Jade Bot Core: Tier 10 rests in the palm like a shard of living jade, a slab of forest-green glass edged with micro-saw filigree. Its surface shifts with light, facets catching starlight from the workshop skylight and refracting it into ghost-green motes. A faint tremor hums through the core when it’s warmed by a copper coil, as if a tiny engine breathes within. The texture is cool and glassy at first touch, then slick with a sheen that betrays a hidden heat; along the edges run delicate inscriptions, etched by hands long gone—the old Asura script woven with the code of the Jade Conservatories. When you tilt it, you glimpse a filament of inner circuitry glowing like a river of emerald lava, pulsing with faint life. The jade itself feels heavy with memory, as if it carries not just power but a dozen small posters of battles survived, alliances forged, and a promise of undying service. Tier 10 is the apex of the Jade Bot line, rumored to answer questions before they are asked and to anticipate your needs before you know them. It’s more than a component; it’s a memory palace for automata: a core that can host a mind more patient, more precise, more cunning than any mortal tinkerer. Its lore ties to the lost Jade Brotherhood who hammered solutions into stone and copper, then whispered them into clockwork to walk the world. In workshop tales, Tier 10 cores slip from the hands of disaster and into the chassis of guardians—assemblies that guard salvage routes, map treacheries in the desert caravans, or smooth ruts on a rider’s path through a chaotic market. On the field, equipping a Tier 10 Jade Bot Core unlocks new behaviors: the bot’s perception extends beyond ordinary sight, it calculates risk in a heartbeat, and its armatures respond with a surgeon’s precision. Players use it to power automata that scout ahead, harvest volatile trinkets, or stand as a patient turret in skirmishes, firing jade-tinged shots that crack like brittle green ice. Its feed is a living tapestry—memory chips stitched with tactical advice, a habit of error correction, an inclination to protect the group rather than chase glory. In the wider world, the core is a key that ties salvagers, engineers, and couriers to a shared, gleaming thread—an emblem that you’ve paid your dues to learn the craft of turning scrap into sentience. The installation itself is ritualistic, a sequence of calibrations that align its ethics with the crew’s values, a quiet ceremony that makes the machine feel almost human in its loyalty. Market legends spin around the Saddlebag Exchange like sunlit pollen. A Tier 10 Jade Bot Core is coveted, and listings there often fetch around 25 gold, sometimes more depending on the morning’s salvage. Prices vary regionally; some Saddlebag Exchange vendors offer bundles with spare actuator seals, wiring harnesses, and a scoped memory chip, a tempting add-on for a workshop that values speed and reliability. In dusk-lit markets, buyers haggle over battery life, memory durability, and whether the core ships with a warranty, the negotiation unfolding like a quiet dance between risk and reward. To hold it is to carry a steady wind of possibility—the possibility that a machine might learn to walk with you, not behind you; to turn a road into a story you write together with gears and green light. In the eyes of a caravan guard and a tinker's apprentice, Jade Bot Core: Tier 10 isn’t merely hardware; it’s a living proposition, a partnership waiting to begin, and a reminder that even in scrap, there is a future ready to be forged.