Rejuvenating Soft Wood Trident

The Rejuvenating Soft Wood Trident gleams under the lanterns, its head carved from pale, almost sun-warmed soft wood, three prongs tapering to fine points like saplings pruned after a storm. The shaft bears a whisper of amber grain, polished to a glassy satin that catches the light with every slight tilt of the wrist. A rider of faint runes snakes along the length, each symbol catching a shimmer as if tiny fish swam under the wood. The binding at the grip is a skein of salted cord and seaweed, braided tight enough to bite back when the water around you grows wild. It feels alive in the hand, a calm warmth humming through the palm, as if the timber remembered every voyage it has ever witnessed. Lore has always clung to it—a tale of a shipwright-priest who spoke to the sea in a voice like wind through rigging. They did not merely fashion the trident; they coaxed a mercy into the wood, a promise that wounds would knit and fear would loosen its grip when the tide turned. It is said the wood once grew near a shoreline where storms kept time with the heartbeats of sailors, and those who carried the trident felt a soft, patient pulse against their skin, a personal lullaby that steadied breath and steadied will. Whether myth or memory, the aura around the weapon suggests a pact: you fight with greater steadiness, and you mend what is torn—not from magic alone, but from a quiet faith that recovery can be as swift as a windward gust. In practical terms, the trident is a weapon and a ward. It cuts with a disciplined spear’s discipline, its three prongs catching on skirmish shields and the bristling hulls of skiffs alike. Yet the Rejuvenating Soft Wood Trident is never merely about damage; its signature lies in the way it pulses when you hold the line. Wielder and allies fall into a rhythm: a short, bright heal radiates outward whenever it lands a hit, with a gentle bloom that fades from green to gold. It isn’t a miracle, but a measured help—the kind that threads through a melee and keeps a frontline from folding. In the hands of a patient guardian or a drift of healers, it becomes the quiet backbone of a fight, turning rough seas into manageable spray and giving the party a moment to regroup. Prices drift and drift again in the harbor markets, especially when the rain keeps time with the clatter of cart wheels. On a gray morning I drifted into the Saddlebag Exchange, where veterans pace the stalls and haggle over gloved fingers and careful eyes. A pristine example was whispered about—a Trident with brighter runes and a more polished sheen—but the price lingered in the air, a negotiation waiting to happen. The stall-keepers offered it in a carefully curated package, sometimes as a bundle with a healing kit, sometimes as a stand-alone treasure. In the end, it found its new owner for around a handful of silver and a memory—a small investment, given what it could unleash in the right hands. So the Rejuvenating Soft Wood Trident continues its quiet voyage through ports, taverns, and campfires, slipping from one story to the next. For those who listen, it speaks of resilience, of kinship in conflict, and a trust that healing can be as steady as a seasoned sailor’s hand on the tiller.