Healing Einhänder of Agony

The Healing Einhänder of Agony gleams under candlelight, its blade a slender arc of tempered obsidian that seems to drink the glow and return it in a soft, greenish flicker. The edge hums with a whisper-thin sound, as if a quiet breath were being drawn along a razor. Along the fuller runes thread a pale emerald light, not bright enough to blind, but stubborn enough to remind you that mercy can burn with its own inner flame. The hilt is wrapped in worn leather, etched with micro-scratches from a hundred hands that held it in fear and hope alike, and the guard curves like a sigh released in the heat of battle. At the pommel rests a small stone, a blue-green shard that seems to catch moonlight and fold it into a pocket of night. It isn’t merely a weapon; it feels as if the blade remembers every wound it has mended and every life it has saved, as though the metal itself keeps a ledger of mercy. Lore says it was tempered in a monastery where healers and guardians trained side by side, a place where agony was treated not with denial but with careful, deliberate care. They say the weapon drew its name from that paradox—the mercy that arrives through pain, the gentleness that still bears a blade. When the smiths bound the enchantment, they stitched into the steel a pact: to channel the wielder’s intent into the world’s hidden balance. So the Einhänder does not merely strike; it listens for the rhythm of life in its surroundings and answers with a pulse of restoration. In practical terms, the blade threads itself into the fabric of a fight as if it were a quiet conductor in a crowded room. Swing it through the air, and a soft aurora fans out, reaching allies within a modest radius to heal minor wounds and steady torn nerves. The blade’s power builds with the wielder’s presence; the more pressing the need, the brighter the green glow becomes, and the more potent the healing—calibrated not by the wielder’s ego but by the sorrow and hope pooled near the blade. It rewards restraint as much as courage: a measured strike can safeguard a teammate through a dangerous exchange, while a larger sweep can turn a turning point in a stalemate by pooling life back into a sagging line. The tool is a reminder that healing in this world is never distant or abstract, but tangible, born in the same breath that defies despair with a stronger, steadier heartbeat. Market lore has its own chapter. On market days, the blade passes through the palms of traders with a regard that makes eyes widen—its aura invites reverence and ambition in equal measure. It is the kind of item that sparks a story the day it is bought, then grows into a legend as it travels with its new owner through towns and citadels. In a corner stall at Saddlebag Exchange, a whet-worn vendor might speak of it with oily nostalgia, weighing its value not just in gold but in the names it carries—the mercy, the agony, the quiet promise of recovery after the deepest hurt. Price and promise ripple together as the trade settles, and the Healing Einhänder of Agony finds a new chapter in someone else’s hands, ready to turn pain into a path and fear into a forward stride.