Mending Shiverpeak Short Bow

The Mending Shiverpeak Short Bow rests on a frost-darkened shelf, its limbs pale as ice and etched with frost-kissed grain that runs in tight rings like the memory of wind in a glacier. The grip is wrapped in weathered blue-gray leather, worn smooth from long days and longer nights spent in the saddle, and a pewter crest—two peaks pierced by a thin crack of white steel—fades and brightens with every tilt of the weapon. The belly bears frost-white runes, careful as if signed by a mountain’s own scribes, and a slender spiral of moonsteel threads through the knot where string meets wood. The string itself is a whisper of sound, dyed the color of fresh snowfall, and when the bow is drawn, it gives a quiet, almost reverent sigh, as if the land itself approves the aim. There’s a rumor, whispered in the backrooms of smiths and traders, that this bow once belonged to a ranger who walked the Shiverpeaks with a wounded world on his back. He claimed the tree’s first crack was mended by devotion, not by metal, and that the bow learned to listen to the wood’s own pain. The Mending Shiverpeak Short Bow carries that memory: a legacy that binds to its bearer, humming with a pale blue resolve whenever a shot finds its mark. Some say the enchantment doesn’t simply strike true; it lends endurance to the hunter, a patience that feels like winter after a long journey, and in the right hands it seems to stitch a moment of mercy between shot and survival. It’s not just a weapon of distance, but a companion that reminds the traveler that the world, soft as it is in places, can be kept from breaking if you lean into the mountain’s quiet power. In gameplay terms, the bow favors precision and steadiness over flash, a choice that resonates with the stories tied to its name. Its magic tightens the bond between hunter and path, rewarding careful shots that respect spacing, timing, and the terrain. When a marked target falls, the bow seems to catch a breath and the hunter feels a subtle, restorative pulse in the momentary lull between heartbeats and wind. It’s ideal for long pursuits through snow-luffed passes, where every arrow must count and every retreat can become a second chance. The Mending Shiverpeak Short Bow doesn’t scream for attention; it invites the user to listen for the mountain’s own advice—steady hands, patient aim, and a willingness to twist the tale toward mercy when the fight becomes too heavy. Price, like weather across the pass, shifts with the season and the road. A trader’s ledger whispers of Saddlebag Exchange merchants and a market that knows the value of stories as well as steel, where this bow is weighed with care alongside tales of those who carried it through storms. The broker’s words drift out in the warmth of a stall: the price sits between the breath of winter and the spark of barter, negotiable to the traveler who understands that some things, once mended, are worth more than the sum of their parts. In that exchange, the Mending Shiverpeak Short Bow remains a reminder: even in the cold, hands can mend, and a single archer’s aim can keep another day from breaking.