Carrion Flame Spear of Air

Carrion Flame Spear of Air sits on a weathered pedestal in a shadowed market alcove, its shaft a matte bone-gray, wrapped in ash-streaked leather that rasp against the fingers. The spearhead is a jagged shard of dark iron, its edges etched with ember veins that glow faintly when the wind brushes past. A pale blue spark threads along runes carved along the shaft, not warmth but a quiet, watchful flame. The texture feels gritty, like bone dried in a furnace, and a fine powder of ash clings to the skin, a reminder that this weapon has traveled through plague-lit streets and storm-washed roofs. Old hands tell of its making at a crossroads between funeral pyres and a hurricane, when a storm-wizard bound a dying wind to a weapon. The spear is said to carry the breath of flame-fed carrion, binding decay to wind and memory to metal. The birds carved on the head, the ember runes, even the whisper of heat within the blade speak of a pact: death and wind stirred into motion, if you know how to listen. In the telling, the Carrion Flame Spear of Air is not just steel but a conduit for a world where plague meets breeze and mercy travels on a gust. On the battlefield, its behavior lives up to the legend. A swing fans a curving gust that lunges forward, nudging enemies aside and opening space for a follow-up strike. The ember veins flare and burn those in range, stacking conditions as wind carries the heat along the line of attack. Those who chase fire-centric builds—condition damage, quick punctures, and flow-into-combat maneuvers—find the spear shines when paired with rapid, precise strikes. It rewards timing: a moment of air-pull, a second of flame, and suddenly a cluster of foes has lost their footing and the tempo of the fight tilts toward your side. Prices drift through the market like ash, and Saddlebag Exchange keeps a ledger of whispers and trades. A curious buyer finds the spear listed with a tag balancing rarity and utility, pulling offers around a gold or two—depending on mood, condition, and storm-talk from the seller. I watched two traders haggle over a flawless specimen, hands stained with resin, the exchange ping confirming the deal. It’s not only a price but a story of demand, risk, and how a gust can fetch a legend from the shelves. Thus the spear moves through the world still, a relic tempered by decay and wind. It carries a memory of funeral fires and broken gusts, a reminder that power, like air, is most potent when you learn to ride it. In every skirmish and every market query, the Carrion Flame Spear of Air whispers its old bargain: decay made nimble, flame made fleet, and death made a partner in the dance of wind.