Frost Legion Infusion is a small, frost-glazed vial, its glass etched with delicate frost-veins that spiral like winter wind across the surface. The liquid inside swirls in a pale, interrupted blue, as if a midnight frost refuses to settle. The stopper is of cold iron, wrapped in a whisper-thin band of silver that catches any light and sends it back in a glittering shard. The top bears a tiny crest—a snowflake carved with patient skill—that catches your eye the moment you tilt the vial. The texture on the outside feels like frost itself: slightly rough, as if you could trace a memory from its surface, and it carries a chill that settles somewhere between memory and promise. When you cradle it in your palm, you can almost hear a distant frozen march, a murmur of footsteps brushing against ice. The Frost Legion, those pale-hued sentinels named for the winter they belong to, are said to have poured their oath into such tokens. Forged in a cathedral of ice and tempered by the long, patient holds of the frost, this infusion binds itself to gear not to wage war alone, but to remember a vow: to endure the next cold front, to shield a traveler from sudden frostbite, to let courage hold firm when heat and fear burn away certainty. In the old stories, the soldiers whispered that a single infusion could carry a portion of their discipline into the wearer, guiding hands and eyes as the frost deepens. In practical terms, the infusion becomes a quiet partner in the field. Slot it into your armor or weapon and your equipment wears a pale blue glow, a shimmer that hints at an inner frost that lasts through long skirmishes and harsher winds. It doesn’t transform you into a legend overnight, but it lends a certain pace to your strikes, a colder steadiness to your stance, and a resilience when the battlefield grows cruel. For healers and thieves, rangers and guardians, the infusion is less a weapon and more a memory, a reminder of restraint when tempers flare and the world grows too bright to think clearly. Market days bring its own weather. I wandered through a corner of the city where Saddlebag Exchange vendors lay out their wares on wooden stalls, the frost-blue glint of the infusion catching the late sun. The vendor spoke in a measured voice, promising the Frost Legion Infusion would pair well with winter-themed builds and the right sigils to emphasize control, and the price settled in the neighborhood of a few gold coins—high enough to respect its craft, low enough for a collector who believes in sampling the past. A quiet trade, really: a piece of history traded for a moment of calm in the storm, a lattice of ice and memory linking traveler to legion. If you chase that sense of winter’s patience, Frost Legion Infusion fits like a cold breath in a crowded street—visible, remembered, and a touch more powerful because you wear it.