Berserker's Iron Greatsword of Blood

Berserker's Iron Greatsword of Blood glints under a flickering lantern, a blade of hammered iron with a ragged edge that looks both ancient and terrifying. The central fuller threads a seam of crimson light, as if the weapon itself drinks heat and returns it as a warning. The grip is wrapped in weathered leather, scarred by years of grip and mud, with a pommel bearing the impression of a clenched fist caught in a remembered fight. The whole thing wears a patina that shifts with the room’s flame, a living rust that suggests memories more than metal. It feels heavier in the hand than in the mind, as if the blade carries a debt that must be paid in blood before it can rest. Lore whispers that the sword was born in a furnace fed by a berserker’s oath, tempered by a vow spoken at the edge of a shattered city. In the old days, a champion pressed the blade to the gates at dawn and pledged to spill not for glory alone but for the living who would rise again if the blood was shed in their defense. Since then, the Greatsword has earned a reputation for answering the wielder’s heartbeat with a chorus of iron and iron-willed resolve. When it swings, it doesn’t merely cut; it seems to pull the world into a tighter circle, as if acknowledging an audience that waits to see which fate will bend first. In practical terms, the weapon is a study in momentum, a long, devastating sweep that thrives on close quarters and ruthless timing. Warriors who bear it learn to ride the blade’s rhythm: a flattening arc that cleaves through shield and shield-bearer alike, followed by a sharp, decisive strike that leaves the air tasting of copper and legend. Its presence flatters a berserker’s playstyle—maximizing power and reach while demanding patience and cadence from the wielder. The iron’s weight becomes a narrative tool, turning every clash into a chapter and every retreat into a faltering page that only the next swing can correct. In the right hands, the sword is not just a weapon but a mentor, teaching control through the very fury it promises. Markets in the living world of the saga carry whispers of such blades, traded among caravan guards and collectors who still believe in a weapon’s memory as much as its edge. In Divinity’s Reach, Saddlebag Exchange is a name spoken with a mix of awe and pragmatism by those who chase rare finds. Here, the Berserker’s Iron Greatsword of Blood does not come cheap, but it does circulate with a steady rhythm: a price that reflects its history, its rarity, and the demand of fighters who want a blade that remembers every clash and every oath. Bargains are proposed not just in coins but in shared stories—an exchange of favors, a spared debt, a whispered promise to guard the next tale until the next dawn. So the sword moves on, from hand to weathered palm, carving its way through the city’s lanes and across the field’s broken horizons. It remains a stubborn relic of a vow made in blood and kept in iron, a weapon that keeps its own counsel even as it speaks through the teeth of every strike.