Taron's Warhammer of Blood

Type	Weapon
Discovered By	Jae Cael
Discovery Date	September 8, 2008
Discovery Location	Glongin, Beluaterra
Abilities	Prestige +6
Current Owner	Gorch Exiled

Discovery

This is the tale of how I, Jae Cael, came into possession of Taron's Warhammer of Blood.

I had traveled to Glongin for one reason. Gold. You see at the time Glongin was overrun with hordes of undead and monsters, which is great news for someone in my profession. And the local lord was paying some nice bounties for the remains of these uglies.

My early hunts resulted in some easy kills and to be honest I was becoming a bit careless in my searches. Which is how I ended up walking straight into the middle of a Monster Warband's camp. I think they were as surprised to see me as I was to see them as it seemed an eternity, but in reality was a fraction of a second, before their brains registered just what I was. This probably saved my life because in that split second I was able to draw my sword and start hacking away at the nearest fiend before they had time to think.

The panic of the monsters meant I was easily holding my own. The bodies of dead and dying monsters littered the camp. Hacked off limbs, gaping bellies with oozing entrails. What a sight!

And then I heard it.

An incomprehensible, guttural scream of rage. Out of the corner of my eye I spied it. A humongous, hideous creature. All muscle, claws and fangs, wielding a great hammer that seemed caked in the dried blood of it's victims.

Things looked bad and I began to think that running away might not be a bad idea. But the time for running had passed as the remaining monsters, buoyed by the appearance of this creature, had regained their composure and were circling behind me, blocking any retreat.

It's times like these that I'm grateful for not being a smart man, because a smart man would not think of doing what I was about to do. I unbuckled my hardened leather vest and let it fall to the ground. I then dropped my sword and started running. Not away from the hideous being, but straight towards it. At first it seemed puzzled by my actions, but then it readied itself. Hefting it huge hammer into position. This was when I tripped and fell, rolling several time before coming to stop right at the feet of the creature. Again the creature seemed puzzled, but this time not by my actions, but by the handle of my dagger which was sticking out of it's chest. It slowly sank to it knees before toppling forward. Dead.

I'd like to say that this was all part of my cunning plan, but as I mentioned I'm not a smart man and it was pure luck that my dagger happened to come loose as I tripped and rolled and flew at just the right velocity and angle to become embedded in the creature's chest. In truth I hadn't much thought about what I was going to do when I actually reached the hideous thing.

With the humongous monster dead the remaining monsters lost the bravado their hero had given them and turned and fled. I went and gathered my belongings and came back to the corpse of the hideous creature. The hammer it had been carrying lay beside it. I watched as it's blood seeped from the fatal knife wound and started pooling around the hammer as if drawn to it. If that was not strange enough it then looked as if the pooling blood was being absorbed by the hammer, and before long the pool of blood was gone.

Now I don't know much about religion, but I knew enough to realise that this hammer was something evil. But more so I knew it was something that could be worth a lot of gold. I carefully wrapped the hammer in a spare woolen cloak, tied it to my pack and headed for the nearest town in search of a tavern.

Loss and Rediscovery

And this is the tale of how I, Chani Aeterdust, came to deal with Taron's Warhammer of Blood and all my dealings with it, hard to believe as they may be.

You might ask how did I come to have the Warhammer in my possession in the first place. Well, how does any outlaw come to have any unique item that already belongs to a noble? They are given the task to repair it. And with such a task my story begins…

His Grace, the Duke of Grehk, Sir Gorch Exiled sent word to all adventurers in Riombara that he was looking for one who would be able to secure the repairment of his unique item, his Warhammer. And I answered that I could and would be honored to do so. I had never held a unique item in my hands before and I could never have dreamt of holding one as mighty as Taron's Warhammer of Blood, but with that message I let myself dream. I dreamt I would take it to the old mystic man I had previously met in Glonging and ask him what it would take to repair it. He had said he would wander around Glonging for some time and I would know where to find him. I dreamt I would provide him with whatever he needed and he would restore the Warhammer to perfection. I dreamt I would take the weapon back to His Grace swiftly and receive his gratitude, and more… I dreamt a lot and for once, my dreams started coming true…

I received word from the Chief Scribe of Grehk that I would be entrusted with the weapon should I arrive in Grehk quickly. So I did and so I was.

As I was wandering around in an elated state, heading in the general direction of Glongin, I came upon a bearded man, hair flecked with white, that reminded me so much of the mystic man in Glongin in a peculiar way. Is he a sage? I asked. He was. What were the chances that I encounter a sage just as I started on my quest to repair the Warhammer? Surely I was some sort of sign, surely it was lucky. I could not resist asking him what it would take to repair the weapon. He studied it carefully and told me that should I provide him with an Ornate Amulet, he will practice his craft on it. I did not have one, so I bade him farewell, but not for long.

Later, I met with the sage in Glongin as well and he studied the weapon in much a similar way and then he related that he would need the Horn of a Unicorn to repair it.

Through trade I was able to secure an Ornate Amulet and so I set out to find the sage in Grehk again. He seemed delighted to see me, or perhaps only eager, and he began exercising his craft in seclusion as soon as I give him the items. Later, he returned the Warhammer to me, pleased with his work, but exhausted. As he handed me the weapon he recited the following: "One is a powerful number. One makes something were there was none before. One thought makes a dream, one step starts a journey, one look flames up the heart, one wound brings death. One makes more of everything that is. One makes a four into a five and brings yet more prestige to the one that wields the weapon of which there is only one." What did he mean? I asked. Why should I care? he replied. I was just a lowly peasant girl. I need only remember and pass it along to the one I would hand the weapon to.

So I sent word to His Grace that I had managed to get the weapon repaired, not to perfection, but better than it was before. Did he want me to pursue the task further or just have the Warhammer back as it is now? I received no word from his scribe…

And so I had to find something to occupy my time, until I did. I was sure I would receive word soon. I had noticed Grehk had a growing undead problem so I thought I might as well do something useful and fun, some hunting. One group was scattered as quickly as I began, and then another, and then another. How very lucky I was, I thought. But then I learned my lesson, in as hard a way as possible…

As I attacked the fourth group of monsters that day, I was quickly surrounded and painful blows started finding their intended target all over my body. I realized I was not lucky and I had been reckless, foolish to believe so… Luck only goes so far and doesn’t take kindly to being pushed. I was getting my reward for doing just that.

I woke up on a pallet in an unknown room, covered in bandages – my personal bandages – and in the company of a pretty-ish girl, not much younger than myself. I did not know who she was, where I was, how had I gotten there and how much time had it passed since… since when? I seemed to remember some battle. Yes, I had fought some undead. And obviously lost.

She told me I was in a small shack on the outskirts of Grehk, where she and her brother lived. He had found me lying unconscious not far from there, nearly dead, covered from head to toe in bruises and scratches and bleeding profusely. They had given me as best treatment as they could. And I was as grateful as it gets for it. I asked for my pack and belongings so I could select a few items to give to them. It was the least I could do. But when she pointed towards where my pack lay at my feet, all thoughts of gratitude vanished from my head.

My pack was smaller than I remembered. Indeed, I remembered how it used to have a distinctive bulge at the top, where Taron's Warhammer of Blood was stashed…

I quickly sprang up and reached for it, at the cost of several stabs of severe pain in my left side and a quickly blurring vision. I shook my head to make it go away, but it didn’t seem to be helping. I groped for my pack and when I found it, turned it upside down and fingered all my belongings, a dreadful feelings rising in the pit of my stomach.

The Warhammer was not there. The girl said that was all I had had with me when her brother had found me. I had lost it. Terrible, frightening thoughts were running through my head. Why did I ever believe the mission was a lucky one? When had a weapon ever brought joy to someone? If it ever did, this was not one of those moments…

It was a true nightmare. How would I ever explain this to His Grace? How could I possibly say I had lost the Warhammer? The weapon I was supposed to return to him as swiftly as I could. The weapon I had just sent news about, the weapon I said had been restored to some of its previous glory.

I said to myself that I had to run away. That was it. I couldn’t face whatever was coming from His Grace. Whatever it was I was sure it would be terrible. One task I was supposed to do, one task I said would be done properly and now all was lost… Lost. Forever. Well no, not forever. The weapon could be found again, but what where the chances? Should I try to find it? I asked myself. But then what if I didn’t? Then I would run away? When would I give up? But how could I? Wasn’t I the one that aspired to a higher status? Running away would never bring me that, facing my problems would. Well, facing this particular problem sure looked like it couldn’t get me that either.

But I had made up my mind. I would inform His Grace of my failure and I would look for the weapon until it was found again, or until I died… or until I found something more useful to do…

Days and days I trekked through Grehk looking for it, so many I lost count of them… So many that I was beginning to think I should just get on with whatever I had been doing before I took up the task of repairing the Warhammer. Especially since I had received no word from the scribe of His Grace, he didn’t seem all that concerned with his weapon. Was it really not that important and I was wasting my time?

But my search was not in vain for this tale is one with a happy ending.

One morning, I was strolling through a copse, musing about my debacle and what to do next. This was when I tripped and fell, rolling several times before coming to a stop right at the feet of an old oak. I was puzzled, but not by why I had tripped in the first place, but by the uncomfortable knob which was pressing into my stomach. I slowly got to my knees and picked up the very object which had caused me so much humiliation and frustration from where it lay buried, blade down, in the earth. Intact.

A thought crossed my mind that maybe I wasn’t so unlucky after all, but I had learned my lesson. I would never count a task lucky again before it is done.

Ownership

Gorch Exiled, Duke of Grehk, owns this item.