Cleric's Iron Greatsword of Venom

Cleric's Iron Greatsword of Venom rests in a display case, its blade half-hidden in shadow, the iron surface absorbing the candlelight and releasing it again in a cold, patient glow. The length is stern and unyielding, a broad edge that catches onto every flicker of movement as if it longs to answer a summons. The grip is wrapped in tanned leather, worn smooth by hands that trusted it with their courage, and the pommel bears an etched cross and two serpents entwined around it as if to rhyme with the weapon’s name. The whole thing smells faintly of oil and iron, with a faint tang of venom that lingers on the tongue of the room when the blade is drawn in a story or a duel. It’s said that the venom is not merely poison but a patient companion for a cleric’s mercy—a blade that can sear with conviction and then seal a peace that others cannot reach. In the legends that drift through marketplaces and taverns, the Cleric’s Iron Greatsword of Venom is tied to a nurse of the old order, a healer who walked the line between wound and oath, between mercy and devastation, and who taught that a weapon can be a sermon if wielded with restraint. In gameplay, the blade carries that same paradox into the field. It channels a slow, creeping venom with each swing, leaving enemies to choke on their own anxieties as their defenses peel away. It is favored by front-line guardians who want armor-shredding leverage without sacrificing control, and by healers who crave a clear line between healing and war. The weapon’s weight requires careful timing: a heavy stroke to crack plate, a precise follow-through to apply a lasting status, a reminder that strength without discipline is simply a louder scream. Players come to see it not just as a tool for damage but as a story catalyst—one swing changing the course of a skirmish, one tick of poison echoing through an encounter, one reputation built or broken in the wake of its trail. Markets full of old legends often carry more than just metal, and the Cleric’s Iron Greatsword of Venom is a prime example. In the stall-lit corridors between caravans, traders whisper about its origins, its condition, and the tangle of loyalties it represents. A veteran dealer at the Saddlebag Exchange taps the blade with a careful tap-tap that sounds like a benediction, noting that a weapon of this weight and history never comes cheap, even when the venom has long since cooled. Yet there are bargains to be found for the right listener—the ones who understand that value lies not only in price but in the stories that remain when the metal is raised. When a buyer walks away with it, they do not merely own an iron sword but a fragment of an oath, a blade that has learned to wait for the moment when mercy can be made to stand, true, in the face of storm today.