The massive hammer of Nial Ironspirit, there is no finer tool for the manipulation of steel.
Forged of destruction, in the name of hatred, Winter’s Tempest is a cold echo of its parent blades, yet still it bears the destruction of the frozen elements.
An otherwise simple spear, the dread blade of Hatred brings rot and decay to all it strikes, be it armour, body, or soul.
Not every wolf can be tamed, and in time, the feral are certain to bite the hands that feed him. But what punishment can be leveled upon the wolf? Should he be cast out into the wilds, knowing even better now the habits of shepard and sheep? And should he be slain, what should become of his fur and fang?
How much worse can be a man than a wolf?
What weight has legacy, what strength has a name, in an era when the stars themselves bend to the will of man, when the gods have been forgotten?
A legendary warrior of Ironspirit, and patron hero of the desperate stand.
A dark dagger of song, forged for vengance. It shall have that vengance.
A powerful clan of blacksmiths, Clan Ironspirit is well known as the single best source for forged goods of any metal throughout the world. Many a legendary artifact has been born underneath their hammers, however, their price is almost never something so simple as mere gold.
It’s round. It’s silvery. It’s got a handle. It’s been used to make a million excellent meals, and even more dogs. It’s also got a face shaped dent in the bottom.
The legendary blacksmith, founder of clan Ironspirit, and he whom brought the steel of the Gods themselves to mortal man.
A shield of odd design, created not only to parry, but to destroy the foe’s ability to attack.
Leather gloves that grant one the ability to manipulate metal.
4 bladed claw weapon, with the fourth blade in a rather unusual place.
This beautiful hand-and-a-halfer allows the wielder to pass judgement on the equipment of others.
This enormous blade is capable of leveling more than just men.
Along the sluggish Vanne River, the banks are lined with thick stands of tall bulrushes. These areas of wetland are considered ill-omened by the locals, for they hide the skeletal remains of thousands of grazing animals, washed downriver in a terrible flood decades before.
Adding to the uncanny reputation of the place is the occasional undead cow or goat that lurks there. The product of a necromancer's experiments some years before, these relatively harmless undead wander the area at night, startling livestock as they attempt to graze with them.