Shard of Crystallized Blood of Jormag

Shard of Crystallized Blood of Jormag glimmers on the desk, a teardrop of frost-scarred ruby encased in a lattice of pale blue ice. Its surface carries a ripple of ancient light, as if the thing remembers every frostbite, every shudder of the world when Jormag's breath scorched and then cooled the land. The texture trembles under a fingertip—hard as glass, yet just barely give, a heartbeat of chill that climbs the skin. Tiny fissures catch the light and spill it in pinpricks, like stars trapped in a frozen bottle. At its heart is a deep, almost metallic gloss, a pulse that feels almost like a whisper of the dragon itself. Known among markets and scholars as a fragment torn free from a fallen elder, its lore says it holds a memory of Jormag's last incursion into the world, a memory that can be coaxed into a voice by careful ritual and patient hands. To hold it is to feel history lean in—an invitation to listen, to trade, to bargain. In gameplay, it functions as a rare component sought by crafters and adventurers alike. Some tell of its use in relic-raising rites, allowing a weapon's frost to burn with a sharper, more disciplined edge; others speak of infusion recipes that awaken dormant sigils etched into armor, granting a shield of glacial resilience for a limited time. While the exact mechanics shift with patches and seasons, the shard generally serves as a bridge: a link between a world that remembers the bite of winter and the players who must temper that memory with skill and care. In the hands of a patient craftsman, it becomes more than loot; it becomes a key, opening access to nodes of frost-born power, or to a hidden story fragment that reveals how Jormag's presence shaped a valley, the river mouths, and the people who traded there. I've watched the market stalls change with the seasons, but Saddlebag Exchange remains the most honest clock in the square. The price for a Shard of Crystallized Blood of Jormag has drifted, from a shy spark of gold to a stubborn sum that requires not just coin but a tale to tell in return. A trader might ask for two gold and a weathered map, or a bundle of glacial ore and a whispered debt repaid. It moves with demand—the moment a guild announces a new frost-worg contract or a collector uncovers a fragment of Jormag's myth, the equalizer shifts. Still, bids drift toward the same horizon: a fair exchange for something that remembers a dragon's chill and the courage of those who choose to carry that memory forward. Where the shard ends, a story begins again—the kind that makes market stalls glow with frost-laden rumors, makes a smith pause mid-forge to listen for a dragon's sigh, and makes a traveler wonder what future relics the world will offer if one keeps listening to the cold, patient memory of Jormag. In that quiet exchange, history earns its price, and hope.