Honed Iron Greatsword of Agony

Honed Iron Greatsword of Agony glints under the oil lamp, a broad blade of weathered steel that looks as if it could kiss the air and slice it in half. Its edge is honed so precisely that the light seems to hesitate along its bevel, catching on faint blue saturations where the heat of the forge once lived. The fuller runs a proud scar down the blade, a dark line that marks the path of hours spent tempering and testing, while the iron itself bears a patina of small nicks and stories—every dent a memory from a duel, every chipped corner a reminder of a siege endured. The grip is wrapped in cracked leather that has been treated to hide sweat and fear, the metal guard bearing a glyph etched in a tired copper tone—a reminder that this weapon was meant to carve not just flesh, but fate. A ring on the pommel clicks softly when shaken, as if the sword itself is listening, weighing the intentions of its bearer before it answers the call to swing. Lore threads swirl around it like smoke. Some say the Honed Iron Greatsword of Agony was tempered in a furnace that burned with the memory of fallen comrades, forged by the Ironwrights—smiths who believed that a blade should remember its wearer’s pain and return it to the battlefield with brutal clarity. Others whisper that it once belonged to a champion who faced the worst of wars and learned to walk through agony rather than around it. The name itself carries weight: Agony, not simply as a feeling to endure, but as a measure of resolve, a reminder that the weapon’s true charge lies in turning a moment of weakness into a decisive cut. Whether these tales are legends or half-truths matters little to the world that uses the blade; what endures is the sense that this iron speaks through the hand that wields it, urging a pause followed by a surge. In the heat of skirmish, the sword earns its keep. It is a two-handed greatsword built for sweeping arcs and crushing blows, the kind of weapon that turns a line into a break, a nightmare into a doorway. Fighters who crave control on the front line appreciate the way its weight anchors a swing, the way the blade’s temper holds when the air grows smoky and the shields bloom with sparks. It rewards careful rhythm—a cadence of lunge, then rotate, then release—so that the agony in its name translates into real pressure on armor and sinew. For those who build around sustained strikes and condi­tion transfers, the weapon binds easily to their stories: it asks for no flourish beyond intent, only timing and a stubborn, stubborn will. When the market breathes in the late afternoon, a stall at Saddlebag Exchange rustles with rumors and rival prices. A weathered vendor eyes the Honed Iron Greatsword of Agony, weighing the blade against the coins he could fetch for it, telling tales in a river of salesmanship about the blade’s history and its tested edge. A serious buyer offers a trade of precious mats and a few favors to secure it, but the seller leans back, confident that the sword’s reputation will carry it to the right hands. In the end, the price isn’t just currency; it’s an acknowledgment that this weapon belongs to a larger narrative—one carved into the hands of the next fighter who dares to swing, to endure, and to prevail.