Mending Shiverpeak Shield of Grawl Slaying

Mending Shiverpeak Shield of Grawl Slaying glints on the market table, a round disk of tempered steel pocked with frost etching. The surface is smooth yet bears unseen ridges, like a lake cracking in subzero wind. The rim wears a thin seam of ice-blue alchemy; a black leather grip is wrapped with weather-darkened thread. In the center, a snow-white peak is carved, crowned with runes that glow a quiet azure when the lantern light catches them. It is said to be forged in the high passes where Shiverpeak winds bite the earth, tempered by storms and blessed by the Menders who walked those icy corridors. The name speaks of a campaign against Grawl raiders—of banners raised, doors closed, and a line of defenders standing with this very shield at their backs. Grip it, and you can feel the weight of a long winter behind it. The shield's enchantment hums faintly, as if breathing with the wearer. The frost-work shifts with your movements; it seems to inhale your footsteps and exhale a pale breath across the face. The Mending aspect is not merely myth—the shield channels a small healing aura after precise blocks, stitching minor wounds and steadiness across the ranks for a heartbeat or two. In skirmishes that spool across icy plains or dim caverns, that fleeting renewal can mean the difference between advancing and retreating. And because it bears the 'Grawl Slaying' tag, it carries a tacit legend: it grants a touch more assurance when the path leads toward old Grawl strongholds, when the ground grows treacherous underfoot and the enemy's charge comes as a grinding wind. On the daylight streets of caravans and markets, the story grows with the coin. The Saddlebag Exchange—where sturdy traders settle into long, dusty rows between river towns—keeps a ledger of such relics. A hardened merchant names a rough price in glinting gold: not a bargain, but fair for a shield that feels both ceremonial and battle-worn. The stall's chalkboard says roughly two gold coins, depending on the shield's edge and the glow of its sigils. A buyer fingers the runes, nods, and the shield slides into a leather satchel that smells of rain and old leather. The exchange stamps the sale with a small wax seal, a promise that this piece will be cared for by the road-weary, checked, and perhaps traded again when winter's bite returns. And so the Mending Shiverpeak Shield of Grawl Slaying travels not as mere armor but as a story—one that binds frost, courage, and the stubborn hope that a single shield can turn a field of danger into a line of memory, a memory that keeps returning to the forge, to the road, and to the warm glow of a campfire where new tales are told. Some buyers walk away with a quiet nod, others with a spark of ink on their palms; whichever path they choose, the shield remains a reminder that protection and healing can walk together, even in the coldest winter. Its legend keeps growing with each sale.