Carrion Steam Dagger of the Geomancer

Carrion Steam Dagger of the Geomancer glints in the lamplight, a slender crescent of obsidian steel with a breath of coppery patina along its edge. The blade is narrow and hungry, its surface etched with a forest of geometric sigils that catch and scatter the glow as if the blade itself were a tiny prism. The fuller threads through the steel like a shadowed river, and the hilt is wrapped in worn leather that molds to the hand with the quiet familiarity of a trusted tool. A brass hex guard rings the base of the blade, cool and slightly weathered, while the pommel bears a tiny gear, half-buried in a ring of iron that turns with the faintest touch. Along the grip lies a carrion-bone inlay—a somber reminder of what the Geomancer once coaxed from decay to flesh out a world of stone. When drawn, the weapon exhales a whisper of steam, a pale veil that curls from the blade and clings to the air like a rumor, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth and something faintly coppery. Lore threads through the dagger as naturally as a vein through rock. The Geomancer who forged it did not seek glory so much as alignment—an agreement with the slow, patient forces that shape caves and cliffs. Carrion Steam, the name insists, a paradox of life arising from rot and steam, a channel through which the earth’s stubborn memory can be steered. The dagger’s edges were tempered with those rites, allowing a wielder to pry open mineral seams, coax fissures to breathe, and, when needed, unleash a cloud that blurs the line between attacker and observer. In the right hands, it’s a tool for both tunnel and tale—a weapon that can cut through a guard’s bravado and, with a few well-placed steps, turn the battlefield into shifting soil and mist. In practice, the dagger plays out like a short, intimate chapter in a larger story. One quick strike, and the Carrion Steam Dagger of the Geomancer releases a veil of vapor that distracts and disorients, while each careful hit etches a thread of condition that gnaws at the foe as surely as wind gnaws at limestone. It excels in tight corners and fraying lines of skirmish, letting a practiced hand weave mobility and misdirection into a single, fluid motion. Its true strength, though, is in the way it invites a narrative—the idea that every swing writes a line of mining lore, every plume of steam a reminder that the earth remembers who entered its chambers first. Market chatter drifts through the scene, and a hushed exchange at the Saddlebag Exchange adds another layer to the blade’s story. A seasoned seller eyes the dagger, weighing its weight, its stories, and its price, whispering that it’s worth a solid handful of gold—roughly fourteen gold coins, plus a scattering of silver—if the buyer respects its lineage and its potential. The price tag looks back with a crease of wear, a shield from decades of bargaining, and the vendor hints that wry patience and a keen eye for ore and ordnance will secure a fair trade. For now, the Carrion Steam Dagger of the Geomancer remains a shared secret of earth and merchant, waiting for the next traveler who will listen to its breath, and decide where their next chapter begins.