Mending Norn Speargun of Battle

The Mending Norn Speargun of Battle sits on a scarred wooden table, its stock carved from pale glacial horn and wrapped in weathered leather that sighs with every touch. Along the barrel runes glow in frost-blue, a ribbon of light that crawls toward the harpoon tip like a winter river finding a path through ice. Inlays of bone curve along its length, tracing the weathered story of a hunter who learned to bend tides of pain into something that might mend, not merely wound. The grip bears scratches from long nights of testing, and a faint scent of resin and salt clings to the wood, as if the sea itself keeps a memory of its first kiss. There is lore in those frost runes, too—some say the spear was tempered by a Norn healer who wore the skin of a bear and spoke softly to blizzards. They claim the Mending enchantment doesn’t just strike echoes from enemies; it tugs at the worn edges of battle’s fatigue, stitching up wounds as if the weapon itself could sew a torn page back into a book. When you heft it, you feel a pulse, a gentle drift of warmth that travels from the spine through your chest, as if courage and care were being re-woven into your sinews. It’s not merely a weapon, but a conduit for a larger promise: to endure, to stand, to mend what battle would otherwise rend apart. In practical terms, the speargun is a converging point for frontline skirmishes and quiet rescues. Its shots can rip through cordon lines with a crisp, decisive snap, yet the true measure lies in the secondary magic—an aura that leaks healing through the wake of its strike, a reminder to the party that the frontline can be steadier and kinder than the first clash would suggest. Players new to its rhythm discover that the Mending Norn Speargun of Battle rewards patience: time your harpoon to pin foes while the restorative light travels to allies, turning a dangerous moment into a sliver of relief. Veterans learn to weave its flow into a larger music of combat, where damage and restoration move in harmony, like a chorus that heals as it hums. Market breathes into the story as surely as any legend. In the bustle of the Saddlebag Exchange, a well-kept exemplar is rarely free of a tale or two; a trader will spin a yarn about the Norn who carved the weapon from storm-season driftwood, about the healer who blessed it, about the pact made with the sea. Price tags appear as careful balances: gold coins glinting under lamplight, copper dust sprinkled for luck, a whispered bargain between buyer and seller. A typical example threads into conversation near eighteen to twenty gold, depending on condition and the keeper’s memory of its healing glow. The exchange floor swallows the negotiation, and the buyer leaves with the sense that they’ve not merely bought a tool of war, but a fragment of a larger story—one that might mend a squad’s fear as surely as a wound. So the Mending Norn Speargun of Battle remains more than metal and magic. It is a fragment of a northern winter, a whispered oath to endure, and a practical reminder that even in the thickest fog of conflict, there is a thread of care strong enough to pull a wounded world back toward light.