Cleric's Mithril Axe

Cleric's Mithril Axe gleams like a dawn-swept relic, its broad head forged from pale mithril that catches light in cool, liquid shards. The edge is razor-smooth, etched with faint crescent sigils that glow a soft blue when healing energy gathers nearby. The haft is wrapped in worn leather strips, deeply grooved from years of careful grip, with a carved ferrule that hints at temple motifs—an anchor, a fish, a circle of hands joined in prayer. The butt cap bears the emblem of a cloistered order, a reminder that metal can be consecrate as well as steel. In quiet moments the blade hums with a patient order—a reminder that mercy tempered into metal can guide a wary hand. Lore keeps a thread of memory about it: forged in a temple smithy by a master who believed mercy could be tempered into metal, tempered again by a healer who bound it to the rhythm of a chant. They say the axe will not scream in battle, but sing softly as a ward. In hands, it refuses to be merely ornamental. Its weight sits true, a partner for rapid, decisive strikes that carve open trouble and then close around your companions with a gentle pull of protection. Players who lean into the cleric’s blend of offense and support find the axe a natural ambassador: every thunderous swing punctures into a moment of restorative tempo, and certain skill lines weave that tempo into heals that land more softly, cooldowns that shrink just as allies take shelter behind the shield. Its resilience keeps it steady when battle grows long. In exploration or dungeon runs, the Cleric’s Mithril Axe becomes a talisman—recognizable in a crowd, guiding your team with its glow, a reminder that protection and power can share a single edge. Market whispers carry its name through tavern chatter and shopfront murmur. I tracked a listing on Saddlebag Exchange, where seasoned traders thread the stories of rare finds with price and provenance. There, the axe sat in a glassy display, priced around 18 gold, a figure that moved with demand and the glow of the runes. The listing noted pristine condition, a few dings from battlefield travel, and a promise that the blue glow would deepen in intense moments. Bargains appeared and vanished in the time it took a patrol to swing through a plaza, but the thread remained: clerics, wardens, and collectors alike recognized the same quiet authority in that blade, and Saddlebag Exchange became the conduit through which its legacy traveled from smithy to street, from memory to arm. Weaving through stories and skirmishes, the Cleric’s Mithril Axe becomes more than an item. It is a loan of mercy forged into steel, a companion that reminds a bearer to stand firm when mercy is needed and to strike with purpose when a moment calls for it. In the world it inhabits, the axe is a rumor turned to ritual, a tangible artifact that binds people to a shared duty: guard the vulnerable, heal the weary, and let courage keep time with the swing. Its story isn't simply about a blade, but about the hands that carry it—those who choose to defend mercy with steady, deliberate force.