Mending Norn Pistol of Battle

Mending Norn Pistol of Battle rests on the vendor’s velvet cloth, a sculpture of cold steel and pale horn, the barrel gleaming with a frost-blue patina that seems to shiver when a light breeze slips past the stall. Its surface is braided with fine reliefs—a spine of runes along the top, serpents of moon-glass etched down the barrel, and a grip wrapped in weathered hide the color of winter ash. The grip itself bears a careful seam where threads of mithril subtly catch the eye, and the sigil of restoration rings the trigger guard like a whispered oath. When you cradle it, the pistol feels alive, as if the weapon remembers every hand that has touched it, every road it has walked, every firefight it has tempered with the hush of repair. Lore clings to it as surely as oil clings to brass. The Mending Norn Pistol of Battle is said to have been forged by a clan at the edge of the Bitterfrost, where the wind speaks in runes and the ice remembers every battle ever fought. The smiths claimed that a weapon could mend as deftly as it hurts, that a shot might loosen a trap’s bite and sew a splintered shield back in place, if the wielder carried a steady heart. In practice, the pistol’s enchantment feels like a memory you can load: a brief orchid glow when the sights align, a soft hum as the charge finds its mark, and a subtle warmth that travels up your forearm after a volley, as though courage itself were being tightened into a fuse. In the world where enemies close with the rhythm of drums and drums of marching feet, the pistol is more than a loop of metal—it's a companion in the long walk back from near-defeat. Its shots slice through the air with a crisp crack, but the legend promises a little healing in the echo. A well-placed strike might crack armor and nudge a fallen ally back toward their feet, a moment of mercy stitched into the heat of conflict. That dual nature—offense layered with repair—gives it a peculiar gravity: you are not merely wielding power, you are steering a promise, a chance to mend what war would ruin. Prices drift like a rumor through market alleys, and at Saddlebag Exchange the chatter turns as brisk as the blades in a sparring ring. A few silver coins might cradle the pistol’s careful beauty, though some traders whisper of higher sums during festival weeks when demand for rare craftsmanship climbs. The Exchange signs flicker with pawed shadows and the clack of coins, and a buyer’s stare meets the pistol’s cool gaze as if the item itself is weighing the worth of a lifetime of journeys. Still, the vendor’s smile hints at a bargain that fits a patient hunter or a caravan guard with a soft spot for second chances. So the Mending Norn Pistol of Battle remains more than metal and thread. It refuses to be merely a tool, insisting on a story—one where courage and care walk side by side in a world of skirmishes and whispers. It is a weapon that remembers, and in remembering, it makes the road ahead feel a touch more possible.