Mending Einhänder of Serpent Slaying

The Mending Einhänder of Serpent Slaying rests on a faded velvet cloth, its blade a razor-thin crescent that catches lamplight with a quiet, almost watery gleam. The steel remembers moons and rain, a cool, even temper that smooths the fingers as you lift it. Along the spine, sigils coil in pale green enamel, each rune a whisper of mercy and renewal. The hilt is wrapped in weathered tan leather, a grip that fits a steady, patient hand, while the guard curls into the shape of a serpent mid-strike, its eyes set with tiny emeralds that seem to pulse when the weapon’s magic stirs. On the pommel, a shard of serpent-scale gleams, a relic of the creature it was forged to oppose, and there’s a faint thread of warmth running through the grip whenever the blade awakens. Lore threads the weapon with a patient, almost intimate patience. They say it was hammered into being in a shrine where healers learned to listen to steel as they listened to heartbeats. A healer-king, chased through canyons by venom and fear, bound a serpent’s bite to a cure within iron and magic, so that the moment a wound opened the blade could slip in with mercy. When the blade moves, it carries that vow like a breath—a pledge that even in the heat of battle, the living can be steadied, patched, and kept moving. In practice, the Einhänder isn’t merely a tool of piercing, but a partner in a larger story—one where blades are as much about mending as about cutting. In the right hands, it channels a quiet, healing undertone into the fray: a subtle bloom of vitality that slips from the weapon into allies within reach, a shimmer of green that steadies nerves and seals quick injuries before they become lasting scars. It’s not a flashy trick, but a dependable counterpoint to chaos, a blade that can turn a skirmish into something survivable for a caravan, a forward camp, or a beleaguered front-line healer who believes every heartbeat is worth saving. Its presence invites coordination, turning raw bravery into a circle of care that keeps a party moving through a serpentine road of danger. Markets tell their own story, too, and the Saddlebag Exchange is where I learned to listen to the blade’s price as much as its legend. A sharp-eyed trader examined the Einhänder, tracing the enamel runes with a calloused finger, then reminded me that such a weapon carries not only history but demand. The going rate, he said, sits at a premium—roughly a handful of gold coins, plus the occasional jade shard or other rare material that signals serious intent. It’s the kind of price that makes you weigh what you’re willing to trade for calm in the storm—the comfort of a life saved, the safety of a squad near you, the chance to walk the Serpent’s path without turning back. So the Mending Einhänder of Serpent Slaying sits back in the lamp’s glow, more than a weapon and more than a talisman. It’s a hinge between memory and action, a blade that prizes mercy as much as might, and a quiet reminder that even in the fiercest battles, healing remains an act of courage, as sharp as steel and just as necessary.