While the Blacksmith was too busy with other orders to make the Adventurers entirely new weapons, she did have some antiques laying around. She couldn't seem to recall where they came from...

For the swordsman, a blue-bladed broadsword with beautiful orange accents and a leather wrapped hilt. The blade is so vibrantly colored that it seems to glow in the dark, and its weight shifts as if filled with water.

For the mage, a wooden staff that resembles an unstrung bow. Air seems to swirl around it as if it fears the staff... or respects it.

For the warrior, a large axe made from an odd but incredibly hard material. Indecipherable whispering invades the wielder's mind, though it has no effect on their wellbeing. Probably.


Stories forgotten, they will never know. But the weapons never forget their past. They are bound as enemies of the Daimon Army and Sozuku, the First Evil.


Blade of the Axolotl

Forged by Balmarkere, the Axolotl Warrior, Disciple of the Wavewalker. Gifted with the power to create cerulean steel, a powerfully enchanted metal, Balmarkere made many weapons and pieces of armor for people during the war against the invading Daimons. While most cerulean steel has faded, losing its color and power, his personal sword was forged with all his power and has stayed vibrant after all this time.


Sunkiller Staff

Deep in the mountains there was a village. A powerful Daimon, the False Sun, invaded the village and defeated every warrior they had. The villagers retreated underground, safe from the heat of the False Sun, but they could not stay there forever. A nameless warrior on the brink of death, previously defeated and badly burned, took the village's ceremonial bow, a gift from the Cloudwalker itself, and a single arrow and left the underground sanctuary. The warrior shot the arrow. The air itself parted as the arrow flew faster and faster, straight into the False Sun, destroying it and saving the villagers.


The Doomshroom

In a primordial time, not long after the Landwalker spread moss over the stone, there was a little mushroom. The little mushroom was happy with all its plant friends, and they played under the gentle sunlight all day long. But then the First Evil came and burned all of the mushroom's friends until they were ash in the wind. The mushroom hid, and the stone on which it lived, no longer covered in life and plants, turned into the First Evil's Burning Fortress. Still the mushroom hid, and it sat and thought of the tragedy. For eons it's hate grew. For eons it watched the Daimons in the halls of the Fortress, imagining the violence it would one day unleash upon them. The hate hardened the mushroom, turning it a deep black. It stayed there until the Fortress cooled, and plants grew once again. It stayed there while people settled nearby. And then, out of nowhere, it send out spores full of vile whispers, promises of power and glory. The spores spread down the cold stone halls, out into the open air, all across the land. Dark patches began to grow in forests, where trees twisted sharply and animals turned strange. It was calling people to come find it, to claim its power, and a lonely farmer answered that call. She found the mushroom in that tempered fortress and took it, sharpening it for hours every day until it took the form of an axe. It became the Doomshroom. The farmer became a legendary hero, defeating terrible evils. But, just like the Doomshroom, the newfound hero became stained by hate. She grew bitter and cold until she was eventually shunned by her family, her friends, and people stopped looking up to her. She left, hiking into the wilds. She died in the snow, alone, still clutching the Doomshroom. A grave robber found the unmarked grave which the hero was buried in and stole the axe years later.










why did i make that so long TwT