Hunter's Seasoned Wood Trident rests on the camp table, its shaft a honeyed swirl of seasoned wood that catches the lamplight like a ship’s warm beam after a storm. The three prongs rise from a ferrule of darkened metal, each tine smoothed by years of contact with spearheads, leather wraps curling around the grip in a habit of use. A hunter’s crest—a swift, arched arrow over a curving oak leaf—is carved into the butt, the lines slightly sunken from weather and wear. The head bears a patina of salt and rain, a hint of the coast where many a chase began and ended with a sigh. It feels alive in your hands, not merely carved wood and steel, but a story pressed into its grain. Locals say the wood itself carries a memory—seasoned by rain and frost, by long nights under pine canopies and days where the river ran hard with meltwater. It came to be known among the forest-trained as “the hunter’s breath,” because it seems to draw orders from the land: footfall, scent, shadow. Legend has it that a solitary hunter, chased by wolves and loss, coaxed the trident into steadiness when his own heart wavered. Since then, the weapon has passed through camps and caravans, always a reliable ally to someone who knows the field’s quiet rules: move, listen, strike where the forest tilts to stillness. The wood’s seasoning—salt, smoke, and river near-drowning—gives it a resilience that seems almost supernatural, as if the tree itself learned to survive in a world that prizes speed over patience. In practice, the trident is more than a tool of survival; it’s a conversation with the world’s edge. Its reach allows a fighter to press from behind shelter, to parry with a sweep that turns a rush into a measured opening. The three prongs lend a precision the long spear envies and the shorter blade resents. Used well, it can pierce a shield with a decisive thrust, then snap into a quick follow-up that breaks a clump of enemies before they realize they’ve stepped into a hunter’s trap. The wood’s natural give cushions the impact in heavy clashes, and the leather wrap offers a sure grip when the wind carries spray from a nearby tide pool or a rain-lashed hillside. In the right hands, it becomes a narrative weapon—a practical tool that doubles as a storyteller, turning every strike into a line of verse about pursuit, patience, and the land’s unfailing memory. The market has its own weather, of course, and the saddle-sewn streets of the port town pulse with bargaining and rumor. In a quiet corner of Saddlebag Exchange, a trader will weigh the patina of the head against the grain of the shaft, the scent of salt against the scent of pine, and name a price that feels fair to both hunter and buyer. The trident’s value is as much about its history as its steel: guild loyalties, seasonal hunts, and the quiet exchange of stories. One can walk away with it for a modest gold chunk, or trade a more aged item for a higher tribute, each deal echoing the road-weary rhythm of a hunter’s life. And so the Hunter’s Seasoned Wood Trident continues its quiet march through the world, a companion to the patient, ever-watchful heart of the wild.