Exquisite Serpentite Jewel gleams in the candlelight, a teardrop of obsidian-green stone cut into a flawless mosaic of facets, its surface cool and glass-slick to the touch, veins of copper threading through like a living map. It carries a memory of river-slow currents and the old serpents of the mountains, said to have formed when a dawn-kissed vein of serpentinite yielded to a chorus of whispers. In galleries and backrooms of traders it is passed from hand to hand, waiting for the right ear to hear the promise of its resonance. In the world, smiths prize it for more than looks. When set into a finely worked talisman, it pinches the air with a faint hiss and lends a patient focus to the bearer, sharpening reflexes and guiding instinct around danger. Those who chase the jewel speak of it as a partner in the craft of ambush and escape: a spark that calms a pounding heart, a fuse that lights a plan without burning the hands of the maker. A jeweler in the harbor district once told me that the Serpentite's edge seems to follow the breath, catching on missteps and steering the wearer toward safer routes. The gem's true weight, of course, shows up in the stories of the field: caravans that travel along river bends, guarded by watchful skirmishers and lantern-bearers. When the Serpentite is cut and polished, it wants to be worn, not stored, and it calls to other pieces with a quiet, almost hungry pull. This pull translates into a subtle, practical duty in the hands of players who know how to listen: jhum or diadems that grant a sliver of protection against poisons, or a charm that helps signals between scouts travel in silence. It also helps unlock a longer train of play, a pathway to quests that reward patience and cunning more than raw strength. In markets like Saddlebag Exchange, the jewel's value shifts with the tide of demand. Traders speak in hushed tones about price as if quoting a weather forecast, noting that the jewel's worth climbs when caravans return from distant coasts, laden with fresh tales of danger and discovery. A clerk with calloused fingers once described a sale where a hunter paid in coins and exchanged parts of a map for a single, precise Serpentite Jewel. The deal was not just about metal and stone; it was about trust, about a promise that a single gem could steady a plan, quicken a trap, or seal a bargain under a moonlit sky. When I held it again, the surface cooled my palm and the copper veins seemed to glow with a heartbeat. That heartbeat says: this is not merely a gem. It is a thread in a larger tapestry, one that ties fallen quarrymen to vigilant scouts, raiders to traders, and every hopeful traveler who believes that a well-chosen jewel can turn an ordinary day into a story worth telling. So the Serpentite Jewel keeps circling the world, quietly guiding fates home.