Carrion Tribal Trident of Vision

The Carrion Tribal Trident of Vision sits on display, a relic with a shaft of weathered bone-gray wood bound in sinew and lacquered in a resin that catches the sun like wet ash. The head is a three-pronged bite of blackened steel, each tine tipped with a shard the color of dried blood, the points catching light as if they’re always slightly awake. Carved along the shaft are lacquered sigils—the vigil-spirits of a carrion tribe—spiraling toward a central eye motif that seems to move when you’re not looking. It carries the smell of rain on bone and of old fires, a texture that feels both ancient and alive, like something you could cradle and be watched by at the same time. People say it was forged in the twilight between a hunt and a vision, when a chieftain bargained with a dream-walker and traded the tribe’s own breath for a glimpse of tomorrow. The lore claims that when the trident is held, the wielder can glimpse the next moment of danger—the way a shield will tilt, the way a trap will spring—if only for a heartbeat. That sense of foreknowledge is not a guarantee, but it does sharpen a hunter’s instinct, a reminder that the land still keeps secrets, even from those who think they know every path. On a ledger-spread table at the Saddlebag Exchange, I watched its price drift like smoke above a campfire, pulled by tides of scarcity and rumor. Traders argued about its true provenance, some insisting it was gifted by a star beyond the horizon, others saying it was seized from a rival tribe during a long night of wind and bone. The price moves with moon-charts and buyer tales, no two days the same, and yet somebody always looks at it with the same mix of reverence and hunger—the possibility that a simple trident could bend certainty, even if only by an inch. In actual skirmish, its length gives reach that changes the rhythm of a fight, letting a wielder rebuke a shield bash from a safer line and coax a closing strike that would otherwise be clipped by a careless foot. The Vision bore with it isn't only folklore; many players claim it adds a subtle layer to crowd-control and baiting, a way to hint at what the next move might be and to recalibrate your own. It’s a piece that invites pairings—rituals between healer and hunter, seamanship and siege—where the value isn’t only the damage but the story you tell while you swing and listen for the breath between heartbeats. To hold it is to accept a pact: respect the whispers of the carrion, honor the path that opens and closes, and walk the line between curiosity and caution. The Carrion Tribal Trident of Vision remains, in the world’s palm, a question as much as a weapon, a talisman that reminds those who wield it that every choice you make leaves a mark in the air and in the lives you touch.