Mending Norn Scepter of Ogre Slaying

Mending Norn Scepter of Ogre Slaying sits upright on a scarred cedar pedestal, its head carved from moon-silver bone that once belonged to a legendary ogre-hunter. Bound to the shaft, elk-hide thongs grip a length of ash that has seen long winters, its surface lacquered to a quiet, almost rubbery sheen. Runes scrawl in frost-blue along the bone, catching the light with a patient glow, while a single emerald inlay dangles from a brass ring near the pommel. The overall effect is a thing of winter woods caught inside a weapon: ancient, patient, and a little dangerous to touch. The scepter bears a rumor in its lacquered grip, a lore-lace about the Norn who forged it: that to wield it is to carry a covenant to mend the broken and to face the ogre's rage with restraint rather than bravado. When a caravan rolls into a camp at dusk, the bidders and buyers gather around this relic as if it were a vow spoken aloud. In the whispers of the market, it is said the scepter heals more than wounds in flesh; it breathes resilience back into tattered banners and frayed friendships. Its gleam seems to chill the air, as though the item itself remembers every raid along the frost-bitten passes where ogres stalked the road. Warriors who have held it report that, in moments of crisis, a soft warmth travels through the staff, mending torn cloth, sealing cracked leather, and steadying a rider's trembling hands long enough to mount a horse again or to steady a companion bent under a broken shield. The scepter's real power, in the world it inhabits, lies in its folklore as much as its shade and heft. Healers clutch it not for raw offense but for the promise of restoration—a reminder that even in a land of constant peril, creatures like ogres can be faced without surrendering to their brute force. In skirmishes against ogre bands that still roam the foothills, the Mending Norn Scepter of Ogre Slaying is said to turn the tide by focusing the wielder's will on restoration—mending not just torn mail and battered sinews but the morale of a weary squad, too. That is the heartbeat of the item, a tangible thread that links hunts, trades, and journeys. Prices drift across the market as caravans roll through, and Saddlebag Exchange has it tagged at around four gold—a sum that reflects its history and the care someone put into keeping it true. A buyer might barter, offering a rare ogre-hide pouch or a sealed vial of glacier water, but the vendor will tell you the same thing: this is not merely a tool for slaying; it is a story you carry, a quiet oath you renew every time you raise it toward dawn, when the road ahead is long and the ogres are still listening for your tread. If you listen closely, the scepter murmurs back, urging patience, courage, and a quiet respect for the small kindnesses that keep travelers alive.