Carrion Verdant Axe of Water

The Carrion Verdant Axe of Water glints with a wet emerald sheen, the blade broad and leaf-shaped, its edge patterned with tiny rivulets that seem to move when you blink. The verdant patina crawls across the steel like moss after a rainstorm, and the spine is etched with riverside runes that glow a cool blue whenever moisture touches the metal. The haft—bone pale and cool to the touch—binds itself with braided leather, the grip wrapped tight enough to remember every fight. A guard of carved carrion birds arches over the palm, as if the bird-spirits themselves guard what bleeds beneath the earth. Drops cling to hidden crevices, not rust but a deliberate dewdrop of mana, waiting for rain. To hold it is to carry a fragment of marsh legend: carrion as scavenger of the battlefield, verdant as the river’s growl, water as the link between life and the dying. The weapon’s creators spoke of bargains struck at the edge of flood and famine, when river spirits whispered through the reeds and promised mercy to those who could bend a blade without breaking the living. In their inscriptions, the carrion birds were not mere omen but wardens; the verdant glow is the memory of a flooded spring, kept alive by the blood spilled in its current. In actual play, the axe is a song in a pocket of steel. When swung, it channels a river of vitality, drawing strength from wounded foes to nourish the wielder—an echoed lifebloom that thrives through long brawls against marsh raiders and shadow stalkers. Many players report that in the right hands it turns skirmishes into sustained duels: each strike a ripple that returns a little health, each critical hit a whisper of healing that steadies a party on the brink. The Verdant part hints at cultivation: some builds lean into poison and bleed, others into protection and water-lore; the weapon’s aura invites a healer or a protector to ride the current with you, shaping fights rather than simply surviving them. In the clay-brick market above the river, I listened to traders speak of price as if reciting a river’s own verdict. Saddlebag Exchange, with its sailor’s chatter and polishing cloths, carries the Carrion Verdant Axe of Water in several listings; a few bold crafters swear by its luck, others just chase its legend. Prices hover around 1 gold and 40 silver, a sum that makes cold fingers count coins twice and check the water’s depth before buying. One weary vendor swore that the axe chose its owner; another insisted the verdant glow only awakens when the buyer carries a true river-seeking heart. I left with the sense that the market is a current too, sometimes carrying away the unready and ferrying the patient to a brighter cleft in the marsh. The axe remains, waiting for rain and for a bearer who can listen to the water and hear a story beneath the blade. When it settles into hands that know the marsh’s voice, it becomes more than iron. It becomes a map, a lifeline, and a rumor that travels through the fog long after the river has moved on.