Anguish Dye sits in a small glass phial, its surface swirling with a dark, velvet sheen that catches the lamplight and refuses to settle. Tilt it and the color climbs the curved walls like smoke, a lacquer-thick pigment that clings to itself as if it’s learned patience from centuries of longing. In the bottle, it looks almost liquid midnight, but when brushed onto fabric the hue deepens into a bruised plum with edges that lacquer into ash-gray, a slow, almost ceremonial shimmer that seems to listen before it speaks. Lore-hunters speak of its origin in a city scorched to its bones, where the dye-binders pressed the last sighs of mourning into pigment, letting the survivors dress their memories rather than erase them. The name Anguish Dye isn’t a badge so much as a weathered confession—color that keeps, remembers, and refuses to forget. In the hands of a crafter or a herald, Anguish Dye becomes less an ornament and more a ledger entry in a larger story. When a shield-maiden clad in lacquered steel steps into the light, Anguish returns as a slow, throbbing violet that mutters against the metal and then settles into a solemn, almost ceremonial tone. The dye’s texture—slick at first, then slowly dry to a chalk-soft finish—gives armor a tactile memory: you can feel the weight of it as you move, hear the hush of the hue as a blade slices through the air. Used on trim and accents, it sharpens the silhouette of a set of pauldrons or a chest piece, turning practical protection into a story you wear. It’s not flashy in a reckless way; it’s the quiet drama of a veteran’s cloak brushed with dusk after a long, hard campaign. In longer campaigns, players often pair Anguish with copper or brass highlights to mimic weathered metalbones and to evoke the sense that the wearer has outlasted the storm. The dye’s significance in gameplay is as much about mood as color. It responds to light the way a dusk-kissed battlefield does: read as almost black from a distance, it glows with a guttural red under torchlight, and then settles into velvet again as you step into a cool, shadowed hall. Crafters adore it for its versatility—it harmonizes with muted earth tones and also questions the eye when placed against stark whites or gilded trim. In social spaces, Anguish signals a certain allegiance to memory and ceremony; in combat, it can visually unify a squad’s armor into a single, solemn banner without shouting for attention. It’s the kind of dye that makes you feel like you’ve inherited a legend, if only for a moment, each time you equip it. The Saddlebag Exchange sits quiet and bustling along the market’s edge, baskets of spilt sunlight and coins clinking softly as merchants trade rumors with stock. A trader nods at me, slides a vial of Anguish between the palms, and—after a quick, careful negotiation—takes two gold and a small scrap of red-inked parchment in exchange. Prices drift with supply, the way a river shifts its banks after rain, and the exchange’s hands are never long without the next color to tempt a hopeful fabricist. I leave with the dye settled into my pack, a new story ready to be written on the sleeve and collar, a memory made wearable, a reminder that some colors carry more than pigment—they carry the weight of history, and the promise that we will still choose to wear it.