Like magic Methnik’s sword passed through that of his foes….All too late, the blade was at his neck, it burnt, stinging like acid, it slivered through skin and muscle. Methnik crumpled to his knees, then to the floor, his eyes greyed over and he heard faint words, maybe those of his foe? "Your last lesson in this life. Your teacher? A Serivemn"
This blade is one of the fabled Fatal Swords of antiquity, the metal of the blade folded one-million times.
A close-quarter combat weapon common in the Locastrian armed forces.
The traditional weapon worn by members of the Maul Rats Regiment.
A quick flash of steel was all that was seen in the moonlight…
A wicked variant on an ancient weapon, the AtomForce NC-3000 is a multi-purpose, close combat tool that allows the wielder a true variety of force options at ranges too close for firearms.
Built for an assassin, the Devouring hand can pass many an attempt to detect it, yet it demands a terrible price of its wearer…
When man thinks of the wild, he thinks of the lush greenery of the forest, of the majestic plains and the deep mountains. He thinks of the elegant wild deer, of the mighty bear and the stealthy wolf. But there is another side to nature. This is the Legacy of one who learned.
A weapon from before the time of men, enchanted in times of legend by the greatest of the land’s druids.
A simple knife, designed to hold its poison far longer than a blade with poison simply smeared over it.
“Masterful Ares, god of war you place me in this dread place far from my home, no friends or family, and only you to talk to. Still even you seem never to answer. I have served you many a century and still you wont answer my prayer, well this last prayer I will send with all the blood of the men of this world if you will send me home.” Paladrim, his final prayer to Ares
A dark dagger of song, forged for vengance. It shall have that vengance.
A long sword with a curved light steel-like blade and a ruby inlaid into the pommel of the swords hilt. Used by the greatest of Warriors to vanquish their foes, be them good or evil.
“A man needs two things to become a saint. He must perform three miracles, and then he must die. Perform your miracles, sir, and come to me when you are ready to become a saint.”
—Azariah Saintmaker, Dread Lord of Hatred
A unique spear that was lost in production.
A sturdy, primitive Pictish axe
A spear that reflects the life of it’s owner trough small Haiku like poems. As the soldier lives his life the spear casts a shadow of his great exploits. Small runes are carefully etched in the ash shaft after a great battle or another important event in the warriors life.
All that was left on the battlefield that day was a worn rusty sword, with BELIGITOR etched in the Blade.
“So this is the sword of Crog, the legendary hero…right?” This weapon may prove that psychology can be better than magic.
The demon stood before him laughing, “That puny sword can’t touch me.”
Without a word the man turned the blade so that the edge faced the demon, he ran ducked under the demons fist and slashed through the stomach of the foul creature. “How?”Â The demon asked.
“You have been found guilty!” Spoke Nemisis*
*before the Battle of Fate
In a small inn (the more remote the better), a man turns up dead. There are no wounds on his body what-so-ever, and he aboslutely reeks of garlic.
The man died of a curse that forced him to eat a clove of garlic a day or suffer the penalty. This gets really interesting if the body somehow appears on top of a someone the villagers are suspcious of.