It was a drear age, during the elder days, when man was left to survive under the iron talons of the dragons. Man was at best accorded the status of cattle, or menial slaves to the great beasts who even deigned to acknowledge their pathetic existence. The elves and dwarves endured that age, and from them, the humans learned the arts of metal working and that of magic.
It was such that the great wyrms were beyond death, immortal in the sense of even the gods, they were so mighty. There could be no hope against such terrible beasts, and it seemed that the world was destined to forever live in the shadow of their greedy wings. In those days, there came about a hero, a wanderer who was exiled from his home, and from his people.
Wandering, he discovered a holy place, a sacred shrine to a god as dark and terrible as the dragons themselves. The hero beseeched the dark one for respite from the terrible beasts, for there was nothing but despair for man should the great wyrms rule. The dark god stirred, and was moved by the plea of the man, and the hard edge of his desperation. He sent thus a message in the form of a blazing bolt from heaven.
Seeing his gift, the hero took the stone that fell from the heavens and for seven days and seven nights he worked the stone until the dross was removed, and there was naught but the black iron that fell from the heavens, pounded pure by the weight of his hammer. To this he affixed a shaft, and created a large, and powerful spear from the iron.
The hero by great stealth and guile sought out the lair of the Golden Dragon, the eldest and most cruel of the serpents, and took up the spear, and with a mighty strike, he smote the breast of the dragon, and did it a grievous wound.
The dragon, thus wounded, was wont to escape, but found itself bound by the terrible will of the meager human, and his pact with the god of the darkness. The dragons were laid low, one by one, and banished into the shade world of the Dark God for a span of eight millennia. Many hands bore the Black Spear, and its fame was great in the eyes of the Kasmir people.
The tale of the Empire of Kasmir is not unique. For that empire rose on the backs of the heroes who banished the dragons. They were lauded as kings among kings, and were decorated in gold and bearskins for their great deeds, for more than one hero bore the spear to its destiny. The Kingdom grew mighty, and they were greatly learned in the arts of magic and sorcery, necromancy and the other esoteric arts. They grew corrupt and wicked, and in the end, their kingdom fell.
Kasmir was looted of its great stores of gold and its talents of jade, and silver stolen. The great libraries were pilfered and burned, and the armories were broken open, and the relics were lost to thieves and tomb raiders. Save for one, the Black Spear. For in those days the age of the Dragon Kings was long since passed from memory, and the iron spear was accounted little worth compared to the wealth of jewels, adamant and mithril that was stored with it.
The time draws nigh to the end of the Dragon’s imprisonment. Shall the black spear be taken up again, or shall it lay forgotten as the terrible wyrms once again consume the world in shadow and flame?
Formed of star iron, the black spear is an innately magical weapon. It doesn't radiate magic of any sort, as it was never the subject of enchantment. The weapon is a leaf-bladed spear, with a rough wrought-iron look to it, as it was hammered out, and not heated in its shaping.
Against dragons, and draconic creatures it ignores their natural armor, and inflicts grevious wounds upon them. Lesser draconic creatures (wyverns, drakes, etc) are often slain outright, while the more powerful, godlike wyrms are banished to the underworld for a long span of ages, lest they choose immediate death.