Mazzarine Spindle
Description
The name of this implement references the Cerulean Mazzarine, a valuable healing herb that helps treat crippling injuries. The weavers of Dawn use this tapering wands in their work, wrapping fine threads around them for safekeeping. They also use them in magical work, weaving the flesh and bone of shattered and fractured limbs as easily as they weave delicate silk and wool to create garments.
As these wands are often not beyond the means of the reasonably well-off, they are among the more common items employed by warrior-magicians across the Empire, particularly those who have focused on martial training at the expense of their repertoire of spells. Sentinels with a basic understanding of spellcraft find great use in these wands, especially in conjunction with a companion bearing an Acolyte’s Mercy. The relatively plentiful wandmakers of Urizen do a roaring trade in both these wands.
It has been observed that magicians bonded to this wand seem less likely to break limbs, or horns and antlers in the case of certain Lineages, compared to those around them. A powerful blow in battle will still shatter bone, but falls and accidents appear to be less damaging. It is theorised that the borrowed knowledge in the wand teaches the wielder’s bones to be more resilient somehow. Others chalk this up to blind luck, but some especially vain changelings have been known to acquire these wands primarily to prevent shedding.
A mazzarine spindle is most often a shaft of polished and decorated wood, wound around with thick wires of silver alloyed with weltsilver. It is sometimes carved to resemble several long hydra necks twisted around one another, drawing upon legends of such creatures growing back their severed heads at an alarming rate.
Rules
- Form: Wand.
- Effect: You may cast the restore limb spell as if you knew it.
- Materials: Crafting a mazzarine spindle requires seven measures of weltsilver. It takes one month to make one of these items.
"'Prentice! Fetch me the scarlet silk!"
He started awake, and grabbed the nearest spindle of blood-coloured thread.
"No, not the maroon. The scarlet! This is for Lady Mary of House Bourne, not the common yeomen of the Rucastle garrison!"
He stared blankly at the spindle in his hand, and replaced it, running his hand along various shades of red yarn neatly wound round wooden bobbins.
"Yes, the stack there. No, the next shelf. Yes, that one. If you wish to 'prentice, you must be able to take instruction, young man! First time! See, this is a noble thread, so it's stored nobly! It took me a month's careful work to make that spindle. See the wiring? That's part weltsilver, and worth more than you are I would wager."
The weaver stared sharply at the young man.
"Oh, you're good for nothing today, and don't think I don't know the reason why! Why, it was only thirty years ago that I sat as you do now, waiting for my mistress to release me so I could practise for my Test. Not that the earl wants you - 'Return with the head of an ogre!' is hardly the test she'd set someone she wanted in her House! Still, on the off-chance you survive today, you should at least understand the basics of a craft. The House always has need of embroiderers!"
"Now, tidy up while I take wine."
So it was that that afternoon, a young man stood in a clearing, dappled with late summer sun, sniffing the air to find the monster whose trail he'd lost. After a second or so, he chose. Carefully, quietly, he stalked down a path.
Only to be hit by a mass of muscled fury. His rusty buckler knocked aside, he held up his other arm to defend his face, and the monster raked it with its claws, slicing through his thin leather coat and ruining the arm underneath. He was knocked to the ground, his borrowed sword falling in some leaves, the monster bellowing triumph.
He backed off, crawling, sweating, good hand searching in his shirt. The monster howled a challenge to the sky. He found what he was looking for, and focused his mind. Flesh knitted, bone snapped back into place, and as the monster moved to dispatch him...
He snatched up his sword. The creature lunged towards him, he struck it square in the chest and its weight carried the blade through fur and flesh and bone and heart.
He lay under its body, exhausted by the effort.
With a flurry of trumpets, a noble company entered the glade. Banners fluttering, coats-of-arms showing each to be a noble of a House of Dawn. The most gloriously-panoplied looked, took in the scene, and spoke.
"You know that trick won't work if you're wearing armour? Still, well done... And please replace Mistress Weaver's valuable wand. Unbound. And preferably without her finding it missing..."