Carrion Glyphic Longblade

Carrion Glyphic Longblade catches the lamplight, a broad blade that drinks the glow. The steel is a deep, almost-black hue, etched with a lattice of pale bone-white glyphs along the fuller. The edge gleams with a cold pewter sheen, as if carved from a winter dawn rather than forged in heat. The hilt is wrapped in cracked leather, stained rust-red where the grip meets the pommel, and at the guard a tiny sigil of a carrion bird seems to peck at the air. The silhouette feels ancient and practical, as if recovered from a battlefield and cleaned just enough to spar with, stubborn in its calm. The texture invites the touch, gritty and precise. The glyphs hum faintly under torchlight, as though the memory of the graveyard is stitched into the steel. Tales insist it was forged on the edge of a graveyard by a craftsman who bartered memory for metal, every glyph a fragment of a life held within the blade. Whether true or told to scare away damp nights, the weapon carries a mood: patient, watchful, and hungry for a stake in the next fight. If you grip it at dawn, the glyphs feel warmer, as if the blade remembers a first light of life. In gameplay terms, the longblade grants a measured, reach-heavy rhythm. Its balance rewards deliberate footwork and clean lines, turning momentum into control rather than sheer power. Players prize it not only for its look—the glyphs catching light and drawing the eye—but for how it slots into a variety of builds. It lends itself to necromancer-inspired themes and condition-based strategies, its glyphs seeming to echo with the poise of a ritual blade even when swung in a dungeon corridor. This blade has seen markets as much as battles; veterans recount a duel where the glyphs shimmered and the opponent hesitated mid-swing, giving the wielder a moment to turn the tide. Some owners keep a small token from its story tucked in the sheath—a dried petal or a tattered map fragment—reminders that every strike writes another line in the blade’s long saga. Market rumors tell of the blade trading hands in markets like Saddlebag Exchange, where lanterns swing and traders bargain over gloved fingers. A vendor might quote around 350 to 450 gold for a well-kept Carrion Glyphic Longblade, the price dipping or climbing with how vividly the glyphs glow and how much history the wrap bears. Saddlebag Exchange is the kind of place where a story can swing the price—one rumor about a strike that felled a rival or a pact with a traveling vendor can lift the tag higher than any mere stats. During festival weeks, the taps open for trade, and the price glints higher as collectors chase inscriptions. Some collectors even commission custom glyphization, turning dull blades into living, breathing relics. Ultimately, to carry this blade is to bear a thread through the world’s quiet markets and loud battles alike—a piece of memory that travels with you, shaping encounters with strangers, and reminding you that some weapons carry their own time with them. To own it is to carry a story into the next encounter, and to hear the name travel on street chatter as surely as the blade travels across a battle map.