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Artifacts, Legion, RP, and the Twin Stars

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Kex’ti’s reflection on events in the wake of Serinar’s crusade has made him realize a few things. The first is that moreso than mortal magic, artifacts and relics of tremendous power have caused numerous ills and turns of fortune in his life; in many ways, he can owe his entire existence to the Sunwell, Frostmourne, the Dark Portal, and the Vision of Time.

He’s seen what happens when devices of power like Iron Stars or Plague Cauldrons fall into the wrong hands. And what can happen when one deems themselves worthy of stewarding other’s fates.

So, he has set himself to the task of gathering items of power to preserve and protect. And, in the wake of Legion, find suitable wielders for their powers, whether climatic or mean.

After all, with Sanctuary’s base of operations being moved to Dalaran, where else is a safe place to store such powerful pieces of arcana and technology? The occult, the mysterious, the mighty; these are all objects worthy of curating and watching over. With Sanctuary’s desire to seek peace, they stand in the unique position of recruiting aid from both factions, and due to their closeness with Borrowed Time, numerous neutral organizations as well.

The Order of the Twin Star is Kex’ti’s effort to shepherd artifacts into the right hands.

On a more practical note, there are so many skins and color variants for the artifacts in Legion it pains me to not be able to let people RP holding an item of significant power. With the Legion’s threat ever-present, now is the time for people to get their hands on anything to make the difference between life and death against such a horrifying force.

But, obviously, having a player character running around swinging Ashbringer or a sword made from Frostmourne is problematic in a lot of ways. So, what I’ve endeavored to do is collect all of the color and model variants for the artifact weapons, and give them an alternate lore explanation people can use to shape their own perceptions of the artifact weapon they actually wield in-character, beyond the mechanics. So when you see three retribution paladins with slightly different models, your character can say “Oh, they look similar, but that one is Daybreak, the second is Mistral’s Lament, and that third one is Elm.” This isn’t canon, but hopefully it’ll be useful for people’s RP!

To borrow from DnD, the artifact weapons presented to *the* Monk, Priest, Warrior Adventurer etc. are something like +12 (yes yes, I know, bear with me), while these aim to be closer to +6 or +7. They’re still mighty tools in their own right, but they aren’t going to elevate the average RP PC to tiers of power far above what they’re accustomed to. (Kex’ti won’t be using Sheilun to shelter Sanctuary’s garrison in mists, after all :D)

Of course, if you choose to transmog over these items, and just use what your character has always been using, that’s awesome! But I know I can’t wait to get my hands on a version of Sheilun, and I know a lot of people are going to want to use the models they ground out rep for, they climbed the rated ladder for, and they delved deep into Mythic Challenge Modes for.


1. Death Knight-[DTK]

-Blood: Maw of the Damned [DTKMD]

-Frost: Blades of the Fallen Princes [DTKBFP]

-Unholy: Apocalypse [DTKAP]

2. Demon Hunter-[DMH]

-Havoc: Warglaives of the Deceiver [DMHWD]

-Vengeance: Aldrachi Warblades [DMHAWB]

3. Druid-[DRD]

-Balance: Scythe of Elune [DRUSE]

-Feral: Fangs of Ashamane [DRUFA]

-Guardian: Claws of Ursoc [DRUCU]

-Restoration: G’hanir [DRUGMT]

4. Hunter [HTR]

-Beast Mastery: Titanstrike [HTRBMT]

-Marksmanship: Thas’dorah [HTRDRB]

-Survival: Talonclaw [HTRSRV]

5. Mage [MGE]

-Arcane: Aluneth [MGEALN]

-Fire: Felo’melorn [MGEFLR]

-Frost: Ebonchill [MGEEBC]

6. Monk [MK]

-Brewmaster: Fu Zan [MKFZ]

-Mistweaver: Sheilun [MKMW]

-Windwalker: Fists of the Heavens [MKWW]

7. Paladin [PDN]

-Holy: The Silver Hand [PDNSH]

-Protection: Truthguard [PDNTG]

-Retribution: Ashbringer [PDNAB]

8. Priest [ARP]

-Discipline: Light’s Wrath (LWARP)

-Holy: T’uure (ARPTH)

-Shadow: Xel’atath (XSARP)

9. Rogue [RGU]

-Assassination: Kingslayers (RGUSLR)

-Outlaw: Dreadblades (RGUDRB)

-Subtlety: Fangs of the Devourer (RGUFD)

10. Shaman [sMN]

-Elemental: Fist of Ra-Den [sMNFRD]

-Enhancement: Doomhammer [sMNDH]

-Restoration: Scepter of Azshara [sMNSAA]

11. Warlock [LCK]

-Affliction: Ulthalesh (LCKDWH)

-Demonology: Skull of Vecna (LCKSKL)

-Destruction: Scepter of Sargeras (LCKSRD)

12. Warrior [WRRM]

-Arms: Stromkar [WRRMSW]

-Fury: Warswords of Valajar [WRRMWV]

-Protection: Scale of the Earth-Warder [PSWRRM]

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8. Priest [ARP]

-Discipline: Light’s Wrath (LWARP)


Rezeem, Quarterstaff of Sages

“In brightest day

In blackest night

No evil shall escape my sight

Purged by my faith, the Holy Light!”

Rezeem is a weapon forged in sacrifice. It knows, down to its heartwood, the story of crusades and heresies. How that despite the conviction and honor that go into wielding divine providence, people are led astray.

It seeks to correct this by acting as a conduit of willpower and strength of personality. It bolsters the wielder’s self-confidence, and encourages them to spread new truths and revelations from the Light, and regularly guides its wielder along a path of illumination.

But the truth is slippery. It requires firm footing, and a bright spark of ambition to pursue. Rezeem seeks to guide its wielder, and promises them salvation for the risks they must undertake.

Rezeem reveals this truth by burning away lies, and by safeguarding uncomfortable facts. One of those is that the Holy Light’s judgment is a profound thing, but one that is (rightfully) not used regularly against mortals. Likewise, the call of the Void is insidious, and thoughit hides many, if not more, truths in its depths than the Light reveals, to obey it is the path away from a better tomorrow.

Rezeem empowers the wielder to take risks in wielding the shadow, and guides them away from becoming overzealous in the pursuit of the Light’s unobtainable goals.

The first time you grip the weapon, Rezeem challenges your resolve, and whenever you flicker in your devotion, leaning too far into the Light or Dark, it again determines if you are worthy enough to continue to bear it into combat.



“Sic semper tyrannis.”

The Scarlet Crusade. The name speaks for itself, of inquisition, of corruption, of madness. But its continued, and novel, usage of the Holy Light demonstrated that it was not entirely false.

One such item to emerge during the Northrend Campaign was a prototype to the Crusade’s eventual efforts to create a second Ashbringer. While Light’s Wrath was corrupted by a dreadlord, and has been lost to the marginalia of the esoteric, it was not the first of its kind. Arrak’yelu’yun was crafted with stained glass stolen from Ulduar. Brought back to Lordaeron, it was melted and recast into a more sacred shape by a Scarlet pyromancer who had come along with the Bronzebeard archeological study.

Though it was forged into the shape of the Holy Light, the taint from its proximity to Yogg-Saron had made the gesture relatively futile.

However, the Scarlet Crusade pushed onward and Arrak’yelu’yun was named after one of the lead archivists heard the name in a dream. And the glass, and the staff it was attached to, responded to the archivist's call. Seeing the slaughter and near invincibility of the archivist in their efforts to recover the staff, the Light’s Wrath project was put into full bore.

No mention remains of where Arrak’yelu’yun was sealed away. But it is a weapon of divine madness, of profaning the holy, and exalting the corrupt. But, perhaps you are strong enough to overcome the lingering touch of insanity. After all, why else would you be listening to it tell you this story, if you did not have the faith needed to liberate it from its slumber?

Flee now, screaming into the Black Forest! Let us feast on the hearts of the heretics! Revel in their cries, as hymns to Him Who Balances the Scales!


Swiecki’s Blaspheme

“Between the velvet lies, there’s a truth that’s hard as steel.”

Father Swiecki was a good man. A good man in a city of thieves. He preached to his flock, he tended to the injured of body and aching of mind. Like a good man should. He kept his idle hands busy, like all good men do. He made votary candles, and used his childhood apprenticeship as a silversmith to mend the Order’s candles and fixtures back into stainless shape.

But Father Swiecki was still a man. And like all men, Swiecki was no saint, though he wanted to be. Swiecki’s vice, like it so often was, was a thirst for mortal love. While the Light would sustain him, and vindicated its truth in the form of his magic, his sect outlawed the pursuit of mortal partnership.

When a priest of the order took his or her oaths, they were sworn to the Light above all else. But the light cannot bring you children, it does not hold your frail hands at your deathbed. It does not kiss you goodnight, and it does not wake you with breakfast on cold mornings.

Swiecki fell in love with another priest of the Order, a man named Karl Mistmantle. After many subtle glances, and elusive conversations, Swiecki confessed. Mistmantle said that he respected Father Swiecki’s affection but that the Light, and their Oaths, came first.

Swiecki was heartbroken, but found shelter in his faith.

Until that too was taken from him. When the undead came, Swiecki was the last man to survive, and used all of his strength burning back the shambling hordes. When he found Mistmantle’s body, he was too late to stop the man from reanimating. With this last sane breaths, Father Karl gave his love to Swiecki.

As Mistmantle breathed his last, Swiecki cursed the Light, and retreated to the basement of the chapel. He sealed himself away, feeling no need to eat, no warmth, and no cold. He burned when he drew on the light to refresh his senses, or tried in desperation to bring Father Karl back from the Forever Night.

In the end, the Light refused him entirely. A strange, dark power crept into his veins in its place. Eventually, the vats were ready.

He made one final batch of candles, from the only materials he had remaining. He used the skeleton as a structure to cast the silver onto.

Though the Light would never answer Swiecki again, it would continue to answer Mistmantle. And as long as Swiecki’s love for Mistmantle persisted, so would the flames on the wicks of the staff he took with him on his journey from the monastery.


Starlit Purity

“I will be chasing your starlight/Until the end of my life"

While other staffs seek to amplify the light, or keep the dark at bay, Starlit Purity was born at the hands of a scribe who had never before wielded the Holy Light. An author and poet whose name is best left unsaid, this individual wrote numerous runic spells derived from the stars above.

Astral magic is normally the province of druids, but it is secular in nature. Why then, is it such a valuable tool for a priest?

Because the naturalistic magic bound in the tome at the staff’s peak is only legible to those touched by the light, and the blankness of the page behind the text only provides the necessary contrast when bathed in the shadow.

Deeply puzzling, and entirely alien to most divine spellcasters, Starlit Purity nonetheless avoids the problem of Old God corruption and the excessive zeal put into place by unwavering conviction in oneself through the Holy Light. Deciphering the mysteries within is no easy task, and will require more time in the study than on the battlefield.

But with the very cosmos at your fingertips, how trivial does the separation of Light and Shadow become?



“Greed, in all of its forms -- greed for life, for money, for love, knowledge -- has marked the upward surge of mankind.“

Healin’ ain’t easy. Or so Brilgax Lucretooth said, when he crafted this item. With goblins, it’s no surprise the weapon is designed for quick re-sale. With a few choice words, the staff jumps back to the wielder’s hands, too.

The cup at Mammonite’s head froths with energy. When the wielder invokes the Light or shadow, it siphons fractions of it away to fill its own reserves, which is surprisingly prudent for a goblin-designed weapon. The priest using the weapon can tap some the staff’s reserves after a test of will. After all, Brilgax didn’t want an amateur to use the staff as a walking mana battery.

Despite the ability to preserve balance by a self-regulating mechanism, and the ability allow careful overloading of either light or shadow without drawing away from either, Mammonite’s innately greedy nature becomes apparent in extended engagements. Mammonite fills its essence reservoir with the caster’s energy, but also the energy of anyone subject to one of its spells. While this is expected of shadow magic, the Light seems to take its due as well. Call it tithing.

And one last thing, friend. That roiling pot of power at the tip of the staff? Yeah, you can shoot fire out of it too. Don’t tell nobody though. It’s a nasty surprise only as long as it’s a surprise.

-Holy: T’uure (ARPTH)



“In death, sacrifice.”

This short staff is emblazoned with a pulsating sculpture of metal that seems to glow when you channel the Light through it. When you first grasp it, you hear a phrase uttered simultaneously in Darnassian and Taur-ahe.

S’ol embodies the purifying power of the sun. During the Cataclysm, a tauren Sunwalker and night elf druid fought side by side against the Twilight cult, but were ultimately slain by a nihilist with a soul-eating blade. The sword was forged into S’ol when it was recovered by a draenei soulpriest, who found that the souls of the Sunwalker and druid both continued to shine despite their capture. In that time, the two have continued their studies on faith and sunlight by direct exposure.

Now, the two lend the strength of their conviction to your own.

While S’ol is normally yellow in hue, allowing either soul with to dominate causes the weapon to shift in color towards red or blue. If both souls are suppressed, it instead becomes the consuming purple of Twilight, the souls within wracked with guilt as your mad faith forces them to act on your cruel behalf.



“The power of crimson red

Can lead your soul away from dread

And heal the deepest wounds of hate

By your bright soul

Let no other decide your fate.”

When the cloth binding on the staff is peeled away to be wrapped once more, a poem can be found engraved in Vrykul underneath the muslin. When held, the icon at the tip of the staff slowly gathers blood as it gains in strength. Despite the grisly nature of the staff, this weapon is a profound tool of the light, and when drawn, the bearer holds in his hand the collected bravery of those who have died holding it.

Seraph was wielded by a former Argent Crusader, Melora Firstdawn, a Quel’dorei knight. Though Melora has retired from the field of battle, her desire to see Seraph in the heat of combat caused her to hand it to a worthy, brave priest.

Seemingly Vrykul in origin, the staff nonetheless bears hallmarks to Naaru culture. When did the Vrykul and Naaru cross paths? Or did someone simply design this weapon far after the fact? The exact truth remains unknown, but with it in your hands, you have no doubt you will find a path to the truth. Your wounds, and those of your friends will not pain them as long as you wield Seraph. You will press on. No matter what.

What the poem got wrong, though, was that not all blood is red.



“If I’m going to hell, I’m going out kicking/It’s my soul to sell, but my heart’s sinking”

Naaru go through a cycle of life and death, passing between brilliant light and seemingly endless void. Sinspark mirrors this circle. A circle of dwarven acolytes designed multiple copies of Sinspark, which uses powerful divination magic to measure guilt and sin in both the wielder and the subject of their magic.

By absolving sins even as the priest wielding it casts spells, it allows a greater volume of mana to be channeled into a spell. The “echo” created by this quality allows the wielder, despite great personal burdens or lack of conviction, to unleash tremendous acts of faith and holy power. Many Sinsparks have been lost over the years since the Burning Crusade, though various colors and sizes still abound.

When you choose Sinspark as your weapon of choice, you ease the weight of sin on the soul in order to reveal deeper, personal light.




A powerful, deep voice pries into your mind as you pick up this staff, and an incalculably deep sense of smallness and humility follows in its wake. It is in this acknowledgement and awareness of infinite abyss surrounding you that grants you such sublime power.

The energy that flows from this staff is undoubtedly Holy Light. But from where does it come? Perhaps it is your defiance of the universe at large, which seems so poised to wipe out your existence that it gives you the strength of will necessary to keep your grasp on the staff. Or, it could simply be a force above even the Naaru in power.

Regardless, you find yourself in strange places when you wake in the morning. If you are waking at all.


Serenity of Yulon

“Be insightful

See a unity

For what was once two

Has become three.”

Pandaren priests are adherents of the August Celestials, in the same way that the kaldorei draw a power similar to the Light from Elune. The Serenity of Yulon was given as a gift from the Jade Serpent herself to one of her miko who found herself adrift in the presences of numerous foreign religions.

Mei the priest was devout in her worship of the Jade Serpent, and clever in the medicine she created. She understood the nature of the mists, but preferred to guide her magic by faith alone.

When the mists cleared, and she came face to face with healers of numerous other traditions, she found herself in a continual test to prove her faith was the strongest. Eventually, the head shrine maiden sent Mei away from Pandaria to learn more about these religions in their native lands.

The Stormwind Basilica dwarfed even the Temple of the Jade Serpent; shrines to Elune littered every corner of every street in Darnassus. And then there were the goblins.

Humbled, Mei returned, having been given the gift of glimpsing the divine from numerous different angles. Serenity of Yulon was the prize she earned for her endeavors, and she gifted the staff to one of those same foreign priests who had so challenged her. And then that priest handed it to another, until it came to rest in your hands.

The Holy Light radiates strongly from the staff, but remnants of tools and mantras from other beliefs permeate the spells you channel through it. How might the strength of foreigners become your own?

-Shadow: Xel’atath (XSARP)



Cipher-Blade of a Thousand Set Suns

“A darkness approaches. A day will come in the future where everything you care about will change... Until then I'll be watching you! I'll be watching you...”

The book often spills sand. The blade is the only thing that will successfully pry apart the pages of the accompanying book. The text within is written by madmen impersonating lunatics at the very best.

By catching the light from the moon and sun in the eyepiece on the dagger, you can reveal new text even on your most well-researched pages. The accompanying notes and translation blocks you have made take up a shelf or two in the dusty library you’ve inevitably come to possess.

But the tome does hold within it the spells you need to keep your own darkness at bay. But it isn’t your darkness that drives you to pick up this accursed blade, this awful tome bound in strange leather and written in odd, painful tongues. Whatever the words are supposed to say, they don’t fit in any mortal mouth. At least none that you have encountered in your travels. You learn this magic, you wield this shadow out of a sense of pride and stubborn refusal to pull back from the dark.

And you choose to face it because nobody else will, and without you, the darkness will consume everything before it. Some call you mad. Even if they were correct, would it stop you from doing what must be done?



Synchoron, Impure Prince

“Your pain is your penance.”

Synchoron is a living weapon, of a sort. While the blade itself appears to be alive, it is merely a clever façade. However, the eye in the center is sentient, and acts a petitioner to the dark powers at a shadow priest’s command. The eye is rumored to be from a fallen druid-prince from the War of the Ancients.

The eye, however, is not telling.

The knife’s fluency in drawing power and convincing the Old Gods to grant more power without using the wielder as a conduit is certainly a useful tool, and when using it, a shadow priest can grant access to mind-warping spells they normally would have no success in utilizing, to say nothing of the peace of mind brought about by allocating the simplest of invocations to Synchoron.

The sinister imagery of the blade, as well as the innately horrific magic associated with it set it in a category of artifact all of its own. This item’s obscurity, rather than any severe usage drawback, is a primary characteristic as to its lack of widespread use. Synchoron is not your friend. But it won’t let the Old Gods steal your soul too.



Tarvos Parasite

“Wave reaches the Pinnacle, and escape none can. Tarvos still remains with more cruelty to punish and destroy.”

Tarvos is a parasite. Symbiote might be a more accurate interpretation. The weapon and book it produces grow out of the bearer’s flesh over the course of a week, and fall off on their own. If disposed of, they rot away and the parasite won’t produce other copies until the host wills the parasite to do so.

Tarvos itself is a cruel, sadistic being. It wracks the host with stomach pains, aches, and vertigo.

But for those delving deep into the Void, this is a small price to pay for the clarity it imparts to the mind, and supplementary force of will it grants, to say nothing of the obviation of faculties like sleep and hunger. Tarvos acts as translator, reassurance, and comfort, provided the host allows it brief moments of dominance. For those wielding void magic, the ability to actually understand without ruining their tenuous grip on reality is a massive, massive benefit.

During these periods, the parasite conducts acts of mutilation and terror on subjects it knows are not important to the host. It can be seen sort of as an incredibly vicious guard dog; it won’t bite people it knows, but if it thinks it can escape punishment, it will do so.

While the parasite is not known to reproduce, multiple copies of Tarvos seem to exist. Transference upon one host’s death to a new host are common enough events to document a sort of latent memory and loyalty to the host. Without a host, Tarvos can force itself into hibernation, but not indefinitely.

Those seeking out Tarvos do so at their peril. Whether as a result of the weapon itself or due to the sheer enormity of the benefits it provides to a synchronized host, most must be cut loose from a former host. Often using no implement other than the blade the symbiote produces shortly after assimilation.



Shattered Memory

“It is most often the tortured who become torturers.”

Shattered Memory is held together by nebulous spirits, but the flexibility of the suspended shards form a useful close-range combat tool. Shadow magic grants its wielder brief flashes of insight that allow her to maximize the damage they inflict upon an opponent’s psyche. The fewer foes that are around, the easier it is for Shattered Memory to hone in on a subject’s insecurities and mental backdoors. When combined with the innate psychic magic a priest has access too, Shattered Memory becomes a flense capable of crippling most foes with far greater ease and swiftness than a shadow priest is normally capable of.

After all, if the priest doesn’t need to work through a foe’s memories first, they can quickly move on to dispatching the next foe.

The shards of the weapon routinely get caught in a foe’s flesh, slowly infecting that target with the wielder’s own personal demons. It alleviates depression, psychosis, and anxiety in the wielder by transferring and magnifying those effects from wielder to struck target.

Due to the combined nature of focus and melee-orientation, Shattered Memory is often found in the hands of torturers, or assassins. But in the hands of an adept manipulator like a shadow priest, it is a potent tool to escape pain by forcing it upon others.



Tavarana Vityal

“I will, therefore I am.”

The Tavarana Vityal is a religious text passed down from one Bloodspeaker priest to the next. It preaches of a Night of Dissolution, where the world is undone and the Loa come to steal away the souls of those they wilt. The disturbing and enlightening facet of the book is the fact that pages are interchangeable. They remove easily, and bind almost instantly back into the book wherever they are placed. And when read, the mind tries to confabulate a more continual narrative based on the new order of text.

But it is not the mind of the bearer of the cursed book that is the only subject to this subtle manipulation. Reality itself seems loathe to disagree with the new order asserted by the book. By spilling blood onto a page of the book, and moving the text about to engineer a scenario, a clever priest can inflict doom upon their enemies through mere force of will.

The blade that comes with the text serves as a bookmark, and a means to obtain the blood. Other methods used to spill the blood don’t seem to invoke the same effect; at least not on the target of the book’s magic.

When entrapped in the book’s bent reality, most creatures lack the will or presence of mind to bear the strain. Which makes them an easy target for even the most novice of shadow priests.

However, the book seems to spell doom for its wielder, inevitably catching them in a paradox that leads them to their death.

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9. Rogue [RGU]

-Assassination: Kingslayers (RGUSLR)


Life and Death

“Let us say I suggest you may be mortal. Steady! I warn you not to try jerking away. I am old, but my hand can drive this needle into your neck before you can escape me.”

Some say that when you point a finger, three others point back at you. A Gilnean corsair in the second war realized there was some element of truth to this, and designed himself a pair of knives based on that axiom.

The corsair found himself in a peculiar position of policing other Alliance soldiers, despite his knowledge of the lack of Gilneas’s true commitment to the Alliance in the Second War. With each traitor he slew, he incorporated part of them into a weapon design. The grips were the beards of traitorous dwarves, the metal to forge them melted from Stormwind shield and gnome masterworks. By the time he was ready to retire and craft this masterwork, he felt a nagging feeling in his gut.

When he finished the blades, he turned to notice a dark figure standing in the door. Old Death himself had finally come for him, and said “I have come for your life.” But, the half-hearted executioner was not ready to die. He held up one of the blades, and told Death: “Then take it.” Death presumed a battle, but soon realized he meant to give him one of the daggers.

Death agreed, on the condition that for taking the man’s Life, the man would be left alone with his Death. When the assassin met his death, and reunited the pair with his Life is unknown. But, it is thought that without his Life, only Death remained. Without both, the man could not truly be one or the other, and faded away.

Death consumes the essence of the wielder in exchange for peak physical performance. Life improves the virility of any poison layered onto the blade, and siphons the very soul of the target it strikes, creating a vicious circle.



“Come follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.”

These daggers bear a strange design of a fish jumping out of the water. And more strangely, some sort of winding mechanism in the pommel of each dagger, along with a long, silvery piece of metal almost invisible. It unwinds from each dagger, and connects to a loop which hooks into a twin from the second dagger, forming an odd linkage between them.

Hook and Sinker are the names of these paired weapons, though in reality, the Line which connects them makes it a single weapon, capable of garroting or forming impromptu loops for catching blades or making narrow escapes. Or, even, forming an anchor to spin the second dagger at range.

The unusual design and high degree of craftsmanship are certainly compelling aspects of this exotic weapon, but the enchantment worked into the blades is far more insidious. As the blades catch light, they reflect a form of magic. Instead of blinding a foe with a flash of sunlight, it causes momentary confusion, and the target believes, even for a split-second, that the assassin wielding the weapon is a friend.

While most will prefer a straighter method of combat, those who truly enjoy maximizing their options will find Manfisher a worthy tool.



“And it is you, spirit—with will and energy, and virtue and purity—that I want, not alone with your brittle frame.”

Some people deserve to die. That’s why you picked up Onbedorven. And it fills an aching need for confirmation that you have otherwise found lacking. Onbedorven erases feelings of guilt in its wielder, allowing a level of enjoyment in killing that goes beyond the pale.

Far from simple psychopathy, these weapons were forged on Draenor for an assassin in the Iron Horde who was filled with regret at slaughtering the draenei. Long used to killing despots and criminals, the weapons were made to make use of the killer’s skills without his conscience getting in the way.

Unfortunately for the Shadow Council, who crafted the blade, the weapons prevented the assassin’s grief from overwhelming him. Without those blades, perhaps he would not have been able to enact justice on those who had allowed him to wrong others. The orc was slain in Hellfire Citadel, having followed along with his brothers guiltlessly.

These weapons allow an assassin to operate at the pinnacle of their skill, without remorse. Until they set the blades down, anyway.


Bile and Brume

"I wanna kiss you/But I want it too much"

Bile and Brume are engineered and enchanted to hold a far greater volume of poison than most would feel necessary. This is, in fact, the result of the weapon being crafted for Mok’nathal hunters, whose reverence of giant beasts encouraged them to fight on as (semi) even footing as possible. In this case, the fangs were small, but the poison contained within enough of a balancing factor.

But the weapon’s usage of poison allows for more than simple administration by exposure; most toxin enters the vein through puncture wounds. Bile takes this design a step further, and includes an injection mechanism activated by a button press in the grip of the dagger, rapidly administering a massive and crippling dosage in a short time. Multiple reservoirs line the blade, allowing for combinations of differing poisons in the same fashion an archer might load up on various types of arrows.

Brume also has a clever design. It lacks Bile’s injection device, but instead disperses the internal poison into a venomous mist. Enchantments on the blade protect the wielder from poison, for good measure, though most poisoners devoted to the Dark Art to the degree that using Bile and Brume becomes appealing is mostly overkill; sheer exposure has built up a tolerance to poison beyond even the heartiest of beasts.

Bile and Brume are secreted away due to their dangerous potential. While anyone could come up with a similar design, the level of intricacy is far beyond simple Mok’nathal engineering, and surpasses even goblin and gnome high technology. These weapons demonstrate some degree of scientific understanding far beyond what is so far apparent on Azeroth. Then who is responsible for making these vicious devices? And why have they not improved on the design?


Hatredtooth and Spitenail

“If you treated me the way I treat you, I would hate you.”

Crafted from teeth from numerous beings strung together by sinew and bound by magic, Hatredtooth and Spitenail infect the victims of their strikes with unyielding rage, even as the wielder remains calm and possessed.

The Misery Knives, as they are so called, leave vicious wounds and more significant calls for retribution. Deadly in their own right, the daggers are rarely used to kill, and often used to inflict as much pain as possible while in disguise to incite violence between two other factions. They also, of course, impart several benefits to the wielder. Their dark magic quickly seals wounds, and allows a rogue to cling to life far longer than they have any right to.

It is said that if someone lashes on a bit of bone from a target, that person will forever be unable to feel happiness until the wielder of the blades is slain. One might even find wholly new variations on the blades, crafted entirely from new bones and steel.

-Outlaw: Dreadblades (RGUDRB)


Weal and Woe

“We try to force our final fortune/As if we knew the final score/And we pretend to know things better/In our madness we ignore”

Weal and Woe are an enthusiast’s set of rapiers. When wielded against each other, their true spirits of will reveal themselves, as the two duelists will fight to the death in an exquisite and elaborate fashion that combines the combat expertise of all those slain by the weapons.

But, typically, one person wields both blades. Weal imparts just enough of an edge to reflexes and perception to turn telling strikes into near misses. In fact, it encourages such events, and attempts to alter combat conditions so that the swordsman is always on near-even footing with their opponents. It seems to store excess luck or skill to spend. Despite a series of near misses, a skilled combatant does not risk dying to an inferior foe, and such battles improve their likelihood of survival in the future.

Woe, of course, operates in reverse, inflicting dire circumstances on the target or the wielder as necessary to keep the luck equilibrium in balance.

Fickle items by nature, it is important to a swordsman to not rely on the weapons, or count on them to keep them safe. After all, trying to parry a cannon blast or jumping down a tower are not likely to end well regardless of circumstances.

Combined with the frequent falsification of such items, and the placebo effect of wielding them, to actually hold one in your hands to visible effect is…unlikely at best.


Death and Taxes

“Well done is better than well said.”

Heavy, forward weighted weapons, Death and Taxes are well-oriented to making the first strike the last one of the battle.

Death and Taxes are each a sentient weapon. They share a common goal to accrue as much gold (as opposed to currency, or other riches) as possible. Gold placed on the blades are absorbed over a period of minutes, without a true net change in weight, though a faint gold sheen rises up towards the tip of the blade as each sword absorbs gold. And while they have no means of compelling their wielder by force to seek out such items, Death and Taxes aid their wielder by providing numerous effective boons. While they cannot bend luck like Weal and Woe, they can quickly mend wounds as if by the Holy Light, or provide beneficial enchantments as though from a mage.

In practice, the wielder of the blades essentially trades money for enjoyable (if greedy) companionship and combat skill. After all, if you can buy immortality, why not fight?


Flowers of Winter Everafter

“Don’t tell me “she” was all you had! She’s not! You’ve just been denying everything that wasn’t “her”!”

Bitter regret consumes even the bravest of souls if allowed to fester. But this pair of blades is an easy fix to that. The swords quell strong emotions, and are enchanted to leave blooms of frost in their wake. Even mid-combat, a sudden burst of cold is enough to distract even the most engaged of foes, especially when used by someone that no prior displayed magical skill.

The true benefit of holding the swords is that they gradually drain away strong emotions in a sort of forced maturity. It never disables the wielder’s ability to function, but simply bounds the worst sorts of pain or heights of levity that may serve as a distraction.

Made by frost nymphs in Northrend as a gift to a sailor who fell in love with a nymph, and the nymph’s death years later, the weapons are said to have a core of warmth to them as well. They prevent tempers from flaring, or excessive joy from debilitating their owner. Bad food tastes better, good food slightly less.

For a warrior seeking escape, it is a way to overcome doubt and improve one’s skills. To a rogue blinded by hate in the throes of combat, it allows their coolest instincts to prevail.

-Subtlety: Fangs of the Devourer (RGUFD)



“Live for a tomorrow, even if it never comes.”

Saya and Diva are paired weapons that draw their power from the blood of their wielder. When the bloodgrooves on the blades drip with ichor, they transmute the blood on the shortswords into a noxious, shadowy poison antithetical to life, and overwhelming to demons and the undead.

It transmits this same substance back to the wielder. Instead of acting as a poison, it makes the wielder move as though they were partially insubstantial, blurring their form the longer they bleed. Blades pass through their smoke-like body, magic ceases to grip, and foes drop, one by one.

Releasing the blades as corporealness fades becomes a problem, and exsanguination is an ever-present threat when using the weapons.

The blades themselves are crafted from cobalt and the bones of a dead ancient, with a small reservoir to store and continue their utilization of blood. While Saya and Diva are the most well-known set, this artifice is unlikely to be unique.


Celf Cof

“Some dance to remember, some dance to forget.”

These daggers are a set of five. Or so you get the feeling, if you were to hold the weapons. Made by Nerubians for purposes long-forgotten, these Saronite daggers possess unusual magic enchantments that make them perfect for subtlety rogues.

Simply put, strikes from the blades are quickly forgotten. As is the face of the person wielding them. Meanwhile, the person holding the knives seems incapable of forming new memories for a short period of time after using the weapons to kill, imparting a remarkable degree of innocence.


Creepingdeath and Mother

“Think where man’s glory most begins and ends and say my glory was I had such friends.”

Only one of the two weapons is real. The other is a semi-solid mass of shadow. Semi-solid enough to deal lethal wounds, anyway. Creepingdeath infects wounds caused by it or its Mother blade as well as open sores nearby. It condenses shadow to form the caul that enwraps the true blade.

The extreme contagion which results from this blade marks it as liable for sequestration. Because the spores it produces are fungal in nature, they are difficult to dispel as a conventional poison or disease. When it becomes possible to turn a corpse into a vector to afflict an entire structure or passageway, it goes beyond a tool and becomes a localized health hazard.

Another strange function of the blade is the Mother’s ability to seemingly regrow metal components. Provided the fungus on the sword is kept alive, it slowly rebuilds Creepingdeath. The weapon is believed to have been obtained from somewhere in the Emerald Nightmare. The likelihood of it having a more terrestrial origin is horrifying.

The weapon appears to be capable of budding off into new strains with small changes in coloration.


Corv’s Ripping Knives

“Corv, we’re all going to burn for what we did to you.”

Corv Haas is one of the few unusual people blessed by darkness. And, indeed, truly blessed. To him, the shadows were a warm, inviting place of rest, rather than simply a fixation or inurement to cold.

He was one of the few Ravenholdt assassins with mastery over more than the martial and technical aspects of being a rogue, and had a profound understanding of matters of faith and magic. He ventured and blended easily between the Eastern Kingdoms, acting on targets as his handlers ordered.

Until one day he couldn’t kill his target. In fact, he never returned after that assignment. His daggers, imbued with his legendary gifts, passed down from father to son, and mother to daughter, the strength of his bond to the shadows imbuing his descendants with his touch of shadows, or heirloom copies of his weapons. For a time, he was happy.

But Ravenholdt doesn’t brook traitors. And they couldn’t kill a master assassin. They settled for hurting him instead.

He turned his wrath against Ravenholdt, a man beset by rage and loss. He repeated the atrocities they had done to him.

The shadows remain even when the light goes. When your weapons are imbued with such a shadow of death, can you tap that power without being overwhelmed by it? Many think they can. Many think they can find the quick route to the answer they want. Many disturb what lies in wait.


Judge and Executioner

“Negotiation’s over. Sentence is death.”

The dance of darkness calls to all kinds. Those seeking justice where the law fails to provide. Those whose personal vendettas must be solved in blood. Those simply wishing for freedom from responsibility, and freedom from punishment. All kinds.

But what unites them, the ones who dance, is their ability to make split second choices. They do not delve long into the shadows like a shadow priest might, and they do not drift into the open like an outlaw or a warrior may. These choices make them, and these choices break them.

Judge and Executioner are committed to aiding these tiny choices by buying time for their wielders. Strange, esoteric magic engineering went into constructing two spherical engines at the base of each blade. Just one would be sufficient, but with two hands for most races…

The probability engines in the shortswords can bend time, allowing a subtlety rogue to capitalize on their decisions with extra speed, or to borrow a bit of time to make the choice they need to.

As with all temporally-distorting weapons, these items can cause tremendous havoc if they fall into the wrong hands. Attempting to reverse engineer the possibility engines has been met with nothing but catastrophe.

The pattern of the weapon changes in response to continual usage of the probability engine, which explains why multiple wielders, with multiple patterns and colorations are possible.

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11. Warlock [LCK]

-Affliction: Ulthalesh [LCKDWH]


Ticking End

“If you understand what makes someone tick, you can make the ticking stop.”

Ticking End is so named due to the omnipresent clicking which seems to emanate from the weapon. It seems to increase the rate of its noise in response to the heartbeats of those the caster has afflicted with their spells.

Fear, corruption, and disease are all tools in the Warlock’s arsenal, and Ticking End amplifies the effects of these persistent sources of suffering. When a target’s life begins to wane, the clicking increases in anticipation of the death the tool is about to cause.

A simple thing, Ticking End’s music can drive a weak mind to madness, though this is due to an insidious curse on the weapon, rather than psychological gaslighting. The scythe’s constant need for death, and the simultaneous difficultly in separating oneself from it make it a vicious weapon to the rare warlock attempting to carefully manage their destructive tendencies.

This weapon appeared multiple times towards the end of the Northrend Campaign, each time in the hand of a different scourge commander with one notable exception. An understudy to Grand Apothecary Putress is rumored to have utilized the blade in crafting the plague unleashed at Wrathgate. Where it is after the events of Undercity remains uncertain.



“It is generally bad luck for a person to be followed around by a god of death.”

Shinigami is a weapon of bizarre contradictions. It was made and wielded by Dtang the Reaper, a Mogu soulbinder. But, it was generally turned against his fellow Mogu shortly after the Pandaren Rebellion. Even during the Mogu ascendency, it was typically used to slay foes near death to transfer their souls to a well-crafted stone body for continued consulting in the afterlife.

Upon further research, Dtang was shown to use this item to preserve the rare souls of poets, artists, and historians as well, even from the servitor races. While these hybrid statues likely lead a pained half-life as living repositories, the gesture, and deviation from what is known of Mogu culture is certainly of relevance.

Whether he was trying to seek a new place among the Pandaren, or some other purpose is largely conjecture. However, the weapon fell into disuse due to the Pandaren’s general scorn of such arts, and was recovered from the Guo-Lai halls thousands of years later.

When the Alliance and Horde made Landfall, the weapon and several partially complete prototypes were recovered, and put to use. While its effects on dark magic are obvious, it seems to reduce the actual suffering the magic inflicts. While this is likely of little, or detrimental value to many warlocks, it certainly could find usage in gentle hands. Like most Pandaren weapons, it is crafted from ghost iron, and wrapped in windwool.


Black Hand of Amn

“We were not a hugging people. In terms of emotional comfort it was our belief that no amount of physical contact could match the healing powers of a well made cocktail.”

The Black Hand was created by Amn during the third war. A necromancer come warlock, Amn perfected numerous forms of soul destruction. During the gathering of the Black Harvest, Amn ultimately submitted his collected works posthumously. And yet, he was still able to do so in person, and though his mortal shell perished, his ghost remained to possess the scythe, a fact he revealed when a smug student of his delivered the works while holding his master’s weapon.

Deeming Amn in undeath not worth the trouble, the Black Harvest dismissed the scythe as a curio, and left it in Outland. Amn himself is endlessly patient, and easily amused. He enjoys prodding the person wielding his scythe with questions and riddles, and seems to honestly enjoy instructing even the leanest of talents. Though the scythe is more of a symbol than an amplifier of magic, Amn’s instruction is not to be underestimated, and with the burdens of a corporeal form long since perished, he seeks nothing more than to gain and spread knowledge, one pupil at a time.

That the turnover rate for these students due to misadventure, or perhaps talent misjudgment on behalf of Amn, is probably circumstantial. Amn’s strange personality is not without fault. He has unrealistic expectations, and strange cravings which he demands placed on the weapon in lieu of anything as dramatic as soulstuff or blood.



“I’m the conjurer of demons/I’m the father of your death/I bring forth the ancient evil/I control his every breath”

Whelm is a weapon lacking in restraint, subtlety, or finesse. While some are content to whittle away at a foe’s life, Whelm simply gambles the wielder’s own life force in exchange for immediate returns on power. Sometimes the efforts fail, but more likely than not, the souls and life extinguished by the blade, to say nothing of the tremendous strength of the demon Whelm’s wielder can call into service, are more than sufficient to sate the blade.

The weapon itself actually consists of three very unique components working together. The haft and edge of the scythe are forged from fel iron and lit ablaze with the hottest of fel fire when invoked. The second and third component are orbiting spheres of fel energy, one containing the life force of the warlock, the other the energy of slain foes. The orbs were crafted by Kael’thas’s blood elves at the Sunwell incident, while the scythe original belonged to a pit lord commander stationed at the Dark Portal.

The wielder forces the orbs into the blade together, and uses the energy so produced to greatly amplify the swiftness at which the caster’s spells function. Cast time remains unaffected, but the volume and speed at which Whelm allows its master to produce harm is unmatched. When spellcasting is complete, the orbs are pulled out, and balanced. A canny wielder can use it to extend his own life, in addition to the normal power output increase.



“Immortality and eternal youth often fail to coincide.”

Asteroth is named for the golem-warlock originally wielding it. A simple experiment created by voodoo practitioners in Zul’Farrak, the animated golem was taught the basics of demonic magic. To the surprise of everyone, most of all the golem, it wielded the magic with aplomb. With no soul to risk, it recklessly and easily managed to destroy the warlock coven responsible for his existence.

While the golem was reclaimed, the axe was left to the sands of Tanaris, slowly leeching what little life existed in the place. Eventually, with the Cataclysm cracking open the seal to Uldum, pygmy vagrants from the far southern sands came across the weapon in the Hurting Place, as it came to be known. Over time, the pygmy’s blood sacrifices and troll cunning that birthed the weapon imbued it with a foul, feral self awareness.

While the axe has traded hands numerous times since its rediscovery, the weapon imparts a brutish countenance on its wielder as well as tremendous fortitude and strength. For long battles, it is a perfect compliment to the slow-developing magic affliction warlocks employ. Though despite this, it is best wielded in melee combat, meaning that it typically finds its way into the hands of more savage warlock traditions, such as those among the orcs and trolls, rather than Alliance or even Forsaken.

-Demonology: Skull of Vecna [LCKSKL] 490722.jpg

Lost Love

“It is a monstrous love. And it makes monsters of us all.”

Bringing a soul back from the afterlife is no simple task. Especially if the person died from natural circumstances, or was too far away from a healer for too long. But some are so desperate to reunite with their loved ones that they will go to great, horrific lengths to give them some semblance of life. In the process, they inevitably cause more suffering.

The Lost Love artifact is a semiotic bond between the warlock and the skull of her lost love. Whether the soul bound to the skull is some demonic impersonator, some hybrid soul created through abomination, or the tortured soul of their loved one pulled from the afterlife, are all different options. But the skull allows them enormous power over demons. The Lost Love asserts dominance over demons, and perhaps even can replace the native soul entirely, granting demons unnatural(er) abilities.

Two souls working together are far more effective, particularly if the second is “willing.”



“It’s strong in my family. My father has it. I have it. My sister has it. You have that power, too.”

The Lineage skull draws on a corrupt bloodline. While it does not imply a demon in the family tree, the mutagenic properties of fel, or being dragonsworn, or worshipping elementals, are all readily obvious in Azeroth. If a lineage possesses an innate power, or even a divine right to a throne, people will fall in line. How much weaker are demons, which are easily bound by spell and scroll?



“There is no greater power than the one others do not believe you possess.”

The Occult skull is steeped in mystery. It obviously holds great authoritative or demonic sway. Have rituals made it so? Is it pieced together perfectly from among the bits of heads of great rulers? Is it one skull of formidable countenance, such as a great warlock’s? Your master’s, perhaps?



“Bow down/Sell your soul to me/I will set you free/Sanctify your demons”

Nathrezim and their abilities to orchestrate and charm are well known, especially among warlocks. Did you steal this skull from another warlock? A famed Nathrezim, or a more subtle, more successful one? Or, maybe, it is the potent head of a converted demon hunter, or perhaps even a foe from one of the more recent plotlines…



“I think I’ll take a bath in his blood.”

The Bloodspeaker tradition is a storied series of crimson rivers linking troll voodoo in Stranglethorn, to Harvest Witches in Gilneas, to more esoteric beliefs as far as Draenor. Perhaps you have embraced these esoteric beliefs, or simply obtained this skull from a Bloodspeaker sect.

Blood holds tremendous power. Do you hold that blood in your sway?

-Destruction: Scepter of Sargeras [LCKSRD]


Nath, Death of Ghosts

“In one aspect, I believe in ghosts, but we create them. We haunt ourselves.”

Nath is one of the newest of powerful relics present on Azeroth, crafted in Shadowmoon Valley on Draenor during the Draenic campaign. Nath routinely was the subject of pranks between a pair of brothers in the Shadowmoon clan. Each wanted to be chief shaman, but neither wanted to deny their brother the right.

Far and away the strongest two in the tribe, above and beyond even their community’s Far Seer, Nath served the brothers well in their trials amongst the elements. Then, the Iron Horde came. The brothers continued their study, accelerated with the execution of the clan’s eldest shaman and chieftan.

The elements listened, and made the brothers skilled. But it was not enough. They were a small tribe, and one brother, the one who currently held Nath, was dragged away in chains do demonstrate the severity of the Shadowmoon’s lack of contribution. With Nath in his hands, the second brother followed Ner’zhul’s descent into the void, steeping Nath in the elements, and then the void.

When the first brother returned, strange, burning spirits in his coterie, the second brother was shocked, but had little room to judge his brother. The necromancer handed Nath back to the warlock. And, with Nath between them, they sought to undo their corrupt learning.

It would prove too late for the two, but in the meanwhile they had begun to right the course of their clan. With their last breath, they prayed for forgiveness, and passed Nath to a new pair of young shaman.

And then, this thrice-touched item was brought back to Azeroth, its powers too wild and chaotic for the young elementalists to wield. Perhaps you misrepresented yourself as a shaman to buy it from them. Perhaps more material threats prompted its sale. But the power of four elements, each of which touched by the void and Twisting Nether alike, grant you enormous ability to destroy the balance in others, and leave nothing but ruin.



“Power is an old stone building.”

Raicruz is a former apostle’s staff from the Exodar, and it has languished for ten thousand years in the Nether without decaying. This alone merits a significant investigation into its properties and value. It can be used as focus, storing amounts of chaos energy that would shatter the body of any mortal caster, but enough to be wielded as such.

The Naaru have abandoned the staff, but have not forsaken it entirely, it seems. Profaned beyond belief, yet still durable, you cannot feel a wisp of wonder for what the staff might have become in other hands. This item was one of creation, and you have turned it to destruction. Make it count.


Princess of Prisons

“Panic won’t save you now.”

The Princess of Prisons bears the bound soul of an eredar warlock who wished to leave and rejoin the draenei. Having mastered the fel arts, and finding no peace or satisfaction in endless subjugation and conquest, she sought to return to the people she considered truly hers.

To say she was rebuked is sufficient to grant that she was fortunate to escape with her life. Tortured, and caught between neither world, she hoped to find a way to serve her people against the Legion. She asked the Light for an undeserved redemption, and bound her soul to this staff in penance.

If you listen, you can hear her singing in joy. In battle, she mimics the caster’s spells, granting her mastery of the fel to turn it against her presumably righteous wielder’s foes.



“A heavy cost. I pay it gladly.”

Nethergeld is the result of goblin and gnome warlocks fighting together to break the Legion into their own service. The two were mediocre spellcasters at best. Demons refused their call, and their magic was pitiful among their peers.

But, when you travel in such circles, the divide between Horde and Alliance becomes thin, instead replaced by the fel and the pure. The two put their energy to the task of bypassing the demons entirely, and nullifying them. They wanted to take a piece of fel magic for themselves. Cut out the middle man.

As the drinks passed between them, and the nodding increase, the goblin asked her guild for the reagents she needed, and the gnome asked his for the space they desired to make the staff. And together, bit by bit, Nethergeld was born as a siphon for the chaotic energies of the Twisting Nether. No demons. No pacts. Just power, unadulterated power.

It wasn’t pretty, but it worked. They parted ways, the success of having made the staff more valuable than the actual item itself. After that, it was left as a monument to goblins and gnomes, Horde and Alliance, working together.

Nethergeld lets you use demons as even more disposable as you do; the power is in your hand, and all it took was an ironic bit of humility to get it.


Menara Harapan

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

Servants. Power. You have come so close to grasping it. All you need is the right tool to exercise your will.

Menara Harapan was crafted by Ethereals to serve as an intermediary for numerous soul-storage technologies. But now, it has found quite a potent use in disconnecting the body and the soul. If you can’t feel pain, but your body continues to move under your command, what risk is there to use as much power as you can? Isn’t it better to never suffer pain than to ignore it or endure it?

You risk your soul on a daily basis. This is no threat. You take the staff. You feel a distance in your body, as you place your soulstone into the mounting slot, and as the Ethereals pump crates of power into the staff. It hurts, but it hurts as an emotional pain. You know it’s happening, and you accept it.

This is the price you pay for power. And you pay it with your will, over and over again.

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12. Warrior [WRRM]

-Arms: Stromkar [WRRMSW]


Aurin Veldt

“Nobless oblige.”

The sword bears vague allusions to royalty in its make: the fine silver filigree, the noble purple hue, and the weighty burden of command that fills your hand. The blade studies and learns from those who wield it, forming a repository of tactical knowledge far beyond any one mortal’s genius or lifespan.

It records victory and defeat alike, and holds its secrets close to its metal breast. When asked to advise, is does so readily and dispassionately. It will assess your foolishness, your failures, your triumphs, your brilliance, and judge you.

It is an instrument of war, for those with the humility to wield it.


Ons, the Knight Ovate

“Strange maze, what is this place?”

Ons is a weapon of Quel’dorei make, influenced profoundly by the human kingdoms to the south of Quel’thalas. It was forged after the Sunwell fell, and a resurgence of naturalism gripped the high elves. It was made for the wife of a powerful druid who hated to see her love go without her attention during the druid’s long sojourns into the wilds and Dream.

Ons is so deeply woven with natural magic that vines rise to meet it in the forest, and dew begins to condense on the blade when not used in combat. Despite the influence, it never rusts, it never decays, and continues to speak soothing lullabies to the wielder. It seeks to heal its bearer, and use the environment to their greatest tactical advantage.

The heavy weight and cold iron casting of the blade make it a warrior’s weapon, rather than a druid’s or shaman’s, but the homage and fraction of the druid’s spirit guides it to the hands of those few warriors who respect and guard nature, if not to the same degree of immersion as hunters or druids might.


Iron Price

“Villainy is but a matter of perspective.”

Iron price is a weapon for those who know what must be done, that the order to sacrifice some so that others will live is the correct path to take. Iron Price appeals to brutal commanders without sentiment.

With a lineage of power stretching back to Strom, Iron Price consumes the lives of those who die on the battlefield to grow in power. Demise on the battlefield strengthens the power of Iron Price, such that when the weapon’s master enters the battle, they seethe with power enough to quell any foolish enough to continue fighting back.


Santi, Loa’s Pulpit

“I have written you down now/Now you will live forever.”

Some weapons bear a burden of great history. Santi lacks the prophetic origins and legacy of other troll-borne blades, which seem to stand the test of time on their own. Instead, Santi’s strength comes from its ability to draw upon legends to grant a fraction of that story’s history. When the name of a troll hero is written on the blade, the Loa draw that personality near to the blade, and whispers snippets of glory and insight as it does so.

While writing the names of troll heroes certainly bears potent effects, even speaking the name of a Loa spirit while holding Santi draws the attention of that spirit. As most trolls know, the gaze of the Loa is both a blessing and a curse, and Santi’s wielder must be even more careful in their faith than even the usual fickle worship of the Loa.

Santi’s troll origins are obvious, though the make of the blade is difficult to determine. Some propose that the weapon is Amani, others Drakkari, others still Zandalari. That the person claiming it happens to be Amani, Drakkari, or Zandalari is likely a simple coincidence rather than malign intelligence behind the blade.



“A song for the lost.”

Meginjard is a weapon made from Titan religious icons by dwarves. An ancient weapon once crafted before the Curse of Flesh took hold.

In this time of reason and logic, one of the Iron Dwarves nonetheless felt something erroneous, a fault in their own sense of order, the first small flare of emotion in an otherwise emotionless time. The dwarf, Meginjard, sought to work through this vague love in the way that dwarves have done before, during, and after the Old Gods corrupted titan servitors: she forged metal.

Her projects and studies gave way to idols. And she hid these idols over time by forging them into a weapon, perhaps in hope of giving this strange burden away. Even as her steel and iron gave way to skin and blood, she continued to work through these complex feelings, eventually shifting away from forging and reforging the blade, and quelling her thoughts on the field of battle.

Timeless energy and thought went into making Meginjard a weapon of unmatched quality and mysterious utility. If you choose to wield it, perhaps you will find that all of its secrets have yet to be revealed…

-Fury: Warswords of Valajar [WRRMWV]


Passion and Zeal

“Peace is a lie.”

Passion and Zeal were forged by the red dragonflight for their most powerful of berserkers among their dragonkith and wyrmsworn. Quenched in the blood of Alexstraza herself, Passion and Zeal imbue their wielder with an insatiable desire to protect life, and exult in living. There is no major storied history in the blades other than their efficacy, and the protectiveness to which the red dragonflight watches over the weapons.


Fang of Grakkarond

“Stories teach us that dragons can be killed.”

Grakkarond’s corpse remains buried in Silithus’s sand, but not wholly. After his fall, several of his fangs were recovered by the Qiraji, and awarded to high ranking generals, as such that existed among their ranks. Even when they were beaten back and sealed within the Scarab Wall, these weapons remained in their position. A pulsing vein of sithilyst runs down a crack in the fang, which has become enhanced and petrified through its long years of isolation in Ahn’qiraj.

While most who learn to wield Grakkarond’s teeth in combat lack an affinity for magic that sithilyst enhances, it provides its true strength of purpose is revealed when the warrior does not fight alone. When augmented by allies such as a general’s magister-marshals, the blade proves to be remarkably conductive for enchantment.

Fury warriors tend to be superstitious, and a bit fearful of magic, making the Fangs a rarely sought weapon, despite the obvious benefits that come to wielding it. The dust which churns within the greatswords make the weapons slightly unwieldy as well; to truly benefit from the weapons, a warrior must fight alongside wizards and also wield the two blades together without regard for finesse. The former disqualifies most fury warriors. The latter, most arms warriors.

The blades have undoubtedly been recovered from Ahn’qiraj, though their current whereabouts are unknown.


Miststinger and Pathbreaker

“Life slips through your fingers with the same graces of sand and fog.”

Miststinger and Pathbreaker find their origins among Pandaren pirates of the coast of the Jade Forest. While the mists prevented any true open sea privateering, there always have been those among the pandaren who shunned the tranquility of their native culture.

Miststinger and Pathbreaker grant their wielder an unerring sense of direction, on land, on sea, and in combat. The weapons themselves lend a great deal of power to warriors who favor guerilla tactics and martial cunning in addition to expected strength of body. Using the blades grants a superior focus alongside a fury warrior’s rage.


Heide’s Shadows

“This gospel for the fallen ones/Locked away in permanent slumber/Assembling their philosophies/From pieces of broken memories.”

Heide awoke with no memory and no armor on distant shores. The only possessions he had were his person and a pair of heavy blades too weighty for the slender man to wield. But they were all he had, and he fashioned a harness from vines, and dragged them alongside him as he wandered along the beach in search of water and food.

A misty, starless night stretched overhead, and with no constellations to guide himself by, he set to finding shelter and making a fire. At first, he could do little more than scrounge, and hide from all manner of beasts that lurked in the island, which never grew brighter than sunset, even at midday.

But what was worse were the dread ships. When the black-sailed gallons beached themselves in the shallows, they discharged ferocious, scarred warriors and brigands who fought and hunted across the island until the blood of all but the last was spilt. In fear, Heide began to study the fighters at a distance, and found that he could adapt their combat techniques with a bit of practice on his own.

But still, he refrained from fighting these foes, and honed his skills with his two weapons against the beasts. Until a hunting party of the sailors found him. Forced to test himself in honest combat, Heide found his skills came easily, and he cut down those who had spotted him.

It took a shockingly short period of time for Heide’s existence to come to common fact among the bloody raiders, and each wished him dead far more than they wished doom to their fellows. So, with each ship that arrived, Heide grew stronger, more confident in his techniques. Years of combat, honest and otherwise, had developed his physique and mind into a legendary weapon in and of itself. He resolved to leave his island. When the next ship arrived, he waited under the waves, and climbed aboard before the ship could break its hull.

He defeated the sailors and the strange, black-cloaked crew, and sailed the ship back into the world of the living. Having tired of ceaseless war, Heide left his blades on the shoreline of this distant, revisited land. Soaked in the blood of the dead, and touched by the underworld, Heide’s Shadows cast a pall over the battlefield, and draw their wielder and enemies alike closer to death.




“Time and tide wait for no man.”

Verdigris are a set of weapons, one laced with orhalcium carefully distilled from vapors of broken timelines in the Caverns of Time, the other with living steel mined in the Emerald Dream.

The swords were gifted to two Kaldorei dragonsworn, one of the Bronze and a second of the Green, as rewards for valor against an ancient foe. The pair used the weapons to great effect in defense of their flights, and while the swords of Amber and Coldfire were cast in the images of the Red and Blue flights, these two were most alike in their construction, having been the original designs created by a legendary smith.

Amber and Coldfire were lost to the annals of time. But the tale of Verdigris has overwhelmed any name the original swords may have held. An agent of the black dragonflight, in attempt to prove his worth, sought out and defeated the two dragonsworn, and took their blades back to his master.

When the dragon proved unable to rework or melt down the blades, he allowed his own black dragonsworn to carry the blades into battle as a challenge and threat to those who would stand against him.

However, the blades bore heavily on the dragonsworn’s conscience. Even as his flight’s blessings empowered him to wield the swords together, their innate goodness began to eat away at him. Simple apologies were not enough to make up for the theft and murder of the weapons, but the blade’s refusal to fall to darkness, and the eventual death of the dragonsworn’s master at the hands of the blades earned some degree of redemption.

Verdigris found its way into the hands of some of the most critical battles in history: the Scarab Wall, Hyjal, the siege of Icecrown Citadel, and many others.

-Protection: Scale of the Earth-Warder [PSWRRM]



Machete and Homeguard

“Not all who wander are lost.”

A shiftless weapon set for a shiftless bearer, Machete and Homeguard keep their owner safe on long travels and explorations. While carrying the two, packs seem to weigh less, hunger and sleep seem less urgent, and armor is less stifling. Homeguard bears a sconce at its peak which can be used to hold a torch. When so equipped and lit, the light it casts is visible only to the one holding Homeguard and any allies touching the shield.

Machete is incredibly light and durable, and bears two command words. ‘Ignis’ consumes the fire of Homeguard’s torch to cause bits of flesh carved away from wild beasts to become cooked instantly, while ‘Caedo’ causes air passing over the blade to cleave through large areas of stone or undergrowth.


Nightfall Drakeswarrd

“I will drag you with me into flame and darkness.”

Deathwing, in his madness, created the Twilight dragonflight. The greatest of their number was Ultraxion, and when he fell at Wyrmrest Temple, he became a creature of tremendous value to study. His scales were resistant to shadowflame, in the same manner that Onyxia’s brood was, but that was not all. It proved nearly invulnerable to chaos, fel, and holy magic as well. While the third is a convenient benefit for those regularly engaged against paladins, such as the Forsaken, the properties of the shield make it a remarkable tool for fighting against the Legion.

It is uncomfortably cold to the touch, despite the flames it seems to emit, once it was crafted into a shield, and those who would take up the shield find themselves in dire of need of specialized armor to remain strong against the thing’s seemingly life-devouring properties.



Meidhlann and Ceiur

“This law is right reason, which is the true rule of all commandments and prohibitions. Whoever neglects this law, whether written or unwritten, is necessarily unjust and wicked.”

This sword and shield set predate the Sundering, and were carried by numerous champions among the Tauren. These judges were responsible for holding fair and responsible counsel in civil disputes, as well as the burden of being the one to deliver a killing blow should a verdict be refused.

The yaungol, however, were the only offshoot of the ancient shu’halo to maintain use of the relics, and over time, those with faltering conviction found their weapons shattering, so that few complete sets remain. While consecrated to Ordos, an ancient spirit of law possesses these weapons, and guides its bearer to correct injustices and strike down the wicked when they reject a just punishment.

A weapon of great strength and conviction on its own, the sword’s touch to Ordos sometimes interferes with the shield’s ancient spirit. Learning to manage both the Ordon fire shaman in the blade, and the lawful entity in the shield is a difficult task, but when wielder, weapon, and shield work in harmony, the precision the set provides more than outweighs the level of discipline needed to heft the pair.



“Bring me your tired and weak, your hungry and cold.”

Farodah is a shield of mixed origins. First, it was the dwarven shield Reaper, crafted to empower Wildhammer lands with good harvests. It was then stolen away by humans, who named it “Mountain Goat” in their ancient tongue, and used its powers to last out the winter in the high Alterac peaks.

It descended into the lowlands with a peasant family following the arrival of the orcs, who named it “Cobbler’s Shield,” after their own family, where it rested on the mantle for many years before being sold to a traveling merchant for a high price. The merchant gave the bulwark to her most loyal bodyguard, who neglected to name it, and who stole away in the night with the shield.

The bodyguard died in Lordaeron, and a newly risen member of the Deathguard lashed the shield to his arm, and emblazoned it with new heraldry. Farodah passed through many hands before being stored in Silvermoon’s reliquary. Each successive owner imparted a bit of their culture and history into the weapon in the form of the shape, the magic, and appearance of the shield itself.

What story will you tell with it?


Shemian, Rebellion

“Governments should fear their people.”

Shemian embodies rebellion and anarchy, and serves to protect all those who aspire to liberty. Whether or not that liberty is deserved, or simply chaos for its own sake matters little to this shield of naga origin.

The Highborne who devolved into the sea-dwelling naga certainly thought themselves above the land-dwellers, as they thought themselves and their queen far above their fellow Kaldorei. To demonstrate this fact, they made Shemian, and gifted it to random sailors, who vowed to use the incredible defensive arcane properties to upset surface governments and society.

After all, if the naga wanted to believe themselves superior, why not tear down those above, if your society is already perfect?

Despite the ill intent of the original shield, it has found itself into as many hands for the good of their respective people as it has into the hands of monsters. The last known wielder was a dark ranger who mastered the arts of the crossbow, and held it, rather than a blade, in their offensive hand.

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((These are extremely awesome. Do you want us to do something specific if we want to play around with the concepts you have here? I have to reread them, but I might look to do something similar!))

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((Basically this is my gift to TN. If you're squeamish about having your character pick up *the* artifact weapon, here are some other artifacts based on the skins for a specialization that you can use as your own, or as a startpoint for your own mythos. If you want to use it whole cloth, I'd be super flattered, but if it inspires you to make your own history for your artifact, that's just as well! I'll also be working these into the upcoming Quorum plot, at least by name so people know IC of the relic's existence.))

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(( This will be interesting to see play out, and it may help a few people who are undecided on the subject of Artifacts. I am intrigued to see how this will interact with other origins and explanations that others in the community will doubtlessly craft for their weapons! ))

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10. Shaman [sMN]

-Elemental: Fist of Ra-Den (SMNFRD)




“You will find that we are not so different in our beliefs.”

Megg’ido are relics uniquely born in draenei shamanism. The talon was recovered from the ruins of Shadowmoon Valley during the second draenei exodus, while the shield is a repurposed vindicator’s.

When Nobundo returned to the draenei with his new grasp of shamanism, some were swifter than others to find their way on the new path. A young man picked up a shield from a paladin who died defending Shattrath, and armed himself with an orc combat claw, seeing to forge anew the purpose for himself and for the weapons.

He served valiantly, channeling the elements even as he prayed to the Naaru and Light. He preached forgiveness towards the orcs, who had inspired and made known the means to speak to the elements, and remembrance of the ideals the fallen draenei had fought so valiantly for.

When this young man gained in experience, he found himself more and more prone to speaking with the Earthen Ring than serving directly in combat, and left Megg’ido, with its fusion of cultures and beliefs, in other hands. When wielded, Megg’ido binds the wielder’s faith together with their hopes in the elements.


Low Winter Sun

“Push me and I’ll push back/I’m done asking, I demand”

The taunka live a brutal existence, beholden to vicious winter and lean crops the year round. Their shaman focus more on the harsh elements of nature; their water totems are glacial ice, their fire totems in unforgiving steam geysers, air in scouring wind, and earth in the hard-packed taiga.

And their worship of the elements is no less brutal than their subsistence. They force the elements into service, a fact that Garrosh Hellscream became fixated by during his organization of the Horde’s Warsong Offensive. Despite the pain this brand of dark shamanism causes, it has allowed several remarkable magical developments, such as Low Winter Sun.

Forged by a tauren smith for a taunka cousin, Low Winter Sun embodies a lingering hope, and a boundless grace and appreciation for even the smallest of fortunate events. Low Winter Sun aids the shaman in drawing more power from the elementals at their command, and eases any wounded egos caused by profound demands.

Many shaman shy away from using such a tool, as they find it duplicitous. But, it is designed to reduce suffering, so for those who bear the taunka’s pragmatic view, at least the damage it does is mitigated, somewhat.


Almutraqa, Foe Reaper

“And a shaman, a shaman provides. And he does it even when he's not appreciated, or respected, or even loved. He simply bears up and he does it. Because he's a shaman.”

To say the Cipher of Damnation severed Draenor from the elements is not exactly true. While dark shamanism is a more recent phenomenon, there are more than a few shaman who refused to turn their back on the elementals which had guided their people for centuries. Even as demonic taint seeped through the Twisting Nether and portals Ner’zhul hurriedly attempted to open.

These shaman called themselves Mag’kai, Uncorrupted Seers. They fought to calm and soothe the elements, heedless of the fel radiation that it exposed them to. They new that when madness and bloodthirst took them, their peers would stop them.

The Mag’kai used their bodies and elemental vessels, crafted from shards of Oshu’gun, as living sacrifices to soak up the corruption, and, perhaps, free the elements. To some end, they succeeded. Parts of Draenor, now Outland, remain untained. The Mag’kai are no more, their weapons and rites locked away, their work done, their cost paid.

But warlocks have shown how deep the well of power fel magic creates is. Sooner or later, someone will have the ambition and desperation necessary to recover one of the Foe Reapers, and turn the fel magic loose on their enemies, no matter the risk it puts on their connection with the elements. The Mag’kai knew the price for a brighter tomorrow. And so do those who seek Almutraqa.


Chusheng, Born of Three Thunders

“Surpass your limits.”

Chusheng is a Pandaren weapon that is uniquely aligned to the Huojin philosophy, and was kept as a memento on the Wandering Isle, only to be brought with Ji Firepaw’s disciples to the Valley of Honor. It was crafted by the Pandaren, before the Mogu Ascendency. It was stolen, and then gifted to Zandalari stormbringers. And finally, it was recovered by Pandaren fishermen on the shoreline of the Temple of the Black Ox.

It embodies hope through action, and constantly prompts its bearer into acts of aggression. When in motion, the gauntlet gathers static electricity, and bears the charge from spirits for quite some time. Though those who wield Chusheng are unlikely to emphasize their martial prowess, it does allow the shaman to unleash torrential arcs of lighting against those who manage to escape their ranged spells.

When on the move, without fear of close consequence, Chusheng proves to be a remarkable tool in the hands of an elemental shaman.


Barad Dur’gan, Lingering Path of Fire

“By flame be spurned”

The Dark Iron dwarves have a tenuous relationship with the elementals that erupt from their homes. The path of the shaman has historically been surprised by the Dark Irons themselves, as well as Ragnaros’s minions.

But some Dark Iron never forgot their Wildhammer or Bronzebeard kin, and how the elements could serve as valued allies. Humility is a rare trait in the Dark Iron than thorium in their mountains. But, with the advent of the Council of Three Hammers, shamanism has begun to creep into Dark Iron culture, in its own fashion.

From the elementium and dark iron recovered from Blackrock Mountain, some Dark Iron shaman seek to reclaim their home from the mistakes of the past. A powerful weapon resonating with the power of elementium’s direct conduit to the Firelands, Barad Dur’gan infuses its master’s spells with fire, subliming their frost spells, and searing away flesh and steel with their lighting. However, the fist is not as strong as it might have been. Barad Dur’gan encases the wearer’s fist in magma, the lingering warmth of the weapon constantly reminding its shaman of the costs of overreaching one’s bounds. Ragnaros was a mistake that a shaman, moreso than even a Sorcerer-Thane, must be careful not to repeat.

-Enhancement: Doomhammer (SMNDH)


Ashwolf Mauler

“No machine can do the work of one ordinary man.”

Not all of the Frostwolves followed Durotan and Draka in their refusal of Gul’dan’s gift. Those that embraced the fel taint became to be known as the Ashwolf splinter. The Ashwolves eventually found themselves laired in Blackrock Mountain in service to the Dark Horde. No few among them regretted their choice to leave, but some made peace with their new service, even as they rekindled their shamanistic roots.

Ashwolf mauler is so named for not only the wielder, but those who were its primary victims. While many weapons are forged in madness, or are consumed by overwhelming power. But forging the hammer was the gesture a lone shaman needed to overcome the burdens his parents had handed down.

He learned, intuitively, the ways of his people. Not the corrupted Dark Horde’s ways of demon worship and blood, but the ways of the elements. Even if ash fell around him, rather than snow, he was pure once more. And as his connection to the element grew, he invested more and more of it into the mauler, passing it on from traitor to traitor to bolster their own slowly rekindling belief.

But not all were as convicted or pure as this orc. Eventually, those of weaker wills heard whispers of the elements demanding the sacrifice of life. The hammer became a tool of teaching as much as it was an instrument of murder.

Eventually, clan overlords traced the weapon back to him, and he was summarily executed with his own weapon. Cast into the flames of Blackrock Mountain, this tragic warhammer was believed lost, until the elements returned it to the hand of an adventurer scaling the Blackrock Spire. She too, was a shaman, but of a different race. Semi-cursed, semi-blessed, the Ashwolf Mauler always finds its way to the hands of those who would stand for the Old Ways in the face of tyrants.


Vakman’s Mace

“I express myself in sculpture for I am not a poet”

When the Cataclysm struck and the Twilight Cult began to infiltrate mortal society, bits of elementium and obsidian fell from the drake’s enormous wings, scattered far and wide across Azeroth. Some of these hunks were caught in the tides that destroyed Darkshore.

It was to Vakman’s great fortune that these bits of metal arrived when they did, for he was desperate to buy himself a new home after the storms took his old town and artwork. He took a strange bit of ore, and began to shape it, but no sculpture emerged under his hands. His dreams were haunted by fear of failure, and strange, distant vistas.

With chisel and hammer, he began to copy these images onto more and more of the ore he gathered. As he began to sell his sculptures, and in time, became wealthy beyond he ever could have imagined. He carried the first stone with him at all times, and shaped it into a hammer to avoid looking like a fool.

Of course, Twilight cultists recovered the inspiring stone, now a weapon in its own right. While Vakman survived with his life, his mace was never returned, and his art was never quite the same. For a canny wielder, it provides inspiration necessary to invoke the element in creative, beautiful ways.


Gaoler’s Key

“I’m not locked in here with you.”

Gaoler’s Key is a low key item without much history. It was made from stone quarried directly from the prison of Tol Barad, and was made by a shaman who dedicated himself to imprisoning demons, criminals, and rogue elementals in the island prison. Age took the wizened orc before long, and the elementals in his care sheltered the great hammer in a small glade on the raining island. It waits for another worthy wielder to strike fear in the hearts of those who would corrupt the natural world.


Brotann Vonir

“There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive.”

Whether as a consequence of war or despite it, love and respect bloom in the most unusual of places.

Vonir of the Wildhammer had come to support his Bronzebeard kin in Alterac Valley understand the shamanistic traditions of the Frostwolf orcs. This meant that Vonir had to actually learn how their shamanistic traditions differed, though he had claimed to know already in hopes of securing himself a position in the Valley to work and live. He waited, and used the elements to convey his wishes for a peaceful meeting, being honest with his identity.

In a copse of trees in the cold snow, just before dawn, he waited, fully exposed to the wolves and elements of the place. He watched the moon, and listened to the distant clashing of blades and reverberation of great elementals under the valley floor.

Shora was a nascent shaman of the Frostwolves. One of the first of a new generation under the Horde, she took to the elements with reverence and zeal that only the young can know. The opportunity to speak to a non-Horde shaman excited her beyond reason, and she alone answered Vonir’s call.

It was sunset by the time the two finished speaking. And though each knew that their people would war, that, by all rights, they were bizarre looking to the other, they met again the next week, and then the week after that, then, almost on a day to day basis.

The looming threat of discovery prompted them to Outland. Atop the Throne of Kil’jaeden, the Alliance and Horde fought together against the demonic incursion, pressing the beasts back into their portals. Shora perished honorably. Vonir took her weapon, and sought to return it to her people. Her death, and their time in Outland had warped the thing into fel-appearing violation of all that is right with the spirits.

But appearances hide something far more important on the inside.

Brotann Vonir contains powerful ties to the spirit of elements and mortality, and has seen conflict across two worlds, in two very different sets of hands. Will you risk scorn to bear such a weapon?


Daromar of Beastwatch

“The soul of place is like an invisible net --or a force field -- cast up at times from within a house, neighborhood, or landscape to draw us into its labyrinthine folds.”

Daromar is the hammer you see before you. Strangely plant-like, no? This is what happens when the Everbloom absorbs a shaman that has managed to resist its mind control. It repurposes them into weapons. This hanging fruit and spine overlook Stormwind now, its seeds scattered by the genesaur that tried to invade our world.

-Restoration: Scepter of Azshara (SMNSAA)



Amberlight Reservoir

“It’s better to live on your feet than die on your knees.”

The Klaxxi are not known for their inclinations toward the shamanistic, but the Amberlight Reservoir seems tailored to a restoration shaman’s specialties. The healing panacea that is Klaxxi amber is well documented, and the shield and mace of this set of artifacts augments a shaman’s water and earth spells with the power of this ancient source of healing.

The Klaxxi are unlikely to have parted with such a powerful relic willingly, though some believe it was given as a gift of respect to the Wakener, or perhaps Garrosh Hellscream during or shortly before the Siege of Orgrimmar.




“But there is always so much distance can’t but feel it somehow/But you have never ever felt it like you feel it right now”

While the Huojin would take Chusheng with them to the Horde, the Tushui may have picked the superior relic. Dusaang contains waters taken directly from the Vale of Eternal Blossoms, and contains a droplet from every major ocean and stream touching Pandaria.

The incredible creative powers that rest in the shield and scepter require immense self control and reflection to know oneself well enough not to taint the water’s purity with the same emotions which draw the sha from Pandaren soil.

In careless, emotionally-inflamed hands, the waters could turn from a tool of healing into a scalding poison. Know yourself, and keep control of the purity, and it can prove a tremendous asset in healing wounded allies and cleansing corruptions from the world.


Mu’sha’s Tear

“So we search the sky/For any flashing signs/We’ve gone too far beyond the borders/It’s just you and I/And if this is the end/Best place I’ve ever been”

The tauren wandered into a great desert, in search of a place to call home. Though they wandered the sands, they found little. The calves, the old, the infirm, these were the first to fall into the dunes and never return.

But the shu’halo prayed to the Earthmother for guidance, and safeguarding for the bodies of the dead. And so their pilgrimage continued onward, until only a single shaman remained. Her fur was the blood red of the sunset dappled with the color of dry grass. She stood at the crest of the dunes, her water gone, her stomach empty, and the bones of her people scoured by siroccos behind her.

And she glimpsed a single shrub.

With nothing else, she ran towards the shrub, and noticed it was dying too, in this barren, desolate place. She wept. Not for the losses or pain she endured, or that her journey was not over, but for the loss of this one piece of life.

Mu’sha cried too, and in the dark, the rain came, washing away the dunes, and leaving behind plains rich in grain and game alike. The tauren embraced this gift, and spoke to the spirits of her departed, encouraging them to return from their graves to this place of long rest.

Or so the story goes.



Yuli Naengdong, Frozen Piece of Despair

“Now I feel just a stranger/I don’t sleep at all anymore/And the arms used to hold me/Now they’ve done me wrong”

There is a reason the night elves tether close to druidism, and approach shamanism with a civil, if distant view. It is said that traitors among the kaldorei, in addition to the Highborne, were responsible for the Burning Legion’s breach of the Well of Eternity.

In some circles, spoken with equal parts shame and pride, is tale of a sect of naturalists unlike the druids; the first and last night elf shaman. This rumor goes onto assert that Sargeras himself attempted to corrupt them in the same fashion Kil’jaeden would attempt to the orcs. Thus implying that the Dark Titan himself contacted the night elves, rather than the barbarous orcs, first.

In either case, the only remnant of this sect is a crystallized piece of water from the Well, tainted forever by demon blood. It attempts to assert control over the shaman who bear it, and teaches them of an alternate, shadow history. Perhaps, the tampering of the Well in the past through Nozdormu’s meddling caused this splinter world to form, and perhaps the shield and crystal are the only proof of its existence.



Gatewatcher and Soulkeeper

“Pretentious adventurers/The mission apprehensive/Don’t waste your time/On coffins today”

Gatewatcher and Soulkeeper are carved from runestones in the walls of Uldum. Designed by the Tol’vir in time immemorial, their society’s shift towards their own form of the Light caused these powerful tools be left behind in an ancient tomb.

Believed to be used by guardians of the tombs of royalty, Gatewatcher and Soulkeeper extend life and jealously guard it from being stolen away. It stings those it heals like sunburn or nettles, but keeps a piece of their soul safe so that their body may continue functioning far beyond what their body should be able to suffer.

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((Great names and great lore, it's impressive. I already have an idea for Autumn's fire sword and ice staff but I can't wait to see what you come up with for the other artifacts, I have oh so many characters. =p))

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2. Demon Hunter-[DMH]

-Havoc: Twinblades of the Deceiver (DMHWD)


Singer and Dancer

“I am not the singer that you wanted/But a dancer”

Warglaives are distinctively the weapon of demon hunters. Given the rarity of the profession, the number of truly legendary warglaives is limited. However, the skill and singular nature of demon hunters give each set a distinct lineage, and demon hunters of all stripes recover the blades of their fallen brethren to gift to the next wave of trainees.

Singer and Dancer, then, are unusual in that they are newly fabricated blades, made for a demon hunter that never completed training. Most glaives, then, are of Legion or Night Elven make. These, however, are of Sin’dorei make. Of particular interest are the traces of the Sunwell’s magic found within the pair.

They are only so identified by an engraving on the inside of the grip cup. But, in the hands of worthy demon hunter, the blades reveal the meaning of their monikers. Extraordinarily light and durable, the blades emit a low hum when swung, and are exceptionally nimble, the weight of the weapons and the grip on the glaive respond easily. Against nimble demonic foes, a hunter could ask for no better weapon.

In fact, extended use of the weapons creates a distinct feeling of enjoyment in combat. More than the dour fatalism and satisfaction in a job well done, some semblance of the personality of the life that came before can shine through.


Prana Channel

“True strength comes from within.”

Demon hunters are an embodiment of their ideals of sacrifice, and no further proof need be presented than the presence of a demon inside of their very soul. If the demon hunter’s own soul is insufficiently powerful, it is consumed by the demon. But with their sense of self, and the second soul to burn, there is a profound inner energy found inside each demon hunter.

Enterprising warriors found a way to convert this inner fire into a weapon of itself, through a pair of gauntlets called the Prana Channel. When willed, a blade of hellish soulfire extends from each side of both gauntlets, forming a burning, glaive-like pattern easily wielded. The hard part about using the gauntlets comes from the initiation process to become a demon hunter, not wielding the weapons, which are nearly seamless.

However, they are not so easily crafted, and rely on reverse-engineered spell techniques taken from Draenei soul constructs. Given the lack of Draenei in the Illidari ranks, and the lack of access to the Black Temple, creating more of these weapons is simply an impossibility.




“Ebony and ivory/Working together/In perfect harmony”

Papillion consists of the white glaive and the black glaive. While the build pattern of these weapons is identical, the demon who originally made them color coded them before switching on to a different design, as was tradition.

The color difference, despite similarity of make, indicates that the glaives are simply two pieces from different sets, likely used to complete a broken black and missing white.

Papillion’s unusual legacy is actually simple to explain. Their first mortal wielders was a night elf, who picked up the differently colored blades in homage to his lost home, and his lost family. Behind each strike, the spirit of the hunter persists, drawing on the wielder’s own pain and desire to remember better times to push them to the heights of martial prowess.

When a wielder invokes their demon form, they also channel immense chaos energy into the weapons, causing the persistent memory in the warglaives to flare to life as well, making weapons of the ghosts that linger in the swords.

Perhaps, if mastered, your own lost loves could be weaponized.



“An open mind is like a fortress with its gates unbarred and unguarded.”

A simple, aptly named weapon, for a simple aptly titled profession. Saw is designed for demon hunters of overwhelming strength, to slice through foes of all make and mien. In most circumstances, demon hunters rely on their agility to win their engagements. But there are those in the ranks whose form is strong and agile, and those who rely on their imbued demonic fury moreso than their training.

For these demon hunters, Saw serves admirably, as it has served every other mighty demon hunter who came before.



“Said the mosquito, seeing that the horse did not notice him: "Don't you see me, Horse?" “

Fanatics to a one, havoc demon hunters come from many former walks of life. And in their ranks, a persistence and patience is the rule, rather than the exception as in most.

Mosquito embodies this philosophy, and is passed down from patient demon hunter to patient demon hunter, each in turn waiting for their weapons and advancement.

Mosquito is enchanted to leave delayed wounds. A demon can suffer several, sometimes dozens of cuts, angrily swinging their weapon at the evasive but seemingly ineffectual demon hunter. Until the wounds release, and all of the demon’s continued fighting only serves to bleed them further.

-Vengeance: Aldrachi Warblades (DMHAWB)


Hedron’s Riddle

“What lies beneath your cold faded eyes/Now you turn the tide on me/Because you’re so unkind/I will always be here/For the rest of my life.”

The warglaives wielded by demon hunter ranks readily divide them into havoc and vengeance specializations. Hedron was the name of the first demon hunter to wield this set of weapons, after it was “inherited” from the shivarra that once wielded them.

Hedron loved riddles, and etched numerous optical illusions and turns of phrase onto his blade with each kill. As you can imagine, Hedron’s warglaives are scrimshawed beyond even the most fastidious of demon hunters.

Hedron is clearly not his actual name, being clearly neither of Sin’dorei or Kaldorei origin.

In fact, his life becomes more and more of an enigma as he’s studied. He fought bravely, and nobly with his fellow Illidari. But nobody remains training him, nor recruiting him. They remember his riddles, and little tests of logic, but none can recall him providing an affirmation of denial of their interpretation.

Who was Hedron, and what are these strange riddles and puzzles that linger on his glaive? And where did all those demons he killed in the Nether itself go? Surely, they couldn’t be locked behind a riddle, and puzzle in the weapons themselves?


Hornet, Shame’s Embrace

“Each time we make a choice we are either moving toward freedom and prosperity or bondage and misery.”

Hornet is a weapon which punishes the aggressor. In the hands of its last Illidari, it ascended from a mere weapon of quality to one worthy of legends. The Sin’dorei woman had not lived a particularly good life, and bore many regrets when she followed Kael’thas into outland.

She left behind everything she owned, all bonds she had. Which is to say, she left behind nothing which brought her dignity, no memory that brought her satisfaction in her mind. So humbled, and humiliated endlessly by life, and the taunts of her peers, she found herself unable to strike back a foe.

But, consciously or not, she could goad them into striking her. Meek as she was, she could still position the blades so that enemies slashed themselves against her, while she herself rolled with the blow. It hurt, but it never killed her.

In the pits, she became oddly famed for never swinging her weapon, only moving and drawing her foes unto her. Whether this finally brought her joy when she became a true demon hunter, is unknown.

But she poured what spirit she had into crafting these blades to be as eye-catching and contact-lethal as possible. Deceptive to the eye, they could appear to block from one angle, only to be slicing. Mastering her style of fighting to maximize the effectiveness of the blades is not easy for one so hellbent as most Illidari. But perhaps you can find a way to use them even better than she could.

After all, she isn’t around to continue dodging with them anymore.



“The graves it digs its friends out of are the same that await its foes.”

Gravedigger’s existence is an oddity and testament to the power of demon blood. The Illidari’s weapons were broken in combat against a wrathguard command. So the Illidari used his hands to strangle the demon to death. From its skull, and other bones, the Illidari sewed the bits together, and immediately got right back to work.

When asked about the weapons, he vengeance demon hunter grunted, and said he could do it again. He was the weapons, not his glaives. And so he did, for each and every battle until his end of days. Which, considering the danger in his acts, was an extensive period of time. When your Illidari inherited Gravedigger, the dying hunter made a final request you honored.

You carry his final request with you, even now.


Last Breath of Ritz

“Take from them, everything, and give to them, nothing.”

Rit’zarah the demon hunter was renowned for her bravery and skill. Among the blood elven Illidari, few were her equal. Ultimately, it was a deception, rather than a crisis of arrogance or an overpowering foe that brought her to her end.

Betrayed from within, the woman cursed the traitors, and bleeding to death, managed to kill the ones who had led her into the trap.

Rit’zarah’s have not forgotten the machinations of others, and instill a deep sense of paranoia onto their bearer. Friends become possible foes, but no longer will the wielder be caught unaware.


Viera’s Sudden Demise

“Who killed Viera Dahl’ar?”

An Illidari was found dead. The weapons used were her own blades. Thereafter, the heritors of these cursed swords seem to suffer the same mysterious fate.

Why do they continue to be put into use, knowing the mysterious deaths involved?

Simply because the same curse that inevitably returns to strike the wielder finds first purchase in the souls of the foes it strikes. As a vengeance Illidari suffers in combat, the likelihood of the blades unleashing their enchantment increases. And when it strikes, a foe is struck dead almost instantly.

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4. Hunter [HTR]

-Beast Mastery: Titanstrike (HTRBMT)


Slon Rev, Rage of the Elekk

“If you can’t be happy at least you can be right.”

The Rangari’s secrets are numerous, but like all beast mastery hunters, they revere the animals that fought alongside them. Slon Rev was crafted from the skull of an elekk that did not quite manage to make it to its ancestral graveyard before its death.

A great bull, the elekk’s spirit angrily lashed out, and ravaged the landscape with undead rage. The spirit proved impervious to conventional hunting techniques, and at the time, the draenei lacked shaman with which to deal with the spirit.

An enterprising hunter cleverly enlisted the aid of an Auchenai soulpriest, who managed to bind the elekk’s spirit into a weapon. Every bullet launched from the gun bears some portion of its fury, and hits with far greater force than mere technology would allow.

The sheer kick of the weapon, combined with the soul within struggling for release when not in use make it dangerous and unreliable. However, when the target is too big to miss, or the range too close to evade, it proves its worth by blowing gargantuan chunks of its target.


Shay’s Sprint

“They got methods of keeping you clean/They gonna rip up your heads/Your aspirations to shreds/Another cog in the Murder Machine”

This lever action rifle is remarkably light to the touch. Originally designed for an assassin, the weapon’s barrel easily breaks down, and slides easily into one’s pant leg or boot. An internal compressor draws and stores air inside of a central mechanism, where it is fed to a bound air elemental.

Release of the stored air propels any projectiles (stones, slugs, bits of bone) at high velocities toward the target. The lack of combustion and use of pure air makes the weapon remarkably silent, and the wielder is never out of ammunition, making it a useful tool for hunting in the wild or in the streets.

Shay herself was a human member of the Defias Brotherhood who was allergic to the fumes produced by gunpowder, and found that bows and arrows made one quite obvious when the authorities came looking for snipers. She met with various engineers and tinkers to design the weapon’s more economical assets, but it was her last mission that made the rifle into what it is today.

Assigned to take down a troll emissary visiting Stormwind, Shay was displeased to know that the diplomat was a shaman of no mean skill, and was warded by air elementals at all times. Her weapon was more than enough to kill, but overcoming such a formidable defense was beyond its capacity.

She slunk through the back streets and kitchens of the troll’s abode, and planned to use a knife where her gun had failed her. To her surprise, the troll seemed to know she was coming, and told her, in broken Common, of a greater role in events she was to play. He imbued her weapon with one of his guardian elementals, and requested only that she leave him with his life in exchange.

The weapon’s killing power was increased tremendously due to this simple act. But Shay herself found that she was ready to retire. She gifted the weapon to the Brotherhood, took her pay, and absconded to Winterspring to live out the remainder of her days.


Red Lotus

“Let go your earthly tether/Enter the void/Empty, and become wind.”

Red Lotus reveals that which remains unseen. Carved from seemingly a single piece of arcanite, then painted, burnished, and set with gems and oils, Red Lotus’s origin remains unknown, and little evidence of its use exists.

However, the truly useful aspect of the weapon is the scope. While the design is the same, it is clearly a far more ancient component, but analysis so far is surely flawed, as it dates the item to a pre-Titan epoch. When the wielder focuses and gazes through the scope, it reveals the identity and remaining lifespan of those in its sights, and easily penetrates illusion magic. When a user tries to describe this information to others, they find themselves tongue-tied, making it a lonely weapon.

Another, perhaps less savory use of the scope is its ability to see through barriers of matter less than five inches. While he uses for this function are immediately blush-worthy, the true purpose is revealed by holding the weapon’s second trigger.

This second firing mode enchants the pullets the gun launches to penetrate non-living substances with great ease, effectively rendering obstacles like armor or cover negligible.



“Truth is often stranger than fiction.”

Hom-Naiton is a goblin weapon created for a troll gunslinger. A gunslinger who could not even afford ammunition to load his weapon once the pistol was created. But, the gunslinger had a bayonet on his gun, and a barrel big enough to accommodate just about anything.

Fortunately, the goblin’s exorbitant rates weren’t just for show, and as a pistol whip, it proved remarkably durable in the troll’s hands. Eventually, like all blood-stained blades, it passed onto another wielder, a one-armed orc named Gorg.

Gorg also hated ranged weapons, but as a rogue of the Shattered Hand, he counted it among his long list of slightly useful tools. Despite his disdain, he made the bright decision to actually load the weapon.

But a twist was in the works. Literally, part of the gun funnel was twisted such that the first shot fired from it would cause it to explode. The goblin had long fled town, his plan to sell the troll a new, steam-powered arm a failure caused by the unexpected shortfall of the troll’s finances.

The story ends with Gorg building, in true Shattered Hand fashion, refused to be defeated by anything such as a simple malfunction. Replacing his hand with the weapon, he hunted down the goblin that made it.

A gun soaked in so much blood due to its close combat purposes, Hom-Naiton sat for years in the belly of a crocolisk who took Gorg’s second hand. In that time, the crocolisk managed to find itself in exactly the wrong place at exactly the wrong time. This beast, known as Crawdaddy, was exposed to the mana bomb at Theramore; titan radiation in Uldum, and necromantic runoff from Razorfen Downs.

It is with great peril we recovered this gun, and now trust it will rest in your hands. Hopefully not as one.


Twiddledank’s Hydra

“It ain’t even about the dough/It’s about getting down for what you stand for, yo”

Gwynn was fascinated by creatures and the people who hunted them. He grew up hearing tales of Hemet Nesingwary from his dwarven neighbors, and longed to venture out in the world to find them. However, Gwynn was bound to a wheelchair since childhood, an unfortunate consequence of a failed parachute made by one of his friends.

Like all gnomes, however, he found his own way to hunt the beasts, and collected lore on mysterious creatures, and in fact became quite the scholar of rare monsters and dangerous aberrations. It was to his shock that Hemet’s son came to him for advice on a great, multi-headed creature in the desert. The beast’s skin shifted colors to blend in its environment, and it swam through the desert with ease.

It had been attacking merchant caravans returning from Silithus, and the reward on its head(s) was substantial. Gwynn immediately set to work, compiling and optimizing a weapon for hunting creatures such as this. And then he continued his work, seeking to incorporate and streamline as many assets as he could.

Though Nesingwary eventually left Gwynn to his weapon, the gnome found his passion ablaze as he tried to make a state of the art device for hunting multiple creatures at the same time. He used Ulduar monorail technology to accelerate a cloud of pellets to extremely high velocities in his workshop, but found that the necessary power supply was prohibitive.

Until the Advanced Iron Stars were liberated from Draenor. Twiddledank completed his weapon, but has so far failed to find someone to actually put it to use.

-Marksmanship: Thas’dorah (HTRDRB)


Sindassi’s Whisper

“It’s a beautiful thing, the Destruction of words.”

Sindassi’s Whisper is clearly, ostentatiously of blood elven make. Formerly a weapon of Nathanos, the human ranger-lord, it was repurposed and recovered after the fall of Quel’thalas, a gift from the banshee queen. The red on the weapon is due to a ritual bathing in the blood of the lost Quel’dorei from the sack of Quel’thalas.

A broad, if shallow history has followed this weapon, and, despite the gesture of Sylvannas’s gift, it eventually found its way into the hands of a minor notary in one of Quel’thalas’s libraries. A linguist and polyglot, the librarian had little knowledge of what do with the weapon.

However, he knew the significance of the gift, and tried to imagine a way to have it live up to its legendary status. But he had work to do. He became a bit of eccentric, carrying the bow with him on walks, and taking it to the archery range to decompress after work.

With practice, he became proficient with the weapon, but never came to mastery of it. He found that it helped him think, and in using it, he gradually developed a cipher-language for himself and his librarian peers. He called the language Sindassi.

For a time, Silvermoon considered adopting a new language in order to hide secrets from the Quel’dorei that refused to join the Horde. Sindassi, in this time, became a fierce point of racial pride.

Though the librarian hadn’t given his weapon a legacy through skill at arms, his grasp of language imbued it with a kind of folk magic that persists to this day. With this fine weapon in your hands, you can hear bits of words with each pull of the string.

For marksmen with a taste for literature, no finer weapon exists.


Gale’s Dragon

“I was born by the sea, shy yet proud.”

Gale’s Dragon is made from Bronzewood, and cast in brass and blue dragonhide. Created by a harbormaster’s son, Gale’s Dragon has guarded the Stormwind harbor from squalls and invasion for many, many years.

The weapon was blessed with great power by several mages, who bound its power to several landmarks in the Stormwind bay which allowed it to keep its great strength. When in this boundary, the arrows captured the storm, and could strike a target with the precision of a pencil stroke and the force of a broadside.

The bow captures wind that blows across it, and even vigorous movement allows it to build strength. Each arrow nocked is wrapped and guided by these winds, becoming a deadly projectile weapon even in the midst of torrents and storms.

However, during the First War, it was carried out of the harbor out to sea. Without the ties that granted its power, its strength diminished, and eventually, the harbormaster and the ship it was on was overwhelmed by the storm. As the bow sank down to the sea bed, it was found by sea-dwelling creature, who drew it from the mud, and once more into the storm.



“The truth lies in darkness.”

The makers of this weapon to this day remain unknown. On the one hand, it bears significant coloration and patterning which are elven in nature, specifically kaldorei. But the savage, vicious hallmarks of blades along the body, significant homage to eagles, and the feathers on it point more towards a troll origin.

Several other aspects of the weapon’s engineering point towards neither culture, however. It is built for men and women of great size and strength, but has cunning design principles that bespeak of an enlightened mind.

The weapon itself functions best in the dark, where it reveals the sound of nearby heartbeats to the wielder, and illuminates blood in bright, glowing crimson. The horror of seeing oneself illuminated, then marked full of arrows is a significant mental ploy, and the ability to track prey and aim for their vitals unerringly is a virtue not to be understated.

It should be noted that the same illumination does not apply to its wielder, who alone is veiled by the night.


Deepdweller, Warden of the Manifest

“I will see you again at the gates.”

Three dwarven clans came together, and to demonstrate their ability to cooperate, they devised a system to demonstrate kinship and foster understanding. One clan would gift a material of their choosing. The second clan would make a weapon of that material, and the third would receive the composite gift to hold and wield.

Deepdweller is the result of Dark Iron’s eponymous metal and crystal, combined under Wildhammer craftsmanship, and finally given to the Bronzebeards.

The weapon carries with it a gift from the Bronzebeard dwarf to whom it was gifted. The dwarf perished in the Firelands on the assault against Staghelm, but his soul was unquiet, and lashed itself to the weapon. Three dwarven legacies converge in Deepdweller, creating a weapon of potency and grand social import.



“Couple more days with the body, who knows what I might’ve found.”

Felhawk refuses the grasp of an untainted wielder. Sin’dorei, Man’ari, Forsaken, and those touched by fel powers are the only who are not burned by its metal. Recovered from the Magister’s Terrace, Felhawk is a defiant, angry tool of death.

It absorbs life force from the wielder to construct bolts of pure hellfire. When held, the quills and arrows launched by other weapons pale in comparison to the burning onslaught of this weapon. Felhawk, like all fel-touched items, addicts the bearer.

-Survival: Talonclaw (HTRSRV)


Cleansed Spear of Azgalor

“Pride is like fire. You can use it to fight away the darkness, or you can be consumed by it.”

Azgalor the annihilan wielded many weapons over his brutal career. However, despite its murderous history, a brave orc refused to let the weapon’s history condemn it. He saw within a fraction of himself, and went to work purifying the glaive. Nameless, save for its former identity, the orc and his loyal wolf gave themselves to the world of spirits to disperse the fel taint, and imbue the sword with the power of the wilderness.


Ratszvet the Wicked Bloom

“Beauty fades, and that is why it is beautiful.”

The Botani are, in most circumstances, incredibly hostile to the races of Draenor and Azeroth alike. But, on rare occasions, there have been a few Botani who have provided small aid to those not of their race. And at times, it was not even an infected gift.

Wicked Bloom is one such item. Botani shape life in the same fashion that most races shape metal. Ratsvet is a Botani weapon symbolizing aid from strange places, and, more practically the leaves on the vine grow far sharper than any conventional blade, even those of grand, armor-piercing potency.

While the plant dies eventually in the same fashion a sword might wear down, it leaves behind a seed that, in proper soil, sprouts anew. For those wishing to commune with nature by testing their wits alongside an animal companion, no purer item exists.



“I was born of rage, and suckled by wolves/Before my hatred, your courage unfurls”

Freki is symbolic of a half-orc’s attempt to find a place in the world. Named after its original wielder, Freki was born to a human woman, sired by an orc shortly after the Dark Portal opened. She had hoped the child would be her husband’s.

But a mother’s love is strong, and despite the horrific consequences of the child’s birth, she could not bring herself to end the child. Her heart was torn, and was eventually the death of her, leaving the child in the care of her husband.

He raised the child, not with love, but without a great deal of hate. A stranger in his own home, raised away from others, he grew strong, and found that he took to the life of a woodsman, his foster father’s trade. The two worked as partners, and respect, if not love, grew between them.

He taught the boy to use wood to build, and how to pulp it and make paper.

The man admired the boy’s strength and intuition. One night in the woods, Freki saw a small fire in the distance, and snuck his way to the camp, seeing men and women who looked halfway like himself. Freki took a spear from the camp, returned to his home, and said goodbye to the woodcutter. He strode confidently into the orc camp.

He had to prove himself, time and time again, but found the orcs too savage. They did not appreciate the written word, and he went into the wilds, where he lived for many years, surrounded by lions and wolves, who became companions after a time.


Wyrm und Feure

“Where there is water, there is life.”

Water is not often associated with dragons. But, it is associated with druids. And, for whatever reason, the Night Elves and their associate the red dragonflight inevitably caused the two to blend together. But among those without a great affinity for magic, there are naturalists who instead embrace the beasts of those wild places.

A hunter in Hyjal loved the fishes of the mountain’s streams, and the ducks which congregated in its waters. A proud swimmer, the hunter and his companions simply enjoyed what the waters provided, and took great joy in navigating the rough boulders and surging rapids with a preternatural ease.

It is not often that semi-immortal dragons deign to pursue mortals. But the hunter caught the eye of a patron in the red dragonflight. To refuse the offer to become a dragonsworn is a similar rarity. Bemused, but not dissuaded, the dragon continued to entreat the swimmer, gifting them with artifacts, with sightings of rare animals, and with certain shelter in the evenings.

The hunter enjoyed the attention, and the game the two played.

One of those gifts was Wyrm und Feure, a weapon blessed by water and fire alike.



“I once got attacked by a bearskin rug, two days before it was a rug.”

Bearpaw is crafted in the shape of bears. It contains sinew and talons from bears, and a warming shawl of bear fur as well. To say the person who made this loved bears would be an understatement. It is a mystery who bore the weapon into battle, but the names along the length of the shaft seem to be the names of the hunter’s former companions. Or perhaps kills. Perhaps both.

It bestows the wielder with a bear’s strength and desire to protect their allies. In a rage, the bearer begins to take on other, more superficial bear-like traits.

At the deep barrow of a bear den, this spear rests, guarded by those the spear so symbolizes.

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3. Druid-[DRD]

-Balance: Scythe of Elune (DRUSE)


Wendigo’s Talon

“Free and far above.”

Crafted for the Ancient Aviana, Aviana’s talon is designed for aerial combat. It provides great boons to those who shift into bird-like forms, and provides unparalleled mastery over wind.

This weapon in particular found great usage among the Drakkari trolls, who received it as a gift from the Zandalari following one of the great Troll Wars. It became steeped in ice, and long, dark winters.

As is true for most artifacts belonging to the Druids of the Talon, the scythe provides several benefits which encourage spying. When held, it lets the wearer hear conversations on the wind. Most of these are from people in the wild. But what are the other voices?


Goldrinn’s Golden Fang

“It’s a steal.”

Despite warnings having to do with the claws of Shirvallah and Pack Form, some have tried to harness the power of Goldrinn to improve their astral magic.

In reality, this staff is a goblin counterfeit made almost entirely of kajamite. With the rare mineral almost depleted, and the lack of a druidic culture in Kezan, how and when this weapon came to be is uncertain, but what is known is that continued exposure does correlate to increased intellect.


Wailing Sickle

“When we scream/Our lips don’t make a sound”

Forged from sinew and bone in the Wailing Caverns, Wailing Sickle was made by the Druids of the Fang in response to the horrific aftermath of the Scythe of Elune’s banishment.

Unlike many warlock weapons, Wailing Sickle does not devour the souls of its victims, but it does take away their fears. A profound psychological effect is the screaming which emanates from the scythe. Somehow, it always sounds exactly like the target’s loved ones, and it always sound horrific.

Spells cast through the sickle are empowered and warped by the Nightmarish Rift of Aln, and deal as much damage to the target’s perception of reality as it does to their flesh.


Catrina, Sorrow’s Harvester

“Here I go again on my own/Walking down the only road I’ve ever known”

Some items sew misery and create a wake of hatred. Catrina is an exception. Crafted by Shatterspear druids, Catrina has long been used to ease the passing of the dying. It increases the wielder’s ability to inflict damage with astral magic. It also prevents those who die within a certain radius from being reanimated as undead.

Catrina is the name of the scythe, as well as the guardian soul within the blade. A kindly, exuberant druid, Catrina chose to become a tree at the end of her life, and the heartwood of the tree was used in the construction of the staff. Catrina’s age and lackadaisical nature generally reduce the amount of impactful advice she can provide, she is nonetheless a simple companion to a simple druid.

Because of the reasonably peaceful nature of the weapon, it does not appear in any frequently notable fashion in many relic references. It likely rests at the grave of its last wielder.


Starchild’s Kiss

“The cruelty of one will not blind me to the suffering of many.”

Starchild’s Kiss is made of a silvery-white metal which seems to collect the light around it. It was created by a balance druid in pursuit of a murderer which had been plaguing his community.

The pursuer, now known only as Starchild, grew hardened and ever more vicious in pursuit of this killer. The moment of truth came when Starchild was asked to come heal a woman wounded by the assailant. He declined, and continued his hunt. The stranger pleaded again with Starchild to come heal the woman, and again and again.

Eventually, he angrily followed the stranger home, hoping to get this mending done quickly to resume his hunt. What he found instead was the murderer, bound and tied to a chair. The townsfolk had grown frightened of Starchild, who spent more time hunting the elusive assassin on his own rather than turning to them for help. Without him, the managed to find the beast, and beat her within an inch of her life.

They waited for him to plant the killing blow, but faced with the injured woman, and shocked at his own uselessness, Starchild hesitated. Someone from the crowd had an outburst of anger, and lunged for Starchild’s weapon.

So honed were Starchild’s senses on finding this killer, he lashed out, and killed the villager. Wracked with guilt, he left, and let the townsfolk reap justice as they saw fit.

Starchild planned to leave, and never return, when the townsfolk came to him, and asked him to stay. Moved by the request, and vowing to never again lose sight of the community he had promised to protect.

Starchild’s Kiss’s demeanor depends on the manner in which one wields it. If used to focus on allies, it provides a calming influence towards foes, to better emphasize the druid’s magic in aiding friends. If used instead to hunt allies, it allows the bearer to see the footsteps of his prey wherever those steps are made under the light of the stars.

-Feral: Fangs of Ashamane and Guardian: Claws of Ursoc (DRUFA, DRUCU)

These are consolidated because there isn’t a lot of history to the items themselves, but the forms do have pretty good comparisons between the two specs.


Mor the Wastrel

“Every rose has its thorn/And every night has its dawn”

Mor is a tool passed down among druids of a splinter cult of Elune, that believes in the powers of blood sacrifice and sacrament alike. Blood spilled during these ceremonies can be used to make potent concoctions which make beasts of men.



“A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.”

Right, and its companion, Left, are aptly named fist weapons created from the fur, bones, and talons of an ancient druid.




““In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.”

The Druids of Summer could be considered a type of reform group among the Druids of the Flame. Rather than giving themselves wholly to the consuming power of flame, the Druids of Summer place heavy emphasis on solar magic, the bounty of summer, and the precious value of life.

Warriors by nature, they are thrillseekers, and take bold initiative in pursuit of their goals, even when prudence may be necessary.




““What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.”

The Order of Winter embraces the renewing power of snow. Some view them as nihilists due to their casual acceptance of death and decay. Rather, the Order of Winter cherishes an undervalued part of the natural cycle of things.

Left to grow indefinitely, a garden becomes wild, unruly, and unproductive. When managed and pruned by a careful hand, suffering can be eased, preventing aged animals from living with pain, or reckless consumption from ruining the chance for new growth in the Spring.

Druids of Winter embrace nature, and love to see it flourish. They hate to see waste for its own sake, but see their role as protectors of a natural order civilization tries hard to overcome.




“I am a stone/Unaffected/Rain hell down onto me”

Autumn is a time of transitions. While the Winter and Summer druids prioritize clear duties over the traditional emphasis on eternal Spring most Druids of the Wild follow, Autumnal druids find themselves caught between an order that inflicts death to preserve life, and one which recklessly protects and empowers life at all costs.

This emotional schism caused the order to die for the most part. Except, among the Gilneans. On the rocky shores and foggy rivers behind the Greymane Wall, the Harvest Witches flourished, some among them practicing and refining latent forms of nature magic and druidism.

When worgen joined the ranks of the Cenarion Circle, they brought with them many differing perspectives to how the night elves and tauren viewed the world. If anything, the trolls were more compatible than the Gilneans.

One of this beliefs was that fundamentally, industry and human (then worgen) spirits are part of the natural order of things. The steam boiler, the stagecoach, the harvest circle, all of these things and more were simply part of being one with nature.

Injected with this controversial, odd set of beliefs, the New Circle of Autumn within the druidic circles recognized by the Cenarion circle was reborn. Viewing nature as a set of interconnected links of logical power, rather than a set of discrete edicts, the Circle of Autumn’s druids proved their conviction by gaining mastery over variant forms which embraced more than simply the animal aspects of the wild; the stones and trees themselves were as much a part of these composite transformations as the beasts themselves.



Somnambulist Covenant

““I still get nightmares. In fact, I get them so often I should be used to them by now. I'm not. No one ever really gets used to nightmares.”

Druids, to some extent, understand the sacrifices that shadow practitioners and warlocks must undergo in pursuit of their power. But, most scoff, and return to their own efforts to protect nature and the world from infringement by aberrant Things. The Somnambulist Covenant does not hold those thoughts as truth, and take a long, hard look at the ongoing efforts of their darker allies.

The Somnambulist Covenant practices a form of lucid dreaming beyond that of most druids. They willingly enter the Nightmare, not out of madness or to seek power, but to infiltrate, and connive. They are willing to access and embody more sinister powers of the Nightmare, if only to understand how better to fight it, a sentiment shared by Demon Hunters.

Somnambulists penetrate circles of satyrs and Nightmare druids in efforts to disrupt and steal away their plans and power. The corruption they receive is not embraced, but nor is it rejected. Their slow decay of form and dawning insight into the nature of Things increases passively through exposure, building water droplets on a cool glass.

-Restoration: G’hanir (DRUGMT)

[This section is pretty lackluster, I’m sorry, it was just really uninspiring to me. Maybe you can use these and make something way cooler?]


Horns of the Great Stag

Long ago, a single stag stood bravely against unnatural creatures from the kelp forests deep under the Great Sea. It gave its entire soul and spirit into the defense of the shoreline, and refused to let the abominations make Landfall.

But, veteran though it was, it could not fight forever. Eventually, age, rather than violence, brought this heroic warden low.

As a reward for service to Cenarius, this enormous stag was transformed into a great white tree in the Crystalsong Forest, where it need not fear the shoreline evermore.



“Who, my name is what, my name is who”

Owls are creatures of the night, and to them, without a sun, the sky seems boundless. Skysend grants an owl’s wisdom and curiosity, as well as the ability to swoop down upon truth like a rat in the field.

Skysend holds souls in its branches. When living creatures under the effect of the druid’s healing magic die, their memories are protected from destruction in Skysend.



“Hope is a thing with wings.”

Lorelei bears its name for the wielder who bore it as a walking stick, picked up idly for its amusing shape. This wanderer carried it with her for her entirely life, seemingly immortal. When the kaldorei lost their immortality, she carried the item with her, until both were lost in their exploration of the elemental planes.



“Nothing stops the madness/Taunting, haunting, yearning/Pull the trigger”

Nighterror was once a holy thing. With nothing but air, it grew endlessly, and produced fruit that sated hungers and soothed pain. But a plant draws from its environment, and when moved into dark places, it can become blighted.

It was once a holy thing. When the Quel’dorei of what is now the Plaguelands chose to remain, placing hopes in their druids and rangers, they expected to survive, if not drive back the encroaching masses of rot and inevitable death.

But the more Nighterror was used to repair, the more prone accidents became. A capricious, dangerous thing mirroring its environment, the Quel’dorei abandoned their druids, and their hope as they fled south.

Among the fungal blooms, gripped in the skeletal hand of its owner, Nighterror waits.



“Moth don’t care when he sees the Flame. He might get burned, but he’s in the game.”

Mothcatcher was crafted by Arakkoa druids in Outland, long before the Fall. It draws unto itself small insects and birds, and infuses them with healing potency. This heals the animals and bugs, but also gives them a gift to spread back into the wild.

Druids who empathize greatly with these little living things make the greatest use of the staff, and can spread their healing will far and wide.

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6. Monk [MK]

-Brewmaster: Fu Zan (MKFZ)



“I will meet you along the Ghostwalk.”

The path of the brewmaster is not as simple as becoming too drunk to see straight and hoping for the best. There is also a supernatural aspect to it, and nowhere is this better embodied than in the staff Ghostwalk.

A possessed weapon of white birch, the brew that hangs at the end of the staff is mulled with ectoplasm, and allows greater communion with the grand brewmasters who once held the staff. Guided by visions of death and shades of tremendous skill, Ghostwalk can awaken great talents in the most novitiate of monks.

However, drinking ectoplasm is bad for one’s health, to say the least. Properly using the weapon requires a high degree of skill on behalf of the wielder. Once the basics of brewmastery have been obtain, the wielder’s use of purifying brews and qinggong lets them process the strange brew with minimal side effects.

Ghostwalk has been recovered due to its potential for abuse in the hands of inexperienced wielders. The ghosts trapped in the weapon are not malevolent by any means; but using their power requires a certain degree of power of one’s own.



“I can stop anytime I want.”

Totjiari is a brewmaster staff primarily focused on vanity. The cauldron attached to the staff has the potent property of using the wielder’s chi to modify any liquid placed into it and shaken. In practical purposes, this means that one who holds Totjiari is never without pure water or their favorite brew, or even things like nourishing soups. For people with big appetites like most pandaren, Totjiari is an invaluable companion.

The danger in the weapon, however, is the ability to brew extremely potent potables and venoms as well as advanced alchemicals. While the limits are constrained on the knowledge of the wielder, the potential to transmute poison and addicting substances for distribution are not to be understated.



“Be like water.”

A large part of brewmaster training is that, whether a monk is sober or not, they allow extremely honed intuition and instincts to take over for learned skills. While most brewmasters, indeed, prefer to augment this particular aspect of training by imbibing liquor, some among the Pandaren found themselves only more vulnerable under intoxication, or, worse, reliant on increasingly powerful booze to remain functional off the battlefield.

Given that quitting use of brews essentially negates a great deal of their functionality, it wasn’t long before an enterprising pandaren created a weapon like Sobriety.

Unlike the dulling effects of most alcohol, Sobriety uses enchanted water (the barrel is made from wood aged in the Pools of Youth) to sharpen one’s senses without making one too hyperlogical.


Dtang Ma

“Beware the bites of the largest dragons and smallest snakes, for either will leave you just as dead.”

A weapon crafted from the melted idols of mogu warlords, Dtang Ma is shaped in the shape of the cloud serpents formerly subjugated by the mogu. As such, it represents the ability of even a solitary individual’s capacity to kill and effect change.

In the hands of a brewmaster, the weapon hides several deadly traps; compartments for alchemical vials that can be sprayed out of the keg at the top, a reservoir for oil inside the serpent’s mouth, and others.

While most pandaren weapons are designed for elegance and minimal bloodshed, Dtang Ma is no such thing. Despite being symbolic of the mogu overthrow, the soulbinding techniques employed by that race leave lingering, hateful Mogu spirits inside of the metal. In the throes of combat, it pushes the wielder to excessive violence, often maximizing the suffering of those before the staff.


Dong Wei the Younger

“Beer is proof that God loves us.”

Dong Wei was born to a poor family of farmers.

Dong Wei was raised among the Shado-Pan.

Dong Wei fought against the Mantid, on the wall.

Dong Wei used the amber to make a refreshing brew.

Dong Wei gave the brew to his friends.

Dong Wei promised himself one final journey.

Dong Wei vanished, along with his recipe.

Dong Wei’s celebrated ingredient list was carved into the inside of the staff.

-Mistweaver: Sheilun (MKMW)


Tin Bell

“Hers was a voice of clear bells.”

Many monk implements originate with their founders, the Pandaren. This staff, however, originates from Sholazar Basin. Northrend explorers came across it resting at the center of a steamy pool. It stood, suspended over still waters, covered in rust and fungi.

The mists near the staff were soothing, wistful things that seemed to tease and ease at the explorer’s wounds. One woman decided to carry the item with her out on her adventurers. No matter how she swung it, it served mostly as a conversation piece, for the bell itself didn’t ring, even though by all accounts it should.

Though the staff eventually found its way into a collector’s vault of oddities, it was some years before it revealed it’s true purpose. Once the rust was cleaned, the fungi scrubbed away, and the Mists of Pandaria themselves dissipated, a manservant cleaning the collection found the bell rang in a clear, high note. And as it rang, small bits of fog appeared to condense around it.

Frightened, the man worried that the fog was the staff somehow breaking apart, and apologized profusely to his employer. Though it took some time, the staff eventually found its way into the hands of scholars, who revealed the staff’s ability to wield the mists.

The staff, however, remained unused once its nature came to light. This was the Tin Bell. It greatly increases the wielder’s affinity to the mists, but gradually dulls their senses to nothingness. For the selfless healer, Tin Bell is a transcendent weapon, capable of restoring far more than what one wielder is willing to lose.



“I will not die/I’ll wait here for you.”

Guardian was found in the ruins of Highmaul. While healers among the Ogre Empire are rare relative the more aggressive classes. However, Guardian demonstrates that they were not absent entirely. Primarily used to focus water magic into dense armor rather than swiftly absorbed waves of healing.

A half-elven monk, who had found acceptance after many years of wandering among pandaren was a thief long before she found the healing arts of the mists. And old habits die hard. She found this staff in what was seemingly a hospital near the arena.

Though the staff was taken from her when she fell into capture in Ashran, and since then, she has retired from a career as an explorer to find a simpler life as a clinical healer at a minor outpost in the Barrens.

Since then, Guardian’s defensive augmentations have yet to find a new bearer.



“It is always darkest before dawn.”

The Dawn Serpent Cult is a rumor denied by the Shado-Pan, for they commit one of the ultimate sins of the healing arts. Allegedly, this rumored sect mixes blood magic into their mistweaving, believing that the Mogu’s use of Anima was simply misdirected, not intrinsically evil. This cult allegedly perverts Yulon’s teachings, and also studies anatomy via living dissection.

Those who have survived encounters with the Dawn Serpents don’t agree with this perception. When their surgeries and red-tinged streams of mist have entered villages after tragedies, the villagers feel just as strong, if not stronger than before. Of course, some bear scars from the price of healing.

Gamt'eniisas epitomizes the beliefs of the Dawn Serpent, and is a great religious relic.


Red Tea

“King Crimson is never easy, It’s challenging, that’s why I like it.”

The history of this weapon is well known to Kex’ti Dalendala, who seeks it out for purposes unknown. Perhaps you should talk to him?


Po, the Low Soul

“You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.”

Many have tried to weaponize the sha. Some have even succeeded.

Po, the Low Soul, represents a pinnacle of triumphs. Condensing sha power into a non-sentient, non-non corrupting staff was no easy feat, and none have managed to duplicate these triumphs. Crafted deep in the woods on the Isle of Thunder, and recovered from same, Po allows the wielder to channel their darkest emotions into curative magics. While this undoubtedly causes the healing to become a bit painful to receive. Furthermore, the staff feeds on these emotions, and diminishes their control over their holder.

While an evil looking weapon, its function is surprisingly benign, and despite its singular existence, it is poised to function as a tremendously valuable tool for good.

-Windwalker: Fists of the Heavens (MKWW)



“The first rule of Brawler’s guild…”

This pair of cestus are given ritually to a reigning champion in the Ironforge Brawler’s Guild when they have kept the #1 spot for more than a year consecutively. The brutal spirit of unrestrained clandestine fighting has infused these powerful items, making them invisible as they are covered in blood, preventing foes from accurately seeing them.

It isn’t a fair weapon. But fair might be the last thing on your mind.



“Do not look at the Brown Stone Spire”

The quality of these Aqir-forged weapons is extremely high, and numerous techniques can be employed with them quickly and deeply. In short, it is a tremendously useful weapon to any hand to hand combat practitioner.

However, their curse is not something so dramatic as physical or mental harm. In fact, the curse can often be sought out explicitly, heedless of the weapons involved.

The pair of handblades draw oddities to the wielder. Birds flying backwards, mermaids from the bow of boats, oddly repetitive sets of hands in cards, those kinds of things. Nothing overly hostile, but strange. For someone seeking interesting events in their life, it is certainly a useful weapon both in and out of combat.



“Walk a mile in a man’s shoes, then you will have his shoes.”

Ra-Don are a set of katars crafted by a sin’dorei blood knight using captured fel essence. Not wanting to give up his source of magic, he meticulously chipped a fel crystal into shape. He made two successful weapons, and learned to wield both of them in conjunction with the Holy Light.

Despite his prowess, and the scholastic merits of studying his methods and thoughts, he inevitably abandoned the Light to side with Kael’thas, a Felsworn focus for the Prince’s warlocks.

The weapons lay in the corrupted scar on Quel’danas until eventually recovered by Sin’dorei archivists, who sent them to the frontline conflict currently ongoing against the Alliance in Pandaria, though they were lost in transit.


Tango’s Zero

“Blood, blood, gallons of the stuff.”

Tango’s Zero are a pair of combat claws possessed by a demonic spirit. The wielder is empowered with incredible reflexes and strength, but are filled with incredible bloodthirst. Force of will necessary to suppress this malign consciousness is often lacking in those willing to seek out the quick path to power.


God Hand

“The strongest are strong alone.”

God Hand is so named for the sheer destructive power it embodies. While it does little to improve it’s wearer’s physical condition or technique, and the approximate weight of 100lbs per hand are prohibitive, the hand detonates with tremendous force on impact.

God Hand has seen extensive use among tauren runemasters, and is passed from tribe to tribe as necessary for the survival of the tauren race, rather than a prize to be won. The tauren believe they alone are trustworthy enough to carry the weapon, and to use it only in dire conditions.

To win this incredible device, one must prove themselves worthy, and the circumstances essential.

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5. Mage [MGE]

-Arcane: Aluneth (MGEALN)


Sumner’s Riftstrider

“For I am a king of seven sorrows…”

Alleged to have belonged to the original author of the blink spell, Sumner’s Riftstrider compensates for nausea and disorientation which occurs from the use of successive blinks. The staff, however, is delicate due to its age, and most who come to possess it primarily use it for the amplifications it grants to teleportation and portal magic, and as such it usually belongs to old men maintaining gateways as part of their pension.

Though this is relatively a non-issue to the forgetful minds of the elderly, Riftstrider has a bad habit of moving on its own accord, and despite efforts to keep it on a stand or in a routine place in one’s home, when not watched, the staff inevitably teleports into closets, front yards, or, in the most recent case, out of Dalaran’s city walls and down into Crystalsong below.



“I look forward to our mutual…transaction.”

Embargo is a staff that belonged to a long line of ethereal spellcasters, who tend to claim ownership for a year or two, add more power to the staff, then sell it and retire. Given the high price asked by the weapon’s current seller, and the generally fair (if suspect in origin) trade agreements the Ethereals broker, it likely contains a great many spells unknown outside of the Ethereal conclaves.



“Food for the departed.”

Apple was named by the prodigy Idun, who crafted the staff at a mere eight years of age. Made mostly of malachite and iron, the small size of the staff makes it unwieldy in the hand of a fully-grown humanoid’s hands.

The power contained within is tremendous, for it bears the famed Idun’s Rubric, a spell of such paper that it is almost single-handedly responsible for quelling a city-wide fire during the years before the Worgen curse. Of course, no matter how powerful an enchantment is, it only augments innate abilities.

Idun wielded the staff until her untimely death on the day of her twentieth decade, leading to rumors of a cursed innocence which possesses those who bear the staff into battle; of those brave enough to take up the weapon, most are smaller folk like gnomes, goblins, and dwarves, whose simple dismissal of the illogical or unprofitable and stature make the weapon valued, rather than diminished, by its shape.


Greatstaff of Unlimited Potentiation[/i]

“Great events make me quiet and calm; it is only trifles that irritate my nerves.”

This staff carries with it a rumor that it was once a gift from Thrall to Jaina Proudmoore, based on the lightning and rare earth components that make up the staff. The truth is far more mundane.

It was a gift from an orc shaman to a human mage. During one of numerous peace talks in Theramore, a shaman was challenged by her peers to incite a duel between herself and one of Jaina’s coterie.

She succeeded, and the man stepped forward. Ultimately nonlethal, each was surprised by the other’s magic, and the duel ended in a draw after less than a minute, the shaman was knocked to her back by an arcane blast, while the mage was left with an uncomfortable twitch for several hours, once he’d recovered from the lightning surge.

When they next met, each brought with them a staff as a gift of respect. This was the weapon given to the mage, who perished in Theramore. Full of elemental lightning and infused with the tremendous power of the mana bomb, this weapon can unleash tremendous thaumaturgical force if the wielder can overcome the oppressive mana gradient inherent in the weapon.



“I’ve tried forever getting out on my own/But everytime I do this my way/I get caught in the lies of the enemy”

Illusion magic tends to be defensive in nature out of necessity. Most offensive-oriented mages prefer to learn combat evocation or conjuration magic. However, some find that either through whimsy or horror (it is rarely somewhere between these two extremes) that they can weaponize their phantasms.

Horrors of war can prove infectious, and while an illusionist may not delve into the psyche with their magic to the same degree that a shadow priest might, they nonetheless conjure images that terrify, and can even stop hearts if bold and bloody enough.

The whimsical, by contrast, merely entrap their foes in a hall of mirrors, preventing any successful response.

Oscuras was made by an illusionist to lend the powers of the imagination into the casting of spells, and allows an emotional conduit of power to an otherwise logical act.

-Fire: Felo’melorn (MGEFLR)



"May the sun shine forever in our hearts."

Taiyoh is said to have been crafted by capturing the essence of the horizon at sunset, capturing the power of pure plasma in its blade. True or no, the crystal on this weapon reflects and amplifies fire magic, and is well-suited for wizard duels, capable of transmuting spells into fire magic on the fly and then absorbing them.



“At peace with yourself? You will be.”

Silverflash was created by a pair of Jinyu for their blind son. The son swam normally, and heard the call of the tides among the best of his clutch. But there were many beautiful things in the world, and the Jinyu smith wished for his son to see them.

He bent water and ghost iron together to make a longsword, and gave the weapon to his partner, who bore the weapon down the rivers to the temple of the Red Crane. A monk, she trained long in the temple, and asked Chi-Ji to bless the blade. He did so, but instructed her to visit Xuen.

She returned home and told her husband, who repaired the sword, and shaped the pommel into the shape of a crane in flight. And so the wife went to visit the White Tiger. She trained there, and asked him for his blessing. He gave it, and instructed her to visit Niuzao, the Black Ox.

Once more, she came home, and her husband reshaped her blade into a wavering, claw-like blade in honor of Xuen.

At the temple of Niuzao, this process occurred once more, and Niuzao instructed her to find Yulon for one final blessing.

Her husband, on her third visit home, recast the blade in black and gold, to honor the Black Ox.

In the Jade Forest, the wife sought Yulon’s blessing. The Jade Serpent merely smiled, and told the woman she was blessed enough, and to return to her son. The woman stood defiant, and Yulon tapped a single claw on the blade, cutting a groove from the watery blade. Then the Jade Serpent sent her home.

The parents gave their son the sword. As he practiced with it, jade fire radiated from the blade, harmless to the touch, but what they burned on was visible to the son. While he adored the gift, and was tremendously thankful, he told his parents he did not need four blessings; he had two already. And as for his ability to see, he was, after all, a waterspeaker.

The sight-granting and magic honing power of the blade now merely waits for an honorable wielder.



“I am becoming everything/nothing!”

In the depths of Hellfire Citadel, Gul’dan raised an abomination infused with tremendous amounts of fel power, known as Xhul’horac. From a void revenant, a strange spirit of the Shadowlands, he had created something infinitely more monstrous and hostile to life.

How he accomplished this task is anyone’s guess. Warlock or no, void magic is mostly the province of other specialties. One truth might lie in the weapon itself. In life, both Ner’zhul of Draenor and Ner’zhul of the Lich King were manipulated into serving dark forces. Gul’dan knew of his other self’s failures, and a brief history of the Warlords and their counterparts. Ner’zhul’s soul was “lost” in the void, in this Draenor. In the past, it was sealed into a crown.

This weapon is clearly of Legion make, and was found in Xhul’horac’s room by draenei vindicators purifying the dark halls of Hellfire Citadel.



“Now this, is a knife.”

Ebonhawke has a storied history. First created by human smiths of Arator (due to the distinctive hooked blade), Ebonhawke was a nameless, standard infantry sword for many decades. The power within the blade came shortly after it was taken as a spoil of war by forest trolls, who gave it to one of their mages, who carried it for a lifetime before leaving it in Zul’aman.

During the Cataclysm, Ebonhawke was recovered by a dwarven paladin, who consecrated the weapon into his service. This same paladin went on to be part of the force which slew Deathwing. With his last breath, the paladin plunged Ebonhawke into Deathwing’s molten heart, where the light and magic it had become infused with reacted violently, killing the near-dead paladin with an explosion.

His body was laid to rest with Ebonhawke, which now glows with a pulsing blue hunger. Though it was a paladin that last wielded it, the infusion of elemental power makes Ebonhawk a remarkably strong focus for fire magic. The only difficulty lies in recovering it from the dwarven barrow in which it rests.



“Conversation by the sword”

Evankelista was recovered by orc armies in the Broken Isles shortly after Gul’dan’s attempt to invoke the Avatar of Sargeras. Though the weapon’s creators are unknown, it is seemingly of elven origin, and bears hallmarks of Highborne smithing techniques.

A sentient weapon, Evankelista empathically instructs it’s wielder in its use. Eventually gifted to a blood elven mage during the Northrend Campaign, Evankelista awakens in the hands of those with elven blood, whom it can communicate with easily in Darnassian, Thalassian, and several other elven dialects, as though it knew a mother tongue for all modern Elvish.

Evankelista’s most powerful feature is that it can also cast magic provided it is first used as a focus. Though its spells are far weaker than those the mage that wields it can execute, the principles of fire mages are often such that any extra firepower is a beautiful thing.

-Frost: Ebonchill (MGEEBC)



“Accustomed to awfulness.”

Foulbait is a slimy, fetid staff that looks horrifying to touch. And it ishorrifying to touch.

A Forsaken apothecary built Foulbait from alchemical runoff in his small laboratory. Knowing, due to paranoia or perhaps common sense that any suitably powerful staff would draw adventurers who wished to take it.

In antipation, he gradually built more and more dangerous traps throughout his complex, challenging those who wanted such a legendary relic for themselves, nevermind that it had been made essentially from garbage.

But so they came anyway. Hiding away in a small coffin in the floor, what brought him more glee than the successes of his alchemical products on market or the obstacles he constructed, was watching mages leave in disgust. No power was worth carrying that around.

Until, one day, another Forsaken came, and easily took Foulbait to parts unknown before the alchemist could leave his hiding spot.


Heartfire Spear

“I wanna be your man/Your lover and your friend”

Heartfire spears were crafted by the Kirin Tor for mages on the front lines, and were designed to keep their bearer warm in the coldest of environments.

A gnome mage came upon the idea of Heartfire when she witnessed one of her allies catch a cold. Lacking a healer in their small team, she endeavored to create an item to keep herself and allies warm on further expeditions.

She succeeded beyond her wildest reckoning by making a weapon that boiled the air around it. With a blistered hand a bruised ego, she abandoned the project after the first staff, not realizing the combat potential of such an item.

Because the staff is superheated, it belongs only in the hands of a powerful frost mage, who can keep their blood warm while channeling the deepest of colds, unbound by normal limitations, essentially preventing themselves from freezing over by the spear, rather than through force of will.


Eco, Hot Snow

“All is one”

Eco was created by a fire elemental who loved snow. Unlike the ash of the Firelands, the snowfall it witnessed on Mount Hyjal was something else entirely. But he wanted it for himself.

If only the snow was hot, like magma, he thought.

Despite the fall of Ragnaros, the fire elemental worked diligently to make an item that would contain the beauty of snow. However, fire elementals don’t have a concept of cold per se, only the absence of heat. In the end, the fire elemental requested the aid of a mortal mage.

The mage was instructed by the fire elemental, but in the end, the staff remained incomplete. The fire elemental had a bold idea, and though the mage hesitated at first, he eventually agreed.

The fire elemental itself was bound into the staff, where the elemental himself drains heat from the environment. Now, the fire elemental could see the snows he loved so wherever he went.


Aperture of Frost

“What killed the dinosaurs? THE ICE AGE!”

This weapon has a surprising origin among the Rimeborn furbolg. In some ways, furbolg society represents a throwback to ancient times, including an independent discovery of arcane magic, followed shortly after by its suppression. The furbolg haven’t quite gotten back to using the arcane, and rely primarily on shamanism for their spellcasting, but this relic shows a strange sociological cycle.

The Rimeborn are a small tribe in the Barrens. As one can imagine, the lack of any great deal of snow beyond their dens and glens points towards a magically controlled environment. The preponderance of cold magic traces its way back to the Aperture.

In any event, the Aperture remains a powerful tool even in the hands of shaman, and regular passes from master to apprentice upon the former’s death. While this is a relatively frequent event, the staff’s ability to focus energy into frost magic is truly profound, and has created an interesting focus on water and ice elementals among the Rimeborn shaman.

Despite this, the weapon’s true powers await a mage’s touch. While it empowers frost magic, it is unable to correctly associate with the spirits, and in many ways, the shaman who wield it are less adept with their magic than they would otherwise be.


Absolute Zero

“Congelo est”

There is a place in Northrend, where it is believed all cold stems from. In this icy grave of clawing trees and windless chill, this staff spears through the heart of a skeleton which resembles no Aqir, Draenic, Titan, or even native race of Azeroth.

Here the air grows thin, and memory itself becomes crystalized and frozen in icy statues in the glaive, forming Akashic replicas. If removed, would the skeleton and these perfect hopes and dreams come loose? Or could you use them to preserve things in their entirety?

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((First, nice Boktai reference and I like the Lore of that sword. Second... I didn't know my old mage created the Blink spell =P. I used to have a human mage named Sumner who wore the Tirisfal set or at least all red, he met an unfortunate end. Don't change anything though, it wasn't his real name and now I like the idea that he took the name after reading it in a book about the spell Blink and he did get into portal magic near the end too.))

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7. Paladin [PDN]

-Holy: The Silver Hand [PDNSH]



Lord Vessel

“Listen well boy, there are two bells to ring. The Parish Above, and the Blighted Fog down deep below. And their guardians still thirst for your cursed blood.”

Along with Bloodrite, these maces form a set of weapons that were once held by the legendary hero Gwynn. With one of the weapons in each hand, the hero-king led his armies to victory time and time again against the endless forces of the Black Empire.

Lord Vessel was a weapon so infused with the Light that it single-handedly guided the souls of the fallen to itself, rather than the dispersion that typically comes at the end of life. The longer his crusade ran, the brighter Lord Vessel shone as the armies he led fell to the cursed wave of Aqir.

When the Old Gods had been driven into their prisons and the Titans left Azeroth, its making complete, Gwynn eventually lost his faith, and sacrificed the incredible essences trapped in his hammers in an attempt to secure for himself immortality.

Lord Vessel remains lost in the shifting sands of southern Kalimdor, where some trace of these ancient and powerful souls may linger within, though the souls within will doubtlessly search for a worthy hand to commit their stories to history.




“What’s that smell? The sweet blood, oh it sings to me. It’s enough to make a man sick.”

Recently reovered from the dark heart of the Silverpine Forest and secreted away by agents of Sylvannas or Greymane (depending on whose whispers you choose to believe), Bloodrite is the second of Gwynn’s two hammers, and has been far more prolific in history.

Bloodrite is so named for the ritual that was performed upon entrance into Gwynn’s forces against the Aqir. Each soldier spilled an ounce of their own blood, which was then delivered to a large cauldron in which sat the mace, which easy absorbed the iron and life contained within. Adorned in sigils and runes, Bloodrite may be an influence on the vampiric runeblades of the millennia hence.

Bloodrite was first recovered far adrift from the rumored resting place of Lord Vessel, and was picked up in what is now known as the Badlands, where it has found a way into the hands of heroes and villains alike such as Nefarian, various Gilnean terrorists/liberators, and one particular gnome. But the greatest user were the bloody San'layn princes, who passed the weapon between themselves to avoid wasting any blood from their conquests.

While Bloodrite is no doubt diminished by its time out of Gwynn’s hand, and the corruption of the San'layn, it will certainly find a place on the bloody fields of modern Azeroth. It takes a firm hand and strong mind to pick up, let alone wield, such a sin-drenched implement.




“We have watched and we have waited. Now we act.”

Darliske, or Foereaver, is the blessed weapon of Alcadeias, a Chosen Templar of the Argent Dawn. A notable paladin healer of the Third War, Alcadeias retired his weapon and libram to find a simple career in politics in Stormwind.

When the Red Portal opened, Alcadeias began to prepare himself to re-enter the fray, but was implored to stay by his fellow councilors. He soon found why, when he was forced to wield the Light to chastise those among the government who had fallen to insanity under the machinations of the Faceless Cult.

However, he knew that he stayed behind for another reason; he was only human. And he had only so long left. And so he passed on this blessed, legendary weapon onto history.


Borne Aloft

“Time has stopped. Death is extinct. Forever is now.”

Arakkoa have always longed for the sun, and nowhere was this more true than among the Arakkoa Outcasts that found themselves in the Lower City slums of Shattrath. Exiled first from the sun and sky, then from their madness-ridden people, their destitution and reliance on shadows and illusion condemned most of them to waiting for a day that would never come.

The Sun the Arakkoa once used on Outland, and still use on Draenor, is similar in many ways to the Sunwalkers and their ability to access the Holy Light through the intermediate of An’she. The draenei, too, have held paladins in high regard for as long as they rested on Draenor. But it was not until Arakkoa of the Lower City bore witness to the Sunwalkers that they saw a glimmer of hope, the day of dark clouds finally burning away.

In haste, one of the birdmen, Rurans, set to work learning the mysterious ways of the Holy Light and all its numerous splinter sects. As she did so, she came across an accursed Skettis hammer once alleged to belong to King Terokk.

Her first duty to her new faith was to infuse the cursed weapon with light.

-Protection: Truthguard [PDNTG]



Et’hel, Shield of the Star Sea

“The glow of the Light reaches out even to the stars.”

The shield and sword alike are crafted from a metal which feels soothing to touch, and calms the spirits of the turbulent. Extremely light and incredibly durable, Et’hel fosters a subtle inner light, and those who wield it do so most successfully when they burn their conviction and faith internally.

Et’hel rewards such careful conservation by building holy energy in response to the fervor of the wielder, rather than wielding the Light for wanton acts of smiting and healing.



“The tree may break when the branch does bend.”

Oakenshield is a former High Elf relic passed down from mother to daughter since the times of the Highborne, and was once worn by no less than a captain in Azshara’s honor guard. It passed down, hand to hand, arm to arm, until the present day.

Aluria Brighttress received the shield from her mother as an honor of becoming a Blood Knight, shortly after the capture of M’uru. Using her stolen light and the ruthless history of her shield, Aluria fought proudly in service of Quel’thalas as Lorthemar Theron sent his people to Outland to reunite with Prince Kael’thas.

Filled with spite for the Prince’s betrayal, Oakenshield and Aluria found themselves deployed time and time again to the vanguard of the assault on Tempest Keep. When he fell, the pair found themselves sent to the Black Temple. It was only when the Shattered Sun gathered that Aluria found her patriotism diverging from those of her fellow Sin’dorei.

She had no interest in ceasing the way she accessed the Light, for she herself lacked the faith necessary to do more than borrow it. As she stood at the threshold to the Void God M’uru’s chamber, she steeled herself, for Quel’thalas.

Brighttress survived the battle, but Oakenshield, and her short career as a paladin did not. Broken under the blackened light of M’uru, the weapon was infused with a strange sort of energy, its shard the only pieces remaining.

Having no further use of it, and no interest in children, Brighttress reluctantly parted with the shards for a hefty sum.



“Everything on this world exists because the Makers have given it life and purpose.”

Miar was one of the dwarves sealed away in the Storm Peaks shortly after the curse of flesh begin to afflict his people. Young at the time of his sleep, Miar waited for the day he would conduct heroic deeds in the Titans’ name. Unfortunately for Miar, the only remnant of his consciousness at the time of discovery was his name, in dwarven runes at the base of the pedestal upon which he waited reawakening commands from the Watchers.

Thought to simply be a statue, rather than a living creature, Miar was melted down and recast as this fine shield. When the command to awaken finally reached him, Miar found his wielder, a lightsworn paladin, and a dwarf, a suitable end (or beginning).

Self-aware and with a broad depth of knowledge of the Titans and general engineering principles, Miar seeks a similarly curious wielder, now that his first owner has joined him in more esoteric service to his own faith.



“I fear no enemy, I fear no battle, I fear no sacrifice.”

The second of Rurans’s relics, this shield was created to stand alongside Borne Aloft as her paladin’s implements. In reality, only Borne Aloft followed her into battle, and Shadowguard’s enchantments remained unfinished.

The loose holy magic in the shield is somewhat of a mixed blessing. Intended to channel Ruran’s newfound faith to banish away the shadows she once called home, Shadowguard proves remarkably aggressive against even allies, lashing out with burning sunlight at allies and enemies who fight alongside the paladin. As such, it makes it a risky, loner’s weapon.

It’s possible that Shadowguard could be repaired, and brought to focus its attacks only on foes. But finding a master Arakkoa smith skilled in the ways of light and shadow surely is no mean feat…



“From a single candle, many lights can be lit without diminishing the light of the first.”

Shimmershard’s original bearer is of singular interest simply for their identity: the first, and perhaps only, elemental to draw on the powers of the Light. While elementals have been tainted by the Void, or shackled to it, few have drawn on the power of the Holy Light, either for good or for ill. Whether this is faithlessness or simply an inability to utilize it compared to the mortal races, is unknown.

However, Grulgor the earth revenant was a clear exception.

While elementium weapons are uncommon, they are not rare due to their proliferation since the Cataclysm in the hands of the Twilight Cult, as well as from deep under Blackrock Mountain with the Dark Iron Exodus. But this elementium shield is pulled seemingly from the ore itself, with little refining. As such, it serves as a powerful implement against elemental and Old God forces, but the weight and unwieldy shape make it shield for specialists.

The close proximity of the weapon to a natural elemental has caused it to become saturated with elemental power, such that the one carrying it finds that their Light magic is infused with elemental power. Their healing spells are imbued with water, their blessings with earth, their light-fused blades burning with flame, and their spirits uplifted by air itself.

It is no surprise that most of the races of Azeroth that regularly pursue paladinhood are those with ties to the elements, and perhaps this shield illuminates some of the causality for that juxtaposition.

-Retribution: Ashbringer [PDNAB]


Sin, Child of Ash and Mourning

“In the dark all is laid bare.”

Sin is a weapon befitting the hands of the most bitter and self-assured paladins. In its forging, a single shard of the fabled axe Shadowmourne, (itself based on Frostmourne) as well as a fragment of Ashbringer to craft a weapon of consuming shadows and purifying light. Intended to function equally well in the hands of a death knight or paladin of the Ashen Verdict, Sin finds its true power in those who have either embraced the Light to escape the dark, or turned away from the Light to step into the shadows.



“Elms are parts of many types of forests.”

Elm is weapon forged by the Hozen, of all races. And, the quality is surprising. A brilliant smith, Klooka-Koona is a prodigy among prodigies. Seeking a weapon that embodied the Horde paladins which rescued his tribe, he forged this green-hued sword from pure trillium.

When infused with the Light, Elm creates an aura about its wielder that invokes severe stomach cramping against struck foes, and a pleasant earthy scent.



“Summer is so short, and winter can last a lifetime.”

Infused with the power of the Maelstrom, only a paladin can wield this blade safely due to the immense power backlash. As paladins embody and channel the light, it heals and strengthens their bodies, as well as disperses the magical power inherent in Daybreak.

The original sword was a warrior’s weapon brought to fight Deathwing. During the battle, the warrior received a blessing from a shaman ally that infused his sword with spirits of air and lightning. After a few vicious strokes against the dragon, molten fury destroyed the warrior, and the sword captured his final emotions by violently exploding.

Dredged from the bottom of the sinkhole by unknown hands, the sword was remade, but remained infused with elemental power, and beyond the scope of most to wield it. To those who can bear the electrifying, painful force of the blade, it serves as an awesome crux of deadly intent to those who would stand against the fury of the Light.




Hraevelgsr was created as a response to the intrusion of Kvaldir into the lands of the Kalu’ak. Crafted from equal parts scavenged dragonbone and titanium, Hraesvelgsr was forged in the boiling pools of the nearby hotsprings, and blessed by tuskarr shamans. It was quenched in the icy winds of Northrend’s coldest bay,

Intended for a champion of the Light, Hraevelgsr saw combat only once.

While the tuskarr couldn’t see through the fog, they heard the sounds of flashes of light that accompanied their chosen paladin. When the fog cleared, the Kvaldir and man were gone, and Hraevelgsr was wrapped in seaweed. After that climatic battle, Hraevelgsr was enshrined, and the Kvaldir never returned to accost the village.

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1. Death Knight-[DTK]

-Blood: Maw of the Damned (DTKMD) 490299.jpg

Accalia’s Howl

“Old habits returned as she kept to the fringes to avoid attracting attention. But it wasn't fear and bitterness that made her do so now; only practicality”

The heroes who saw Accalia’s banishment were not the only observers.

A sinister force captured the essence of her last Howl, and used the corruption to develop several magical spells. The last fragment of the essence was crafted into this great fel iron axe. A portion of the corruption saturates the axe, and to those who can retain their sanity, find their fortitude greatly bolstered.

When wielded, a living creature finds their mind invaded by pervasive torment and horror as they’re exposed to their deepest fears repeatedly. However, this weapon was clearly intended for undead hands, who do not hear their horrible whispers and faults.

That fate remains for the wielder’s target.




Foltering was drawn whole, inch by inch, from a pool of mercury in Deepholm, and frozen into shape by Mogu soulbinding. Foltering was made recently; of all the items collected in this vault, it is the newest.

Foltering combines a brutal practicality with horrific methods of torture. Each cut from the weapon draws the soul out of the target, and binds fragments into the weapon. Those that survive the axe blows, and the poisonous effects of mercury, and left only partially intact.

The souls bound to the weapon can be consumed to restore vitality to the weapon’s wielder. However, these souls are also the ones that keep the blade from returning to liquid, so the user must be careful not to allow the blade to fall apart as they strike.


Heron’s Lariat

“Die? That’s what people DO!”

The heron priests of the Swamp of Sorrows are universally reviled by those who know of their existence. Dressed wholly in feathers and masks, they ply the waterways of the marshes seeking victims, who are drawn into strange, nest-like dens and are tormented for the (short) remains of their lives.

After the captive is killed, their skin is stitched back up around rocks to form a puppet-like creature that is set loose to torment stray wanderers in the swamp. The heads of these puppets glow bright, like a lantern, baiting in the unwary.

The priests use the blood to power dark magic, and the gnawed bones to make armor and weapons.

One such creation is this greataxe, the Heron’s Lariat. The axe slices into the hands of the wielder, somehow piercing metal and mesh without scarring armor. It drinks this blood, and then infects those struck by it, allowing a necromantic wielder some degree of control over those unfortunate enough to be struck by it.

The heron priests use this property to make puppets out of the women and children they abduct far before their demise.



“We broke it. Yes, we were naughty. Completely naught. So, so very sorry. But just between you and us, it felt quite good.”

To call Aer anything less than a Great Scythe is a dismissal of the immense killing power such a blade possesses.

Made for a draenei death knight, some hallmarks of the weapon indicate its draenic origins, if none of their sanctimoniousness. The immense size of the man was enough to heft the blade, but a counterweight at the end of a chain is necessary to swing it properly without throwing oneself off balance. The serrated blade allows for extreme bloodletting, much to the joy of the bearer of the scythe.

Those of sufficient strength might be able to wield Aer without trouble, but in truth it requires either immense stamina or an undead wielder to not tire the user out after a few swings.



“And if you can’t stop shaking/Lean back let it move right through ya (Hallelujah)”

It is no small occurrence for a death knight to have been a former paladin, but few use the same weapon in life as the one they held in death. Amen belonged to a human paladin named Liam Mircave, who was as devoted to the Holy Light as they came.

Born to noble origins, Liam strove to overcome the greed and politicking that accompanied his family, and left behind his inheritance to fight the evils of the Scourge. He commissioned, using what money he managed to scrape together before announcing his intentions to the family Matriarch, a runed axe designed to slay undead.

The runes were easily converted to symbols of the Scourge by Ymirjar smiths, and Amen became Liam’s tool of inquisition against the ranks of the undead, in a strange parody of the Scarlet Crusade he hated in life. By culling the duplicitous and strong of will from the ranks, the automatic utterings of final judgment became a part of the weapon’s fearsome reputation; his will broken, his mind all but gone, Liam still managed to say “Amen” as he cut dissidents down.

Like most death knights left in Icecrown Citadel, Liam never broke free of the Lich King’s control, but his weapon was returned to his family in Duskwood.

-Frost: Blades of the Fallen Princes (DTKBFP)


Marrowgar Rides Again


Marrowgar’s spirit lives on in these runeblades, which were taken from the amalgamation’s corpse and sharpened into horrific weapons befitting a scourgelord. Marrowgar’s malign sentience pervades the bastard swords, acting as competitor and ally for the control of the death knight.

Magically conjured bone augments the wielder’s frost magic, which is of significant benefit, as few foes are capable of resisting physical and cold magic in tandem.


Harrower and Hope

“Don’t you ever say I just walked away/I will always love you.”

Hope and Harrower are enchanted to freeze water in the air to form its cutting edge. When empowered by a death knight’s rune magic, this ice shines with mystic potency, creating a dazzling array of colors that disorient and distract foes even as the knight rips them apart with magic and melee.

Made for a death knight who returned to her family after the battle for Light’s Hope freed her from the Lich King’s control, the smiths refused to give up on the soul inside the warrior. Harrower causes the pain the death knight unleashes to alleviate more of their blood madness, while Hope alleviates the misery they suffer when not on the battlefield.

Potent weapons for these qualities, few death knights seek them, a cynic stoicism long causing them to dismiss any desire or inclination to return to normalcy.



“A white gardenia must always wither,”

The permafrost on these blades gradually drips away, but never seems to fully dissolve, even in hot climates. The reason for this is actually quite simple: it drains blood from their master to replenish themselves.

By consuming the semblance of life from their wielder, these swords gradually grow in strength until they devour their bearer’s body and soul.

In exchange for this guaranteed doom, Gardenia augments magic and physical reflexes several times over.

With each life the blades take, a single petal from a flower appears in the ice.


Centurion and Bitterblossoms

“Standing tall once set us apart/Now we’re down on all fours/Do you cry my name in the dark/Like I do yours?”

A guard vowed to protect his allies with his life, and he failed.

A druid vowed to save her allies from death, and she failed.

Once they met in undeath, a resonance grew between them. One was purple, the other pink, it did not matter which was which.

They learned from one another, and died, once more, together. When wielded together, these weapons allow a wielder to awaken their deadened emotions, and thrive within them. Though they steal life from those they strike, they do not harm the soul. But with each life taken, signs of life begin to return.

In death, the guard protects the wielder’s life. In death, the druid heals the bearer’s heart.



“As I nodded, nearly napping/Suddenly there came a tapping/As of someone gently rapping/rapping at my chamber door.”

Rook can mean many things. It is a piece in chess. It is also a bird. It is also the uncanny statement that occurs whenever the wielder casts a spell through the sword. While most runeblades add a degree of awareness to their bearers, the Nevermoor utilize animals (usually birds) in the environment to relay information to their wielder with the warning: “Rook rook.”

When rooked, the death knight can close one eye to view through one of the possessed animals about. Of course, managing this perception in combat is a skill of itself, and the complexity of use often leads to these blades being underused.

-Unholy: Apocalypse (DTKAP)



“Cut the rope I fell to my knees/Born and broken every single time.”

Sever is enchanted to augment its cutting power, and does very little to augment it’s wielders control of undead. However, there is a price for the incredible potency it grants melee attacks: it immediately severs the head of a nearby undead. To avoid being the undead targeted, it’s important to keep a profound collection of disposable undead minions.

However, this vorpal weapon has unerring accuracy when aimed through a foe’s guard to slice the head of a foe living or otherwise.


Spine of Xaphan

“Throw off your shackles of life, and exist permanently, free.”

Xaphan was a necromantic dreadlord who found that torturing his pawns brought him far greater satisfaction than using them to tactical ends. While often the two coincided (by sending a reanimated and aware farmer to kill his family to create a haven for the Cult of the Damned), the joy of the former overran the latter.

After one horrific deed too many, one orc death knight found that his hatred and anger overcame Xaphan’s commands. The orc wielded the dreadlord’s spine out of vengeance, and also due to the tremendous power it gives over undead. However, the weapon glows brightly to fel sighted creatures, and draws them from a great distance.

Currently, a satyr necrolyte holds the blade.



“Silence is true wisdom’s best reply.”

Silencer consumes sound about it. In the transition to undeath, many senses are dulled or eliminated entirely. Crafted for a deaf death knight, Silencer is a potent tool against spellcasters, and easily disrupts conventional verbal components while the death knight presses the offensive.

A favored tool for death knights who were once rogues, Silencer allows its bearer to sneak and hide with a great deal of efficiency while guiding their living and undead allies to various ambush points.


Khopesh of Uldat-Le

“Ironically, the order once used it to behead…”

This fine weapon was made by Farraki trolls as part of a mummification ritual. Something went wrong, and the smith quenching the blade was compelled to behead his neighbor. Thankfully, the attempt failed, causing nearly twenty priests and smiths alike to seize the weapon and behead its former bearer.

When the metal had cooled, it had inadvertently sealed their souls within.

Swinging the Khopesh causes a dust storm to rise, from which spirits can be bound to mortal-shaped sand creatures fully subservient to the wielder. If the user is not a troll, however, they find that the spirits, once foes are dead, turn on the bearer.


Ragnarok, Twice-Cursed Sword

“Your end draws neigh.”

Crafted from Omen’s fang, this sword utilizes the madness of the ancient and the fel taint within, then stains it with undeath. Simply put, the sword’s sheer corruption gradually drives even the heartiest of wielders to madness, to say nothing of the disdain others show the one who bears it.

But in exchange, the tremendous power of the blade seeps into the wielder’s physical and magic attacks, and bends even the strongest of demons and undead to the bearer’s command.

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