Artefacts of Elyndor – Anchored by Obligation

The wand that seeks its master

You sit with your companions around the campfire.

Weeks of traveling through Elyndor have passed, moving along ancient paths, crossing forests and ruins, and every night you make camp somewhere in the wild. Over time, a small tradition has formed: when the flames rise and darkness wraps around you, Tarric begins to tell stories.

Tales of forgotten places.
Of ancient magic.
And of artifacts whose names even many scholars know only from legend.

No one knows exactly where Tarric learned all these stories.
Yet as you listen, a thought lingers: there is more to them than mere tales.
As if he had seen some of these things himself.

Tonight is no different. The sparks drift into the night sky, the wood crackles softly, and Tarric clears his throat before speaking.

“Have you ever heard of a wand,” he says slowly,
“that seeks its own master?”

He leans forward slightly, letting the firelight illuminate his face.
“People call it Anchored by Obligation. An artifact from a time long before most of the kingdoms we know today existed.”
He traces a finger through the embers before continuing.
“But before it began its search for a new master, the wand once belonged to someone else…”

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The Legend of Anchored by Obligation

Once, this wand belonged to a powerful elven mage whose purpose was to protect the forest and maintain its balance.

Its magic was neither purely creative nor purely destructive.
With the wand’s power, he allowed what had to die to fall, and created new life wherever it was needed.

Old, sickly trees had to make way for the young and strong.
Where the wand’s energy flowed through the forest, the bark of the trees would crack – yet from these fractures, new life would emerge. Small plants grew within the splits, strengthening the trees as fresh shoots renewed the woodland.

When the mage eventually passed, the wand remained.

Over time, however, something remarkable happened.
The wand began to develop its own will.
It appeared in various places across Elyndor, as if searching for someone worthy.

Many tried to tame its power.
None succeeded. Most succumbed to its destructive force and lost themselves to it.

So the wand vanished repeatedly – until one day it seemed to disappear entirely.

Centuries later, adventurers discovered it once again.
But by then, the wand had prepared.

Using an ancient spell left by its original master, it had sealed itself into a massive stone. Only someone worthy of its power could pull it free.

What the wand could not seal, however, was its magic.

For centuries, its energy has flowed unceasingly into the forest around it. The force shatters the bark of the trees, yet from the cracks, plants grow that help the trees withstand the wild magic.

From the sparks of this energy emerge tiny magical butterflies.
They circle the wand, guarding it, and guiding curious wanderers and mages to its resting place.

Always in the hope that one day someone will come, someone worthy,
someone who understands the responsibility that comes with such power –
a new master, or perhaps simply a new friend.

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After Tarric finishes his story, a moment of silence falls over the campfire.

Only the fire crackles softly between you.
Finally, he leans back and shrugs slightly.

“Whether the story is true?” he says with a crooked smile.
“Well, no one can say for sure.”

His gaze drifts briefly into the darkness beyond the fire.

“But if you ever come across an old stone deep in the forest… and inside it lies a wand, one that can make the bark of the trees crack open…”

He pauses, letting the words sink in.

“Then think very carefully before you try to pull it out.”

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