Scourge Dye is a ribbon of night pressed into a glass vial, the color of a moonless dune. It glimmers with a micro-glow when caught by a lantern, like iron filings caught in a starless sky. The texture is peculiar: fine, almost sandy to the touch, yet once brushed on armor it settles into a velvety layer that feels like a well-worn cloak. On cloth it looks like a shadow that learned to stand still; on metal it wears a luster of wet obsidian, catching light and throwing back a cold, blue-black sheen. Lore ties the dye to the Scourge—the necromantic order that tamed the desert wind. They say the pigment is ground from ancient sands, sifted through bone-carved sieves, blessed by sigils that remember caravans that vanished into the Shroud of Dust. When a tailor speaks of Scourge Dye, they talk less about color than about oath-bound travelers, banners that drift like ghosts, armor that seems to breathe with the heat of the dunes. A resin-laced scent lingers as you open the vial, a reminder that this dye has walked through countless bazaars before landing in your palm. Within a crafter's hands, the dye becomes part of the story. It darkens a cuirass to velvet midnight, sets gauntlets aflame with a touch of cold ether, and makes a cloak look like a night sky snared in iron threads. It is not merely cosmetic: a hue can tell a tale—marking a veteran scavenger’s gear, signaling a necromancer’s affinity, or simply matching a guild’s somber colors. Used on weapons, it can make a blade resemble a shard of a black comet, catching light at odd angles and whispering a warning. The dye interacts with light and fabric in subtle ways; in shade its depth deepens, in lamplight it fractures into obsidian facets that feel almost alive. Players experiment with combinations, pairing it with thin gold trim for a ceremonial look or with frost-touched cloth to evoke a caravan under a snowy moon. Prices drift like sand in an hourglass, and the market is always moving. At Saddlebag Exchange, a vial of Scourge Dye trades for a handful of silver or, in lean weeks, a shy gold coin. Some caravans barter it for spare dyes, others swap for midnight cloth or a small piece of jewelry that catches the same light. The stall’s owner leans over the counter, recounting stories of shipping routes and quotas, the dye’s longevity outlasting ordinary fabrics, and how it refuses to fade even after days of sun. Bargains are as much about trust as price: a nod, a smile, the quiet exchange of a secret pattern that would look better on a sleeve than on a ledger. Ultimately, Scourge Dye is less about what you wear than what you carry: a memory of the desert wind, a reminder that color can hold history as surely as a seam holds a story. The dye lets a hero look like a midnight banner come alive, a small rebellion against the plain and ordinary, a whisper from the dunes that follows you into the light.