Carrion Verdant Greatsword of Energy

Carrion Verdant Greatsword of Energy rests on a rain-slick counter, its blade a ribbon of deep carrion-green steel that drinks the lantern glow. The surface shimmers with a slow, bioluminescent sheen, as if emerald insects were trapped within the metal and fluttered whenever a shadow moved. Runes along the fuller glow faintly, ivy-thin and gold-edged, while the edge itself bears a pale, bone-white line that promises a brutal, clean cut. The hilt is wrapped in worn leather, stitched with green thread, and the pommel bears a small bone fragment polished to a quiet finish. It feels heavy and perfectly balanced, both tool and relic, ready to tell its next tale. Locals say this blade grew from a pact between scavengers who learned to hear the forest’s heartbeat in rot, and a grove-druid who could coax life from what others left behind. It drinks the life energies of those it touches, not for malice but to feed a hidden order that tends the oldest trees in the marsh. When swung, the weapon hums a low, sick-green note, the air thick with a scent like damp earth and new growth. In the right hands, vitality flows into the wielder with each strike, turning a desperate skirmish into a brief ritual of renewal. The blade’s glow never flames, but it glints brighter as life concentrates in the user, guiding their hand through enemy defenses. On the battlefield, its value lies as much in its story as in its steel. It favors patient, disciplined swings and rewards the wielder with a steady drain on a foe’s lifeforce that returns stamina to the fighter and steadies nerves in the moment of impact. The energy conduit can empower a heavy finisher or sharpen a closing strike, helping a team push through a stubborn frontline. In group play, the weapon’s lore threads deeply through healers and wardens who see the blade as a conduit for protecting groves and kin, binding the fate of land and fighter into one green-tinged moment of resolve. In the river market, the Saddlebag Exchange stall glows softly under amber lamps, a price tag inked beside the blade’s name. The merchants offer a figure in gold and a promise of stories—the kind that travel with coin and rumor alike. A traveler might trade a pouch of silver and a carved trinket, then walk away with the blade while pledging to share its light with a caravan seeking to plant saplings along a dying orchard. The price shifts with rumor and demand, yet the blade’s value outstrips metal alone: it is a compact of memory and power, a reminder that even decay can give rise to something stronger. Some nights, travelers speak of the blade’s echo reaching beyond the marsh, into groves that rituals alone can soothe. They say a grove-druid once carved a circle of protection around its edge, and each time the wielder defends land, a sapling shoots from the stump near camp. A veteran scavenger swears the weapon keeps tally of fallen allies who rose again to stand at their side. In that sense, Carrion Verdant Greatsword of Energy is less a weapon than a vow—an artifact weaving the living and the dead into a single, patient story.