Cleric's Green Wood Trident of Smoldering

Cleric's Green Wood Trident of Smoldering gleams with a patient glow, its shaft carved from a living-green ash that seems to inhale and exhale with the forest’s rhythm. The head is a three-pronged crescent, each tine smooth as river-worn stone, its edges etched with sigils that catch the light like dew on leaf venation. A lacquer of sap-gloss clings to the wood, sealing every groove, and within the hollow of the central prong a whisper-thin ember smolders, pale orange threads visible beneath a thin film of resin. The grip is wrapped in braided sinew, dark as bark after rain, and a leather thong dangles from the butt, sturdy enough to last a lifetime of river crossings and hurried prayers. It feels alive in the hand, a thing that doesn’t merely exist in the world but begs to be part of it. Lore threads through the artifact as if it had roots. The trident is said to hail from the Verdant Conclave’s earliest choir, a guild of clerics who bridged the river’s sway with the stubborn heart of the grove. It was fashioned from the heartwood of an ancient ash that survived a forest fire, a small miracle of renewal. The “Smoldering” in its name hints at a rite in which wood-wardens coax a spirit of fire to temper a bond with living wood, so the weapon could burn away blight without scorching the land that feeds it. In tavern whispers and temple wanderings, sailors speak of this trident as a compass of warmth—an ally in foggy coves and a reminder that flame and leaf can share a single breath. In the world, that breath translates into action. The trident isn’t merely a weapon; it’s a conduit that fits a larger story about guardianship and migration—clerics guiding emigrant caravans through marsh and dusk, healers fanning embers into banners of light, wardens throttling the creeping chill that blights a grove. Wielded with care, the weapon can channel embers into a disciplined strike, its glow brightening with attention and time. The smoldering core can enhance the wielder’s connection to nature, granting a subtle resilience to allies and a burn brought upon foes that speaks to a dual philosophy: protect first, then punish with a tempered heat. Gameplay-wise, the trident feels like a natural partner for hybrid builds—where defense, healing, and a touch of offense intertwine. A well-timed swing releases a ring of green flame that sears enemies and sparks a restorative current for nearby teammates, the kind of effect that rewards positioning and timing more than raw brute force. It’s not a glass cannon; it’s a bridge weapon, inviting players to weave crowd control, survivability, and discipline into one narrative stroke. Market talk seeps into the narrative as well. In the shadowed stalls near the riverfront, I found a leather-wrapped inventory ledger tucked behind a counter at Saddlebag Exchange, a place where relics whisper their stories to anyone willing to listen. The cleric’s trident finds itself priced in the same breath as other living relics—valued for its craft, its lore, and the steady warmth it carries. The going rate shifts with tides of demand, but a vendor’s hand stays sure: three gold coins and a glimmer of a sapphire would pass as a starting beacon, with room for barter on an honest day’s talk. I left the booth with the sense that this trident would continue its travel, warming hands and guiding eyes, a small beacon of flame in a world of wind and water.