Carrion Darksteel Sword rests in a worn sheath, a relic that seems half-forgotten and half-born anew. The blade is broad and slightly curved, its surface an obsidian sheen that drinks torchlight, pitted as if a dozen storms had hammered it. Veins of pale iron-red thread the fuller, and the edge carries a whisper of frost that clings to steel like breath on glass. The tang is wrapped in cracked, old leather; the grip is bound with bone-white runes that seem to glow when the blade is drawn, and a heavy bone pommel sits at the end, cool and undeniable in the palm. The scabbard, scarred from long travel, bears brass fittings stamped with a carrion beetle motif that seems to shimmer when the lanterns swing. Lore whispers it was hammered in a necropolis forge, tempered by binding a fragment of a plague-ghost to the steel, learning to endure the rot rather than resist it. In quiet moments the sword exhale a cold breath that crawls across the knuckles, a reminder that metal remembers the hands that held it before. In battle the Carrion Darksteel Sword answers the body’s first rhythm with a patient, almost methodical grace. It longs for close work, where every stroke can carve through lighter armor and every counterstroke can spill a fraction of vitality back into the wielder. Players who lean on condition damage discover an odd kinship: the blade seems to magnify bleeding, torment, and vulnerability, then funnel a portion of the wounded’s misfortune back as a pale, steady thrum of endurance. Its necrotic glow tints the air, making the arena feel older than the skirmish—like you’re drawing power from a history that refused to die. It doesn’t merely cut; it unsettles the tide of a fight, nudging duels toward endings that feel earned and haunted. In dungeons and coordinated events its presence can anchor a plan, the kind of touchstone that whispers that some force is bound to memory—ancients who bound rot and remedies into steel, now guiding the living through danger. Prices drift in the market like rumors, and Saddlebag Exchange becomes part of the tale as you listen to a trader with coins in his palm and a story to tell. He’ll describe the blade’s provenance with gravitas, weighing condition, origin, and the care it demands. A parchment note slides across the counter, listing the bid, the seller’s reserve, and a line about restoration—whether the relic can be reconditioned or if its scars are part of its soul. The trader folds the parchment away, nods, and you seal the deal with the heft of coin and the weight of a name. The sword returns to its sheath, and you feel the world inch closer to a new chapter. As dusk settles, you shoulder the weapon and step into the fading light, the Carrion Darksteel Sword a companion and a question, a blade that invites you to decide which memory will lead your next move.