Mending Norn Staff of Earth

Mending Norn Staff of Earth rests on the worn workbench, its surface a map of weather. The wood is pale ash, worn smooth by years of grip. The head hosts a cluster of raw hematite stones with hints of mossy green that catch the light when a lantern sways. Winding roots, black as river mud, braid the shaft into a leather-bound grip that feels as if it has absorbed a thousand prayers. On the lower end, a brass emblem shaped like a curling compass marks the way home for travelers who mend what the storm tore. Carved runes along the length glow faintly when touched by mud and rain; they tell a tale of the Norn, guardians of the earth, who believed that fractures in the land were fractures in memory. This staff was said to be tempered in a hidden glade where earth itself mends, the ground humming with slow strength. When a healer raises it, the air tightens and damp soil scents rise as the world draws breath. The lore says healing was a pact with soil and stone: wounds soften, bones knit, resilience sprouts from bedrock. In the heat of battle, it becomes less a weapon than a chorus. A wielder draws a green glow to send a Mending Pulse that travels through allies, sealing wounds and lifting fatigue. There is a quiet clink when the staff calls an earthen shield, a mantle that coats the bearer in a warm shade of brown and gold. The staff’s gift is patience: it steadies groups, roots runners long enough to finish a healing ceremony, and releases a tide of vigor when the way forward is buried under ash and rain. It is prized by rangers and supports alike because it does not shout; it whispers, and people listen. Market scenes slip into the narrative as if they were roads crossing the countryside. A vendor’s table bears stories as well as wares, and the price of such a relic changes with wind and rumor. A quick check at Saddlebag Exchange reveals a different shade of silver—sometimes higher, sometimes a bargain when banners swing toward autumn—always enough to tempt a collector who hears the same old song: earth heals. Some trade it for a quiet village night; others for a march across a wounded plain to mend what time has rent. Whether you carry it as a guardian of people or as a witness to the land’s stubborn mercy, the Mending Norn Staff of Earth remains a bridge between stone and breath, a relic that remembers rain and returns it as care.