Carrion Legionnaire Bayonet of Rage

Carrion Legionnaire Bayonet of Rage glints under the lamplight, a dagger-length blade tempered to a cruel gleam. Its steel wears a map of battles: a edge carved with a lattice of runes that curl like vines, coppery inlay catching the glow. The blade itself is slender, double-edged, with a faint wavy pattern near the fuller, as if the metal remembers the echo of dragging feet through war-torn streets. The handle is wrapped in worn black leather, scarred by years of grip, with a small brass band near the pommel that bears the insignia of a carrion legionnaire: a skeletal hawk perched on a rusted shield. The guard curves protectively, shaped like a winged maw, as if the weapon itself is always halfway to biting. This bayonet is said to have been forged in the shadow of siege, cooled in the breath of a scavenger camp, and tempered by the anger of those who refused to let their fallen friends become mere memory. Its title, Carrion Legionnaire Bayonet of Rage, is not just a name but a whisper that the weapon feeds on the right kind of fury. When the wielder is pushed to the edge, the blade’s edge seems to drink the light and send back a dull, hungry gleam, as if it remembers every scream. In lore, it was carried by scouts who carved paths through ruined docks, where carrion birds roosted and the living kept their distance from battle's taste. In gameplay terms, the bayonet is not merely a tool for cutting armor; it is a catalyst for momentum. It favors aggressive play, rewarding quick, close-quarters strikes with a burst of momentum that lets the wielder chain into follow-up blows. With every successful slash that bleeds or breaks a foe’s focus, the weapon hums with a hot red energy, a tangible sign of rage bound to steel. Some owners report that the blade’s ferocity increases when the surrounding battlefield grows grim—when the party is pressed, when reinforcements arrive, when fear flares in the eyes of the enemy. The weapon’s traits tend to weave a larger pattern: it encourages movement, it punishes hesitation, and it makes every draw a story of vengeance rather than a simple purchase. Prices in the market reflect those stories. A seasoned trader leaning over a weathered desk in Saddlebag Exchange will tell you that the Bayonet of Rage has a price that is both tangible and mythic—mostly gold with a few silver notes for the right talk and a few favors tucked into the seller’s sleeves. A careful negotiation, a demonstration of its ferocity in a controlled swing, and a lucky buyer can walk away with it, the trade echoing down the alleyways as if the weapon itself were recounting its own transactions. By night’s end, the Carrion Legionnaire Bayonet of Rage sits back in its leather sheath, the runes catching a last glint of lantern light. It waits for the next march, the next charge, the next story to carve with a single, decisive bite.