Cleric's Pearl Impaler

Cleric's Pearl Impaler sits on the worn oak table, a spear whose head narrows to a true point and is framed by runic etchings that catch the lamplight. The shaft is pale ash lacquered to a satin sheen, comfortable in hand, and at the butt a single pearl—perfectly round, it glows with a soft, inner tide. The texture speaks of care: the grain feels like wind-carved stone under the fingertips, smooth yet sturdy, with a few intentional dents that tell of long journeys and rough weather. Local lore whispers that it was sealed with a prayer to the river spirit who keeps wells from running dry, a blessing that travels with whoever bears it. I found the weapon tucked in a corner of a market stall, beside a map of flooded passes and a kettle that never seems to cool. The vendor, a trader with salt-stiff hair, spoke in a low rhythm, describing how the pearl glows brighter when healing rites flow from its wielder, and how the spear’s reach lets a healer stand back from the fray while guiding others toward safety. It’s said the blade has tasted both legend and dust—that in one century it cut through a corruption that gnawed at a temple’s doors, in another it pierced arrogance in the name of mercy. The word “Cleric” isn’t merely carved on its throat; it’s meant to remind the possessor that service and steel can walk the same road. In practice, the Pearl Impaler is a remarkable companion for those who balance blade and benediction. Fighters who favor precision speak of its clean, quiet arc, a weapon that stays obedient even as the battlefield erupts around them. Clerics who lean into the spear’s lore say the pearl’s soft glow grows steadier as healing energy gathers, as if the river itself is lending a quiet breath to aid their hands. In the right hands, it becomes a conduit between protection and power, a tool that opens space for allies to breathe, to regroup, to rise again. Its lore threads through the world: a pilgrim’s relic, a mercantile star in a traveler’s satchel, a reminder that even a weapon can carry a blessing. Prices drift with rumor and tide, and that drift is most clearly mapped on Saddlebag Exchange, where collectors and wanderers haggle over the going rate as if it were a rumor traded for a promise. Some days a pearl-tip spear fetches a premium for its story; other days the market favors the cautious buyer, who walks away with a measured smile and the sense that the item has chosen its owner as much as the owner chose it. Either way, the Cleric’s Pearl Impaler remains more than steel and shell: a memory of wells that would not run dry, and of a world that keeps faith, even under pressure. Its hinge of history remains accessible to anyone listening for names whispered in alleys of towns, or chasing a horizon where springs never fail, for weary travellers.