Cleric's Charged Stormcaller Focus

Cleric's Charged Stormcaller Focus sits on the table, a slender instrument that seems to borrow light from a ceiling of clouds. Its barrel is a polished slice of pewter-colored metal, etched with weather-worn sigils, and wrapped in a coil of midnight leather that smells faintly of rain. The centerpiece is a crystal orb, half-mottled blue and half storm-gray, suspended in a lattice of bronze filigree that shivers when a spark passes nearby. The texture invites a careful touch: cool, glassy, almost bone-dry, with minute ridges like a map scratched into a storm’s skin. When you cradle it, you can feel a quiet static sitting at the edge of your nerves, as if the device itself is listening for the next crack of thunder to wake it. And when the room grows darker and the lantern glow leans away, the orb glows back with a pale, electric halo, as if a storm itself were peeking through a hinge in the air. Legends say this focus was forged in a temple where wind and ward magic braided together, blessed by stormcallers who believed the weather kept the world honest. They hammered runes into the bronze until the air hissed with static, then yoked the storm’s will to a staff-like focus so a lone practitioner could talk to tempests without shouting at the sky. The Cleric’s Charged Stormcaller Focus keeps that old oath close: it does not simply harm or heal; it negotiates with the weather, bending it toward purpose, and in doing so, it teaches the wielder patience. That patience matters a lot in the more fragile hours of expedition. In the field, the focus channels arcing bolts and crackling shields, guiding the storm’s temperament so it will strike enemies with precision while protecting allies with a soft dome of magnetic calm. It slices wind into narrow pulses for quick, controlled bursts, then opens wide to unleash a river of lightning that sweeps the battlefield clear. More than a weapon, it is a compass for hazard: it can pull rain from a dark sky to drown the embers of a campfire that has drawn inhospitable beasts, or summon a shield of static to dampen incoming magic, turning a skirmish into a measured negotiation with chance. The market tells its own story, the humdrum of barter and risk that keeps such relics moving. I heard a dealer mention that a Cleric’s Charged Stormcaller Focus tends to attract the eyes of storm-chasers and curious scholars alike, a curious crowd that gathers in the Saddlebag Exchange to ponder its recent valuation. One week it posts for around two gold coins, another week a bit more, depending on the weather in the market’s air and the memory of a recent storm. Someone always layers in a story about the price rising when a field boss returns with a new set of wardings, and falling when a rumor of a curse drops from a hot, windy hill. Its story persists wherever storms gather and markets remember, always.