A perfect stone, without flaw or cloud, that shows the holder's face in its depths as someone else. The old masters kept a whole life in a stone like this. It can lift a prepared attuner far above their station, and break an unready one.

A Crystal cut in many angles, each throwing a different colour. It sings softly when a trained hand holds it. Advanced classes are only ever carried by stones as fine as this.

A piece of the Crown's own setting, warm as skin and heavy as a stone many times its size. Light bends a little around it. No two accounts agree on its colour.

A Cut stone set in a House's signet, its facets worn by generations of thumbs. It hums with the memory of everyone in the family who has attuned it, and opens easily to a relative. It is not sold, and it is not lent.

A door with a handle, more or less. A line of these stopped a charge at Brennick's Ford within living memory, and it's still talked about.

The mail of the first Reliquary Wardens, each ring stamped with a small tally mark. Blades slide off it, and it mends itself overnight if it's left in the dark.

Karrak plate quenched in a Stonefather's hearth, with an oath cut into every piece. It's blacker than iron should be, and it holds the cold.

Hammered from a link of the chain that holds up the world's roof, by smiths who didn't ask permission. A wearer who stands still feels very hard to move.