Berserker's Iron Greatsword of Venom

Berserker's Iron Greatsword of Venom rests on the worktable like a captured storm. The blade is a broad slab of hammered iron, the edge kept keen for brutal contact and the surface worn to a dull, glinting gray that speaks of countless battles. Along the spine run dark rivets and runes that catch the lamp flame and scatter it into slim blue shards. The grip is wrapped in rough leather, the guard a blunt crescent that protects a pommel crowned with a green-tinged bead. A thin film of patina clings to the whole thing, and if you tilt it just so, a faint emerald haze crawls along the edge—a sign, some say, of venom tempered into its veins. The ricasso bears chips and scorch marks from tests long forgotten. Lore says it was forged during a berserker rite, cooled not in water but in a vial of venom that lingers in the metal. In the world’s skirmishes, the sword is prized for more than raw power: its venomous edge lingers on foes, sapping stamina and granting the user a brutal opening. It rewards aggression: quick feints, heavy downsweeps, and the patient, ruthless grind of a fight that never gives an enemy a moment’s breath. Those who wield it learn to marry ferocity with restraint, letting the weapon's bite do the talking while the body follows the cadence of a predator. In group battles, veterans say it turns a frontline skirmish into a controlled eruption of force. Market life has a way of turning legends into price tags, and this blade travels that road. A rumor wends its way to the Saddlebag Exchange, where traders whisper about the venom's glow and the sword's blood-worn history. A clerk unhooks the weapon from its stand, letting the blade catch the light and casting about for its value in gold. The current board quotes it in the mid-teens, though festival season can push demand higher for a showpiece weapon. The Exchange stamps every piece with its crest, a sign that a buyer is purchasing not only steel but a story. Some buyers even request a polishing and sharpening rite before they'd trust its edge against hardened armor. To hold the Berserker's Iron Greatsword of Venom is to hold a vow as much as a weapon. It demands a wielder who understands the rhythm of risk—the pause before a leap, the trust in a single, devastating strike—and who respects the venom’s quiet promise. In the broader tale, it changes hands from battlefield to market, then again to a new bearer who needs not just to cut but to endure. And when the blade finds rest between sips of ale and hours of travel, it whispers the same thing: courage is a blade that remembers. Yet the blade never dies with its owner—it lingers in stories, passed along to seekers who crave a weapon that remembers.