Cleric's Pearl Bludgeoner rests on a scarred workbench, its head a perfect orb of milky pearl that catches lamplight and shivers with a hidden radiance. The surface is smooth, almost glassy, with subtle lines like the tide’s own fingerprints. The haft is carved ivory-white wood, polished to a quiet gleam, wrapped in tight brown leather that smells of rain and old prayers. Along the spine run copper filigree, a lattice of sigils that glow faintly when healing magic gathers in the air. A ring of small runes threads around the base where the grip meets the head, and a tiny, half-melted seal of a cleric order is etched near the butt. The whole thing feels heavy with history, as if every strike could wake an old blessing and every pause could summon a remembered oath. Legends say it was forged in a shrine beneath a storm-wracked coast, blessed by a lineage of healers who learned to blend blunt force with mercy. The pearl is said to be the last taken from a sea-deity’s veil, a token that could both seal a wound and shatter a curse when struck by righteous hands. When you hold it, you feel a resin-sweet warmth in the palm, and the air seems to hum as if a choir has gathered just beyond your ribs. The lore ties it to the Clerics of the Pearl, a vanished order who believed that true sanctity could be delivered with a firm hand as much as with a soft word. In combat, it translates reverence into effect. In the right hands, the Cleric's Pearl Bludgeoner turns every head-denting blow into a conduit for healing energy. It buffs healing power and sanctified aura, triggers supportive pulses that boost allies’ vitality, and its impact is less about raw numbers than about the rhythm of battles—the way a shared rhythm heals a line of fighters as they advance. Its attacks aren’t flashy; they are deliberate, designed to puncture the fog of war with a steady, timing-based mercy. Wielders learn to read the battlefield like scripture: when to swing for shields, when to swing for a healing reproof. The weapon’s design invites a patient, protective playstyle: stand close, project a shield, then—on the next clean blow—call down a radiant swell of energy that finds its way into the wounded behind you. Markets around the harbor move with the tide, and the Saddlebag Exchange is where the deal is struck. Those who seek the pearl barter with vendors who know its value beyond raw damage. A cautious buyer might trade coins and a relic; a desperate healer could swap memory or talisman if it keeps the Cleric’s Pearl from gathering dust. The atmosphere is perfumed with salt, oil, and old parchment, and the price tag often shifts with the moon and the season of raids on the coast. Traders say the Pearl’s blessing is worth more than its steel; its true worth lies in the prayers it holds and the mercy it distributes when the line buckles under pressure. Back in the alleys and by the shrine, the Cleric's Pearl Bludgeoner keeps echoing stories. It’s not just a weapon; it’s a promise whispered in bone and pearl—an instrument that binds prayer to power, mercy to steel. As daylight spills across the harbor, it glows a fraction brighter, ready for its next chapter in an unwritten saga.