Sentinel's Elder Wood Trident

Sentinel's Elder Wood Trident rests on a weather-worn table, its shaft a pale elder wood smooth as driftwood. The haft is slender but sturdy, breathing with a subtle warmth under your fingers. The three prongs rise like gull wings, each tine sharpened and etched with a faint green patina, a reminder of the forest’s patient magic. Along the grain run sigils—precise and faint, catching the lamplight when danger nears. The head is wrapped in a whisper-thin brass ferrule, corroded by salt and time, its edge catching the light in a way that suggests steel and sea glass. The scent of resin and varnish clings to it, an aroma of shipyards and pine, as if the weapon remembers the harbor it first knew. Legends say this was carved for a sentinel who kept watch over a cliffside beacon, the kind that warned ships away from reefs during storms. The elder wood grew where wind pressed against stone, and to hold this trident was to carry a vow as permanent as the sea’s ropes. The sentinel’s charge was to shield the living from wrecks and to remember the drowned by naming each name into the wood with patient care. Over generations the trident passed from hand to hand, steeled in private quarrels and public skirmishes, until it found a home among creaking quays and market stalls where sailors traded tales as eagerly as they traded wares. Gamers or storytellers alike whisper that relics are as much about the story as the steel. In combat the Sentinel’s Elder Wood Trident is prized for its reach and its rhythm—the way a skilled bearer can weave long, arcing thrusts with precision, and spin into a guard that invites foes to overcommit. It feels balanced for both crowd patience and decisive finishes, like a captain’s command that bends the tide in a moment of need. For players who crave narrative flair, the trident channels a protector’s aura: strike with authority, parry with purpose, and leave an impression that a single spear—not a fleet of them, but one well-placed weapon—can alter a battle’s mood. Prices drift along the harbor market as surely as the tide, and if you wander into Saddlebag Exchange with a trader’s hope you’ll hear murmurs about this elder-wood relic. The price shifts with demand, with the season’s ships coming and going, with the relic’s chance to appear in someone’s tally of legends. In such moments, a buyer and a seller meet at the counter, the trident’s value weighing in their glances as much as in the ledger. A quick handshake and a coin slides across—perhaps more often a token than coin—yet the exchange, like the sea itself, keeps moving, always offering another chance for the story to continue through Saddlebag Exchange’s wooden shelves. It’s not merely a weapon; it’s a memory cast in elder wood—a pledge that some battles are fought with care as much as with force, and that a single trident can still guide a crew through a night of fog and fear.