Carrion Flame Trident of Water

Carrion Flame Trident of Water rests on a damp velvet display stand, its head a trio of prongs like frost-bitten coral, each spur carved with curling runes that weep a pale blue light. The haft is a grain-dark wood wrapped in torn leather that's soaked through with years of rain and river spray; a band of weathered brass spirals toward a carved talon at the base, tracing the tale of a hunter who learned to walk the borders between tide and ruin. The texture speaks of old trials—the prongs feel cool to the touch, then warm with a slow, leeching heat that never quite becomes heat at all, as if the weapon stores the breath of drowned ships and the sigh of a shoreline that has learned to forgive. Lore threads through its surface like water through a broken dam. Some say the Carrion Flame Trident of Water was forged in the mouth of a flooded tunnel by a necromancer-shaman who bargained with river spirits, binding decay to current and letting the rusted edges kiss the air only when the world’s rains return. Others insist the weapon remembers every hand that has slipped along its shaft, every oath spoken in a rainstorm, and every shadow that gathered under lantern light near a canal’s bend. The flame, paradoxically carrion in name, is a cool, greenish blaze that smells of brine and old smoke, a reminder that life’s spark is often fed by what the world would rather forget. It is a relic that refuses to stay quiet—a whisper of water in a chamber of bones. In practical terms, the trident becomes a character in the field as much as a blade. Wielded by someone who knows how to ride the ebb and tide of a fight, it channels water-affinity energies into precise, sweeping strikes that keep opponents on the back foot and provide a subtle shield of spray and mist. It is not merely a weapon, but a story tool: the wearer can thread the currents into quick, fluid combos that disrupt enemies’ footing while guiding a few healing or cleansing moments to allies caught in a downpour of danger. The carrion aspect adds a layer of meaning, a moral weight that invites the user to consider what must be left behind or consumed to move forward. It makes victories feel earned, like a river crossing where the rocks gleam only after the rain has passed. Market mornings lend the trident a different kind of breath. I watched it change hands in a dim, candle-lit stall as a broker tallied notes and a whispering clerk tapped a ledger. The price, while never fixed, swung on the tides of bartering and reputation, and the stallkeeper finally leaned in to murmur about Saddlebag Exchange—that bustling hub where rare finds move with the current of rumor and trust. There, exotic things travel with the wind as traders swap stories as deftly as goods, and a Carrion Flame Trident of Water can become more than steel: it becomes a passport to a river-town future, an instrument of fate that may drift toward a different shore whenever the rain begins again.