Old Ascalon

Old Ascalon sits heavy in the palm, a shard of the old city carved from weathered stone and cold bronze. The surface is dull as a winter river, pitted by wind and rain, with a seam where a larger statue once fused to it. Runes thread along the edge, barely legible, like a map in a language no longer spoken. Its color shifts with the light, a bruised copper glow that darkens to slate at dusk. If you tilt it just so, you can almost hear distant bells and the murmur of merchants arguing in a ruined square. The texture is both rough and strangely smooth, as if time itself has rubbed it into a shape you can cradle in your hand. A shallow inscription circles the base, depicting two crossed blades and a shield, the emblem that once crowned the walls of a city now reduced to memory. Lore ties Old Ascalon to the fall itself—some say it was carved from a relief that stood above the river gate, spared by chance as the rest burned. Others whisper that it carried the vow of a guarded king, a talisman sewn into the fabric of exile. The truth, if truth remains, is that the shard has traveled through scars of more than a century, passing from hands of refugees to traders, from one ruined square to another, gathering patina and names as it goes. In gameplay, the relic acts as more than a pretty trinket. It is a tangible thread to the past that players can tug on to unlock quiet, lore-rich moments. Those who find Old Ascalon can offer it to a wandering chronicler in a seaside town or a veteran smith in a ruined outpost, sparking dialogue that fills in a small corner of the world's history. It doesn't grant power or direct advantage, but it deepens the narrative texture of exploration and memory, turning a routine trek into a journey through ashes and echoes. Many crafters prize the relic for its story, and some dedicated traders will barter for it as a symbol of the old city’s stubborn endurance. Market note: you’ll notice Old Ascalon appearing in the wings of the market, particularly at Saddlebag Exchange, where players gauge its worth by condition and lore heft. A well-preserved shard will fetch a brighter price—silver brightenings, copper coins, and a few rare barter-bound traders willing to trade a blueprint or a memory-forged trinket in exchange. The price never quite settles; it wanders with the tide of curiosity, the season of quests, and the stories people tell about a city that fell but did not vanish. And so it sits in the world’s pocket, not a weapon or a tool, but a reminder: memory is a kind of currency as bright and volatile as any coin, and Old Ascalon is its smallest, most stubborn denomination. Travelers whisper that a shade of its glow lingers when you walk the harbor, guiding you toward forgotten doors and new stories yet untold.