Mending Einhänder of the Hydromancer

The Mending Einhänder of the Hydromancer rests on a lacquered stand, its blade pale as a moonlit tide and cooler to the touch than a winter wind. The steel carries a whisper of salt, etched with curling wave motifs that trace from the fuller to the point like a stream running through a hidden gorge. The grip is wrapped in sea-silk, threads dyed the color of rain-soaked slate, and the pommel bears a tiny sigil—a spiral of water curling inward on itself as if thinking about healing the world. When you lift it, the blade seems to hum with a patient current, a pulse that matches a heartbeat you’ve grown to trust on a long voyage. Lore locals say it was tempered with rain caught in a jar at the lip of a tidal cave, then bound by a Hydromancer who believed steel could learn to mend as deftly as it wounds. Under lamplight, the Einhänder’s sheen keeps shifting—blue glints gathering where light gathers, as if the blade itself is listening to the weather. Its edges feel unusually courteous in the hand, a suture of steel designed not just to cut, but to guide. The hydromantic inscription along the guard sifts like spray when you tilt the blade, and a faint, sweet scent of brine lingers, as if the weapon carries a memory of storms weathered and ships saved. In the stories whispered along docks and in back-room markets, the sword’s essence is less about killing and more about keeping people intact long enough to tell their own stories again. In practical terms, the Einhänder has a gentle, guiding presence in combat. Those who wield it speak of a steadying of wounds—the blade seems to draw healing energy from the surrounding air and fold it into the wielder and nearby allies. It is said to grant the user enhanced healing power or faster regimented repairs to damaged gear when tides of battle surge. The haft glows a pale blue when healing currents surge, and the weapon’s aura appears to weave through teammates, easing afflictions and smoothing rough edges of armor that grit through rain and grit and wear. It is not merely a weapon of offense; it’s a conduit for renewal, a mobile workshop in the heat of siege where every strike might stitch up a torn seam in a shield or mend a broken line of battle. The true test of its value is not just in its shine but in the stories it helps birth. So many merchants and protectors speak of the Hydromancer’s mercy as if it were a living companion: a blade that reminds you to pause and repair before you press on. Market talk drifts from stall to stall, as sailors haggle about when to ship the night’s harvest and whether a blade can truly pay for itself in salvaged sails and stubborn planks. In one crowded corner, a quiet listing on Saddlebag Exchange catches the eye—“Mending Einhänder of the Hydromancer, near-mint, price negotiable with the storm’s mercy”—about 2 gold and 50 silver, a number that feels almost poetic in a market where every coin carries a river of memory. Owning it means carrying a tide inside your grip, a reminder that even a weapon can be a healer, and that renewal, like the sea, is something you meet and learn to ride rather than fear.