Carrion Verdant Speargun of Corruption

Carrion Verdant Speargun of Corruption gleams on the glass-topped work table, its verdant lacquer shifting like oil under lamplight. The stock is carved from driftwood that remembers tides, inlaid with pale bone and a web of mossy veins that tighten when the weapon grows still. The grip is rough with age, wrapped in sinew that has a sinewy warmth, as if the weapon itself breathes with every touch. The barrel—dark as a forest pool at midnight—pulses faintly where the runes have been etched in spectral white, threads of orange-green glow slipping along the grooves like a living heartbeat. The spearhead is a shard of steel grown from the spine of some ancient predator, edged with a serration that hints at violence tempered by nature, and the whole thing carries a scent of damp wood, rot, and rain-soaked earth. Lore whispers that this is no mere tool but a conduit, forged at the seam where rot and plant-life met, the moment a verdant curse learned to aim. Touch invites a memory, a shiver along the forearm, as if the weapon remembers the hands that once wielded it and the battles it helped win or ruin. The texture changes with mood—the lacquer cool and smooth when calm, rough and pitted when the wielder leans into danger. The engravings, thin tracings of pale bone, seem to rearrange themselves under light, telling stories of corrupted groves and the patient tendrils of growth that creep where the soil is sullen and hungry. The Carrion Verdant Speargun of Corruption feels less like a weapon and more like a rumor you can hold, a thing that turns fear into a seed and that seed into a creeping, living response when the world grows violent. In the field, its significance blooms in tandem with the world’s cycles of decay and renewal. A skilled user doesn’t merely shoot; they coax the environment into talking back. A wound lands, and the air thickens with creeping vitality—the shot unsettles the ground and triggers a procession of greenish wreaths that lash outward, binding foes in place or siphoning their cohesion to feed the wielder’s resolve. It’s a weapon that rewards patience and positioning: you move with the rhythm of the forest floor, and the weapon answers with a rapid, patient bloom that shifts skirmishes into something resembling a living trap. Collectors tell of it lifting a battle from the brink, letting the bearer shepherd enemies into corridors of treachery where the earth itself becomes a collaborator. Prices drift like spring fog, and the market chatter threads through the story of any rare find. Traders speak in hushed tones about a price that favors rare metals and quiet coin, but the Saddlebag Exchange—a place where price history and whispers mingle—tells a steadier tale: demand for this relic climbs during the lean seasons when rot-crowned creatures surge, then settles as new legends twist the market’s ear. A buyer who crosses paths with this speargun learns to weigh memory against moment, the value of a weapon that feels as much a relic of a grove as a tool for turning the tide of a skirmish. In the end, the Carrion Verdant Speargun of Corruption isn’t merely something you carry; it’s something you become—an agent of the forest that refuses to yield to decay without a fight.