Gather your hatred about you, and master it, my brothers. It is the strength behind your shield, the speed of your blade. Do not abandon it, for without it, you are empty indeed.
The Unyielding Rage
A tiny ampoule of steel and old, clotted blood, hung from a black iron chain, the Amulet of Dark Valor holds the drive of the furies.
Walking through the alleys of the docks district of town, you hear an old, mad beggar calling out for alms. He claims to be a god, cast out from heaven and stripped of his powers. The party passes, tossing a few coppers to him. In thanking them, the madman refers to incidents in their childhood or distant past which would have been all but impossible for him to know.