Proof of a Kill

Proof of a Kill sits in your hand like a fragment of night: a palm-sized talisman carved from obsidian-black bone, its surface satin-smooth and cool to the touch. Copper filigree threads wind along the rim, catching lamplight and tracing runes that glow faintly when the moon leans west. A pale shard—perhaps a fragment of the quarry’s own essence—is set at the heart, held in a bezel of scarlet resin that gleams with a living, almost flesh-like wetness. The whole thing smells faintly of rain and char, as if it has carried storms across a thousand footprints, and the texture invites a whisper of awe every time you lift it. Lore clings to Proof of a Kill like moss to a stone. It’s said to be awarded only after bearing witness to a hunter’s most perilous moment, the blow that ends a chase that others fled from. In taverns and markets the relic is traded for stories as much as for coin, and some seasons the sigils on its rim seem to shimmer with remembered fear or triumph. For those who trust old legends, the item carries more than memory: a spark of luck to temper the hunter’s nerves, a reminder that every kill is a pact with a larger history. Within the game-world itself, Proof of a Kill functions as a catalyst. Carry it and you unlock quiet exchanges with veteran trackers; present it to a quest-giver at the edge of a dangerous ruin, and a thread of a living-world hunt unfurls. It serves as a badge of status among rival hunts and a keystone to certain achievement lines—more than vanity, it binds a personal narrative to the map you roam. Some crafters prize it for a ritual sheath they forge in your honor; others trade it in for a rare cosmetic or a token of reputation that nudges you toward the next great chase. The item’s value isn’t merely measured in silver but in the stories it unlocks and the doors it opens. Markets treat Proof of a Kill like a season’s weather—unpredictable, but telling. The Saddlebag Exchange, a caravan-stop where merchants peddle curios and glimpses of distant hunts, handles many of these trophies. On a good day the vendor will offer a tidy stack of silver—think two to five silver—along with the possibility of a trade for a prized pelt or a peculiar trinket. On slower weeks, the price dwindles, and the story attached to the proof becomes the bargaining chip that keeps the cognoscenti—hunters, storytellers, and merchants—coming back for more. Night settles as lanterns flicker and the market sighs with its own old rhythm, and Proof of a Kill remains more than metal and resin. It is a passport stamped by memory, a nod from the past that says: you were there, you stood your ground, and you moved the world a notch closer to telling its next legend. And in every trade and tale, Proof of a Kill keeps walking with you. It lingers in the taverns and the road, a quiet challenge to keep hunting with care and courage.