has a fresh stock and a price that reflects a season’s scarcity. A buyer who once paid a modest sum might now find the ring punching above its weight, but the ring’s tale can soften the sting: a single chrysocola gemstone is said to carry the memory of a storm at sea, and memory, in this world, is occasionally more valuable than coin. And so the ring travels, from finger to finger, from hand to trader, enough to keep the story alive: a reminder that even something small can carry a weathered history and a glint of mercy through the wilds. In the next dusk-lit crossroads, a merchant traces its mark and recalls the ring’s quiet vow to remember.