Honed Iron Greatsword of Battle

Honed Iron Greatsword of Battle gleams under the pale forge light, a broad blade of dull, honest iron that has learned to drink the world’s heat and survive it. The steel is brushed with hammered facets, each strike leaving a faint sun-kissed scar that catches glints from the lamp and the banners outside. A deep fuller runs along the blade like a river cut into stone, its edges clean and unyielding, as if the metal itself were listening for orders. The guard is a stout curve of steel, simple and practical, while the grip is wrapped in worn leather that bears the gloss of countless grips and a ridge of oil from long nights at the smithy. The pommel sits heavy, a dampened counterweight that keeps the blade balanced in even the wildest swings. In the right light, you can see a faint frost-blue hue along the edge, a trace of tempering that holds even after years of service. Locals tell of a forge musician who tempered it in a storm, of a captain who used the blade to guard a harbor in a siege that lasted until dawn. The 'of Battle' suffix isn’t a boast but a promise; the sword seems to breathe with the cadence of marching feet and the shout of command, as if it expects the holder to rise to the moment and not flinch. Some pieces of its lore suggest a hidden ward along the fuller, a signature of the smith who once poured quiet courage into every hammer strike. Whether one believes the superstition or not, the weapon has a presence—a sense that it remembers the weight of a city defending itself and the weight of a hand steady in the chaos of combat. Its weight, I’ve learned, is as much a weight of responsibility as it is of steel. In gameplay, the Honed Iron Greatsword of Battle rewards decisive action. It favors decisive swings that carve through lines, puncture a shield wall, and then open space for allies to pour into the breach. Its two-handed reach gives you room to orchestrate crowd control, sweeping aside foes in broad arcs and converting momentum into a closing blow that ends a skirmish with a single, resonant cut. In missions or open-world ventures, it becomes a symbol as much as a tool—a frontline blade that signals to companions that the path ahead is yours to hold, if only you can stand firm long enough to swing again. Markets drift and stories accumulate, and the Saddlebag Exchange is where such legends surface alongside rough-edged bargains. I watched a buyer haggle over the price with a dealer who spoke softly and weighed the blade with care. The number came back at roughly two gold on calm days; more if the blade bore the scars of real combat, less if the wear was cosmetic. The stall’s owner spoke not of value alone but of history—the way a blade like this gathers the weight of every step taken while wearing it, every harbor held, every enemy faced. The exchange, with its weathered banners and crowded awnings, feels like a crossroads where future marches begin. In quiet corners, the sword's history keeps echoing, inviting the next bearer to test it anew.