Banur, Who Targets the Just of Severance

Banur, Who Targets the Just of Severance, lies on the desk like a sliver of twilight—a slender blade of iron-blue steel with a patina that hints at centuries of dawns and dust. The edge is razor-thin and catches the light with a cold gleam, while a narrow fuller runs along the spine in a thread of pale silver. The grip is wrapped in worn leather, the color deep as storm-touched wood, and the crossguard arches like a pair of scales weighing truth against memory. Runic sigils coil along the flats, tiny grooves that seem to breathe when the room thickens with talk of justice. At the pommel sits a small orb of pale stone, pale as moonlit bone, watching its bearer with quiet, judicial calm. The piece feels almost attached to a memory—the murmur of a temple buried beneath ash, a council chamber where verdicts were carved into stone as surely as words into breath. The lore insists Banur forged the instrument in that shadowed place, a relic meant to target the Just of Severance—the arbiters who once walked the line between mercy and consequence—and to remind any hunter that power weighs as heavily as intention. In the world where it travels, Banur is never merely a trophy. Its texture—cool, slick, almost alive under the right light—seems to carry a whisper of old judgments and pending appeals. When worn, the blade is said to hum with a patient voltage, as if the sigils were listening for a vow spoken aloud. Players have long debated its truth, but the story remains consistent: Banur grants a moment of heightened awareness in combat, a rare clarity that can pierce feints and reveal true allegiance beneath shifting disguises. Some whisper that it lends a subtle edge to hunters of unjust acts, a chance to guide a swing toward the heart of a lie rather than its shadow. Beyond the blade’s immediate presence, the artifact threads its way into questlines and rumors—a key to hidden maps tucked in ruined sanctums, a nudge toward choices that ripple through villages and fortresses alike. It is less about raw force and more about balance—about who wields justice and how that intention reshapes the battlefield as much as the blade reshapes the bearer. The market soundtrack around Banur is a soft clink of coins and cautious bargaining. Saddlebag Exchange, the bustling corridor where rumors and relics trade hands, often becomes the stage for its price. The ledger reads in muted gold: a spectrum from modest two gold for a worn study piece to the higher teens for an immaculate find, the opal gleam in the pommel catching a buyer’s eye and a seller’s memory of forbidden promises. Prices rise and fall with whispers of new custodians, with whether the relic’s power will be honored or tempted, and with the weight of those five syllables—Who Targets the Just of Severance—lingering in the back of every conversation. So Banur rests in its velvet cradle, a story in metal and a vow in temper, waiting for the moment a seeker decides which side of justice they will stand on when the world demands a verdict.