Mending Shiverpeak Arquebus

Frost dusts the Mending Shiverpeak Arquebus as it rests on a weathered oak table in a quiet market stall. The stock is blackened ash, smooth to the touch, with a patina that hints at decades spent in cold air. Its grip is wrapped in braided sinew that has hardened to a glassy feel, and a slim barrel of pale metal runs the length of the gun, catching light with a frost-blue glimmer. Along its body runic lines coil like river ice, etched with care and almost too precise to be mere decoration. A brass plate near the trigger bears the word Mending, etched with patient strokes, as if the smith meant to remind every user that healing walks hand in hand with fire. Frost crystals cling to the lacquer, and a small central snowflake motif sits above the guards, flanked by twin ravens as if the mountain itself watches over the weapon. Lore aside, the arquebus is said to have been forged in a glacier's heart, by a smith who learned to treat metal as if it were living, to coax warmth from ice without surrendering its chill. The Shiverpeak spirit, if you listen closely, is said to breathe through the bore, offering a quiet, steady mending to those within range. In the field, the gun is not only a bracing deliverer of damage but a companion in downtime between skirmishes: a shot that lands can unfold a healing pulse, stitching minor wounds and steadying nerves, while the next round preserves momentum by reviving a fallen comrade or bolstering armor with a glacial field. It rewards patience: a longer aim yields a stronger lifeline, and quick reloads risk losing the delicate balance of frost and fire. On the ground, the weapon’s presence shapes the rhythm of battle. In the right hands, it becomes a bridge between offense and mercy, a tool that keeps a squad marching through snow and shadow. Its cartridges carry a chilled charge, and the weapon's cooldowns demand a careful tempo—fire, mend, wait, repeat—until the party steps into safer ground, the air itself seeming to exhale a little easier after each successful exchange. Market days bring the same ritual. In the stalls near Saddlebag Exchange, the quivering glint of the Mending Shiverpeak Arquebus draws a small crowd. The vendor’s tag quotes a price that makes a cautious buyer lean in—enough copper to turn a long voyage into a chosen sojourn, but not so much that the weapon becomes a legend kept in vaults. The seller speaks of a few forged examples, a memory of a caravan saved in a blizzard, and whispers of a healer who swore by its lifelines. The curious and the practical haggle, trade, and swap stories as much as coins, until the arquebus finds a new hand to guide its next mend. Taken together, the Mending Shiverpeak Arquebus is more than a piece of gear; it is a fragment of the mountains' memory, a tool that binds damage and mercy into one patient, precise mechanism. It travels through markets and battlegrounds alike, mending bodies with one cold kiss of iron and carrying forward a tale of resilience in the icebound world.