And so the Stormhammer was to be remade…
Upon the lonesome summit, within the shadow of Aerie Peak did this ceremony take place. The anvil most ancient and blackened, carved from the weathered stone that’d protruded the ravaged plateau. A gathering of kin bearing the cradled halves of the Stormhammer, carried to be laid upon the anvil, spread apart. A Stormhammer’s head was traditionally forged from thorium, whilst the handle was often varied by the taste and wishes of its current master. In this case, it was a skilled effort to implement thorium, storm-silver and iron; almost ‘Damascus’ in appearance.
Though an anvil it was placed upon, the ritual that is practiced here to make the two halves whole again, is not corrected by that of hammer nor magma. For the power of these thunderous weapons stems ultimately from the generations who’ve left their already mark upon them; like a tapestry, these hammers adorn the successes and shame of all who’ve wielded them. And so once more must be called forth, for their blessings must be offered. Else the runes are destined to be left cold upon the weapon’s cheek, no more to be re-ignited.
The ominous weather slowly begins to circle above them, as the storm turned tempest whilst the High-Shaman, Grongul Stormheart, stood alone atop the moss-ridden stone. A beckoning of the elements, battering both charred vegetation and flesh alike. Whilst two artisan blacksmiths, Barkor and Mairede Thunderfist prepared mighty, grappling the two halves as they’d socket them closer until almost touching. A final blessing then from a Gryphon Master, Haelga Stormheart, for whom had great standing within the family for generation - for her job was to summon forth the ancestral spirits of the Stormhammer; those who’ve long slumbered.
Thane Grahda Stormheart…
Borlahn Stormheart…
Thane Olgan Stormheart…
Karban Stormheart…Indeed, the weapon’s might did not care for title and Thaneship alone, but for anyone who’s more than proved worthy in the eyes of their predecessor. Upon each brief visit between the storm of these passing shades, did they implemented both wrath and acceptance of the newly appointed wielder. Their blessing forced through the hand of the High-Shaman, directing the raw energy back within the inscribed runes of old. This power didn’t stay idle however, for the lingering potency within longed to escape - to which the artisan blacksmith had to hold steady and aligned.
Both ferocity and power encircled the summit, upon the final blessing earned by the weapon’s deceased creator did the power increase ten-fold. More than what the two blacksmith could handle, for any and all who where present offered their strength to the joining of head and shaft.
A terrible struggle followed, unable to allow the raw energy leave or escape, the family did finally manage to unite the two halves - locking it’s haft within the bored hole of the head.
A lasting arch of lightning forked, pummelling the ancient weapon. The retreating family stood back, their vision blinded as they’d lower before it’s majesty.
Between the pitted flames and charred stone, the Stormhammer glowed a vibrant hue of blue. It’s inscribed runes pulsating a cold white, crackling as escapes of whisping static crawls away from the head.
Mohr’Grum, the heirloom of Clan Stormheart had been reborn.
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