Knight's Krait Morning Star rests on a weathered oak table, its head a brutal orb of midnight steel ringed with jagged spikes that catch the light like a swarm of tiny stars gone wrong. The surface wears a lacquered sheen, black as a moonless pool, with scales etched along the rim in a pattern that curls inward, serpentine and exact. A faint green edge glints where the metal catches a spark, as if venom itself still crawls just beneath the polish. The haft is wrapped in tan leather, aged to a soft patina, with brass rivets arranged in a spiraling motif that suggests a coiled serpent gliding through air rather than through flesh. At the base, a small brass medallion bears a knightly sigil—an oath and a promise pressed into cold metal. The felt of history is thick with every breath you take near it, as though the weapon itself remembers why it was forged. Lore threads whisper around the Morning Star like the tail of a desert wind. It is said to have been forged for a knight who rode with a brittle, steadfast order, a protector who crossed rumor and dune to shield caravans from a prowling tide of venomous kin—krait, the serpents whose presence in the world is as much a warning as a weapon. If you tilt the head toward the light, you can almost hear the echo of distant banners, the footfalls of armored riders, the rasp of spurs against stone. The weapon’s name—Knight’s Krait—binds two worlds: the knightly pledge to defend the weak, and the krait’s own lethal elegance. In the hands of an orator-warrior, it becomes a storyteller’s tool as much as a battlefield instrument, a reminder that mercy and ferocity often share the same edge. In gameplay, the Morning Star feels like a story you can swing. It is designed for close-quarters impact, its weight and reach lending a sense of momentum that arrives before the strike does. Those who wield it speak of a cadence—a rhythm that lets you puncture waves of foes, then arrest their advance with a crushing follow-through. Its venomous motif—subtle, not overt—plays into builds that wish for potent conditions and grim, sustained pressure on a line of foes. It is not merely a weapon; it is a character beat, a moment when a veteran fighter and a desert ghost’s lineage breathe together in the same swing. Market days bring a different chapter to the tale. A caravanserai of traders and scavengers, the Saddlebag Exchange, anchors the outskirts of the city’s dusk markets, its tarps a patchwork of colors and stories. Here, the Knight’s Krait Morning Star glints in the lamplight, priced not merely in gold but in gambits—trade-offs between rarity, cosmetics, and the memories etched into each rust-red shell of a helmet or bracer. The stall-keepers speak in hushed, respectful tones about the weapon’s lure, and some offer a pocketful of rare coins or a stack of exotic items as barter for a tale or a promise of safe passage through a contested hour. The Morning Star has traveled long enough to carry a map of every road it has walked: the oath-bound road, the desert road, the road that leads to a ruined shrine where the past still glows faintly under the sand. In the hands of a new guardian, it doesn’t just dent armor; it continues the old knight’s work, bridging mercy and ferocity with the quiet, unyielding certainty of a weapon that knows its purpose and will not forget it.