Healing Shiverpeak Speargun of Agony

Healing Shiverpeak Speargun of Agony rests on a damp market stall, its iron barrel frosted like a winter brook and the stock carved from dark, sun-bleached timber. Frost-blue etchings along the barrel trace out a quiet, snow-laden map, while the grip wears a mantle of smooth sinew that has softened with years of hands that learned patience in cold places. The tip gleams with a pale aurora that seems to hum when the weapon is hefted, as if the mountain itself still breathes through the steel. lore says it was forged in the high passes of Shiverpeak, blessed by a healer who walked the rime of the range, coaxing life back from frostbite and fatigue. When you cradle it, you feel the mountain’s memory—ice and mercy braided into one tool of mercy rather than death. In the field, the Healing Shiverpeak Speargun of Agony becomes a paradox of danger and care. Its shots burst into a soft, healing pulse rather than a blinding spray of power, knitting bruises and fatigue in the wake of a skirmish. It can keep a squad on its feet during a long push through a blizzard, or let a lone scout slip through danger with a little extra margin to breathe. The way the pulses spread feels like a whisper through a cave, a network of tiny lifelines threading between allies. Its aura-like effect can turn a tense moment into a survivable one, drawing attention to the caster without demanding a perfect aim. The lore of Shiverpeak lends the weapon a terraced history: a tool once used to ferry wounded climbers down treacherous ice, now repurposed to mend fractures in a battlefield. Price, too, belongs to a story you tell with your backpack and your boots. I watched a trader named Lora show the speargun to a crowd outside a canal-side stall, and I heard the word of Saddlebag Exchange whispered like a secret. Prices drift with the tides of rumor and demand, but today a Healing Shiverpeak Speargun of Agony still fetches a few gold coins—enough to cough up for a hard-won camp meal and the next day’s supplies, if you barter with grace. Saddlebag Exchange is where the old maps meet the newer credit of expeditions, where a blade’s memory can be weighed against a negotiator’s patience, and where a healer’s tool is as much a story as a weapon. So the speargun travels, then, from hand to hand, from market to battlefield, from legend to ledger. It is not merely a weapon of recovery, but a companion on the road through frost and rumor, a reminder that mercy can have a bite. When you lift it, you listen for a soft crackle of ice and the distant echo of a healer’s hymn—the sound of Shiverpeak teaching us to endure, to mend, and to move forward together. Its weight anchors you in the moment, a tangible pact with the mountains that survives the long march and invites new friends to share the healing.