The Magnanimous Sharpening Stone sits on the counter of a quiet shop, palm-sized and unassuming, yet it carries a glow that makes even the candlelight pause. Its surface is a smooth, cool slab of pale slate, flecked with vein-like strands of brass that catch and hold the flame. When you cradle it in your hand, the stone feels neither heavy nor weightless, but exactly as a remembered tool should—calm, patient, ready. The edge is beveled with care, and along its broad face runes etched in a script older than the last harvest festival. They shimmer slightly as the stone shifts, a quiet promise that the bearer carries not merely a gadget but a small covenant: to keep the blade true, to honor the work of those who forged it, and to share the edge with friend and foe alike. In the lore of smiths who wandered from hamlet to town, such stones were more than commodities. They were magnanimity bound into mineral form—gifted to crews who split a share of loot, passed along to apprentices to remind them that skill flourishes when generosity is part of the process. Some say a Magnanimous Stone bears the memory of a caravan's last forge, of hands that stayed to teach a neighbor before moving on. And when the edge of a weapon catches the light just so, you can almost hear a chorus of hammer strikes and approving murmurs from unseen mentors. Practically speaking, this is a tool with a clear purpose on the field. A quick pass along the blade—or a patient rub across the edge—carries a short-lived enchant that makes each strike bite a little deeper, each parry a shade more precise. The edge steadies, the weapon seems to whisper better alignment, and in the heat of a skirmish you notice the difference: timings feel a touch more forgiving, the roar of metal meeting armor a fraction sharper. It is not a permanent upgrade; its magic fades as the fight wears on, leaving your weapon back to its ordinary birthright, but for those few moments you remember why a well-forged blade can tell a story as powerfully as a well-told tale. Prices drift along with the road. Traders at Saddlebag Exchange speak in soft, careful tones about the stone’s value, balancing supply with demand as caravans disembark and new stock arrives on creaking wagons. A buyer may haggle over copper and coin, and a seller may lean closer to share a story about the last siege where the stone went to work on a captain’s sabre. In such markets, the Magnanimous Stone is less a gimmick and more a reminder: that a weapon’s edge is as much about spirit as steel, and every sharpened line in the blade writes a line of a larger, shared narrative.