Dire Orrian Longsword of Air

The Dire Orrian Longsword of Air glints with a pale, storm-polished blade, its edge a hungry whisper that seems to hover just above the line between metal and gust. Runic etchings climb the fuller in spiraling streaks—glyphs of wind caught in stone—that glow faintly when the blade is drawn. The guard is a crescent of hammered bronze, etched with feathers and tide-washed seams, while the hilt is wrapped in worn blue leather that smells faintly of rain and old markets. When you turn it in the light, you can see frost-like glitter along the fuller’s hollow, as if the blade bore a breath of winter’s wind in its core. The pommel bears a small charm shaped like a gusting swirl, a token that whispers of the old Orrian aristocracy who believed storms could be bribed with steel. People say it was forged in a workshop tucked behind the drowned walls of an old port city, where masters traded not just metal but memory—the memory of a storm that refused to die. Those legends tie the Dire to air itself, to the way a blade can guide a man through a crowded street as easily as through a battlefield. In the right hands, the sword feels like a partner in a waltz with wind: light, precise, and relentless, cutting in a line that is less about brute force than about listening to the air and riding its currents. In practical terms, it rewards tight combos and quick, decisive steps. The blade’s chill wind seems to open lanes in crowded combat, letting a practiced hand slip through an opening and then snap back with the ferocity of a draft before a storm. Against foes caught in storms or summoned winds—conditions that punish slow plans—the Dire Orrian Longsword of Air punctures with a crackle, amplifying crit chances and punishing hesitation. It’s a sword that wants to be used as a statement: not just to break armor, but to cut the air between two moments and claim the next one for the wielder. Markets talk in a rustle of leather and glinting coins, and the price for this relic rides the same currents. I found a tantalizing example at Saddlebag Exchange, a stall that tastes of salt and sawdust, where traders barter not just metal but stories. The price moved with the wind—some days a couple of gold if a buyer is patient; other times a rare item or two would be traded for the blade's full value. The merchant swore the sword carried a portion of its former owner's daring; I paid what the tale deserved, and tucked the Longsword into a saddlebag as the caravan rumbled away. Even as new weapons push into the market and new legends form, the Dire Orrian Longsword of Air remains a delicate balance of memory and motion—a blade that feels in your hands both weight and wind, a story that travels with the bearer.