Magi's Krytan Trident

Magi's Krytan Trident gleams with a storm-washed patina, its head a triple-pronged blade of Krytan bronze, lacquered in salt-silver and inlays of sea-glass that catch the light like fish scales. The shaft is wrapped in worn leather, etched with sigils that whisper of sea-priests and storm-chasers, while a knob of white coral anchors the grip and invites a steady hand. When you lift it, the weapon breathes—a faint, tidal vibration that travels up your arms as if the ocean itself were listening through you. A pale opal set into the socket pulses with a quiet blue, responding to currents and mood, and the whole piece carries a perfume of brine and old oil, as though it has been carved from a ship’s rotted heart and then blessed to endure. Its weight sits perfectly, balanced as if the sea had begun to carry it in its own wake. Lore says the Magi's Krytan Trident was forged by keepers who learned to read the tides not with charts but with memory, imbuing bronze with the rhythm of seasons and the whispers of drowned wrecks. The Magi who laid claim to it spoke of storms as letters and of the blade as a seal placed on a page, a sign that those who wield it may bend water to their will without breaking the world in half. In Kryta’s oldest sea-tales, this trident appears when bile of the sea and courage of the land must meet, a reminder that power untempered by wisdom leaves nothing but salt on the tongue. Soldiers carry it into battles where boats would have to anchor in the harbor of danger, and healers lean on its presence to steady the mind when fear gnaws the edges of a plan. In play, it is a two-handed weapon that rewards fluid motion and careful timing. Its swings cut a wider swath than a spear, coaxing foes into the open and giving allies a moment to tighten their formation. Its signatures feel almost ceremonial: a ripple of water follows every lunge, a subtle boon to those who favor precision and control. When the trident channels its tidal energy, you glimpse the world through a different weather—the way rain gathers on a shield, the way foam stacks on a wave crest, the way a healer’s breath can turn the leaden wind into a shield of cool air. It’s not merely a tool for damage; it is a conduit for synergy, inviting a wielder to weave offense and defense into a single, flowing motion. Prices drift along the docks like sea-salt. At the Saddlebag Exchange, where traders lay out glistening wares on crowded tables, a Magi's Krytan Trident can sit in the glow of lantern light for roughly 1 gold and some change, a few emeralds of premium engraving nudging the figure upward. The reality is that scarcity and provenance tilt the scale—the more storied the trident’s past, the more a buyer is willing to pay to cradle its past in their own hands. Still, the item’s fate rests as much in the hands of the current keeper as in its own memory, and the next wave could carry it to a different buyer, a different tale. So the trident remains: a relic that moves as surely as a tide, calling to those who listen for currents beneath the surface, reminding them that every strike is a story, every parry a history, and every shard of sea-salt memory a link to the old world that still lingers in the wake.