Carrion Verdant Blade of Air

Carrion Verdant Blade of Air rests on the desk in the lantern glow, its blade a pale, living green like moss warmed by sun after rain. The metal carries the scent of rain-soaked leaves and a hint of something older, something carrion—not repellent, but paradoxically alive; tiny fissures along the edge glimmer with an emerald sheen, as if the blade eats light and spits it back as a breeze. The fuller runs like a wind-slit along the center, and the tang is wrapped in braided leather darkened by countless journeys. The guard curls into a delicate fan, etched with spiraling runes that mimic gusts; a small emerald gem sits at the pommel, buoyant with a faint, almost prismatic hum, as if a microstorm were trapped inside. Lore insists it was forged at a crossroads of decay and renewal, where rot feeds sap and sap feeds wind, carried by a scout who tended graves and gardens alike. Whispered tales say the blade drank rain and blood in equal measure, but fed its wielder with the breath of air—giving speed to those who learned to listen to the world’s soft sighs. In practice, the blade is a storyteller in steel. Its aura tugs at the air itself, nudging you toward closing gaps in a fight. Those who wield it learn to ride gusts between swings: a quick cut that links to a push sending foes back, or a parry that releases a mini current, sweeping smoke and distraction along with your opponent’s momentum. For rangers and scouts of shadow and wind alike, it rewards mobility, turning treetops, rain, or fog into a stage on which the blade’s music plays. It shines in the margins—the narrow corridor where you slip behind a column of wind and strike from the air’s own shoulder. Some say the blade’s carrion past whispers through its green light, guiding you to cut through the lies stitched into a battlefield and reveal the truth beneath a smoke-wall. Markets have always loved such contradictions, and the Saddlebag Exchange is no exception. When a collector voices a rumor about its origin, the stall’s owner might nod as if to tell you the blade’s traveled more than most people have, and then name a price that feels like a dare. At Saddlebag Exchange, the price tag is spoken aloud in a mix of coins and promises, and the conversation often shifts toward the blade’s stories rather than its numbers. A buyer might trade toward the edge of a pension, offering travel charms or a map of distant corridors in exchange for the Verdant Blade. The traders know that the weapon’s true value is less about raw DPS and more about the pathways it opens: a wind-driven charge, a reveal of hidden fissures in enemy lines, a reminder that decay and renewal can share one steel breath. To hold it is to feel a breeze twist through your grip, to imagine the greens of a storm-lashed forest where life wrestles with rot and comes out sharper for it. The Carrion Verdant Blade of Air doesn’t just cut; it invites a listener into a story in motion, where every swing writes a line, every gust paves a trail, and the world remembers who moved in its weather.