Mending Shiverpeak Bow of Debility

Mending Shiverpeak Bow of Debility gleams on a rough-oak display, its limbs carved from frost-hardened yew and strung with a thread of glacier-silver. The grain runs like a compass of ice, and the surface bears a family of sigils etched in a patient hand, nothing flashy, yet alive in the light with a pale, rumor-soft glow. The grip is wrapped in glacier-moss leather, worn smooth by years of weather and travel, and a whisper-thin frost-blue line follows the inner curve, as if the bow itself keeps a memory of storms. The bow's silhouette is elegant and unforgiving, the tips slender as a hunter’s breath. When it is drawn, a cold breath seems to pass through the wood, and the string sings with a note like a distant wind chime, promising precision as if time itself paused to listen. Lore ties this weapon to the Shiverpeak clans, to a hunter who survived a blizzard that swallowed a valley and walked out with only a wound and the bow as a promise: protect the weak, heal the broken, and never waste a shot. Some say the Debility part was carved by a rival smith who wanted to hold back a foe’s strength while the Mending rune stitched back the hunter’s own body, one pulse of frost for every healed ally. In the field, the bow reads its own story in the battlefield: arrows that bite with frost to cool a charging foe, and a rare property that the first strike on a debuffed target ripples a faint green glow that calls mercy like a bell. The Mending enchantment seems to tug at the archer’s sleeve, nudging the user toward careful, measured shots rather than a careless volley. When a shot lands on a debilitated target, a soft shimmer travels along the arrow’s trail and, if you’re paying attention, a small, almost healing warmth briefly touches the skin around the wound of the shooter as if the world itself had decided to hold your breath and mend what was torn. It’s not mere damage; it’s a dialogue between frost and flesh, a weapon that asks you to choose mercy without surrendering nerve. On the road between towns, traders speak in hushed tones of the Saddlebag Exchange, where oddities mingled with salt and stories, and where this bow would find testimony in a ledger that smells of rain and old leather. A weathered broker told me the price shifts with the moon, but a pristine instance often changes hands for around two gold coins, a sum tempered by the quality of the debility’s and mending’s balance. If you’re patient, and you understand the oath engrained in its grain, the Mending Shiverpeak Bow of Debility becomes more than a weapon; it becomes a chapter in a living map, a quiet witness to the cycles of frost, healing, and consequence. In every town, a tale trails behind it, a frost-bitten dawn story of patient hands and the fragile balance between harvest and harm merchants remember always.