Carrion Legionnaire Greatsword of Vision

Carrion Legionnaire Greatsword of Vision rests on a weathered display table, its blade a broad arc of dark steel catching the lamp light. The edge wears a pale, sickly green patina, and along the fuller runes twist in bone-white sigils. The hilt is wrapped in sinew-dark leather, and the guard arches like a ribcage cradling a central eye carved from obsidian. In dim light the entire piece seems to breathe, a quiet whisper traveling along the steel. Lore says it was forged from the weapons seized from a fallen carrion legion and tempered by rites that bind it to the bearer’s visions. When dawn or lamp-light hits the runes, a ghostly azure glow threads through the engraving, and the blade hums with a faint promise of possible futures. In the heat of battle it moves with a brutal grace, two-handed strokes carving through armored ranks, and its Vision aura pulses after a decisive strike. The pulse fogs the space for a heartbeat, revealing hidden attackers to friends and sharpening a wielder’s senses for a moment. Players speak of it as a weapon that makes the world feel suddenly legible: strike a foe, and the blade seems to tilt the battlefield into a pattern you hadn’t seen before, guiding you toward vulnerable flanks and exposed backs. In the markets of friendly towns, rumors of the weapon travel on the backs of caravan guards and tinker-scribes; the true test, as always, is the price. The Saddlebag Exchange—a bustling hub where traders lay out glistening blades, bound maps, and weathered parchments—often hosts the Carrion Legionnaire Greatsword of Vision in its glass cases. Prices drift with the tides of demand and the glow of its runes; a seller might name a price in gold, another in a heap of rare inscriptions, while the wiser buyer negotiates the addon enchantments or a service to maintain the weapon’s edge. The blade’s value isn’t only measured in coin: its visions are sometimes bought with favors, stories, or a promise to test the blade in the next skirmish against a haunted foe. As the market swirls and the blade changes hands, the Carrion Legionnaire Greatsword of Vision continues to travel through soldiers and scholars alike, picking up rumors and memories with every swing. It belongs to a chain of memory and blood, a relic that shapes the way the world fights, one gleam of the eye in the runes at a time. Some say the Vision was bound to a keeper who read futures in spilled ink and ash; others swear the sword reads you back, revealing a secret you carry beneath your skin. A courier once traded two sacks of dried herbs for a chance to swing it in a rain-soaked arena and found his own resolve sharpened, as if the weapon drew a map of his heart. When stories pass from seller to buyer in Saddlebag Exchange, the blade’s legend grows with every false lead and every lucky strike. In the end, the sword is less a tool than a memory in motion, an omen that keeps stepping forward even as the world lurches between dusk and dawn.