Knight's Stormcaller Hammer rests on a rain-slick workbench, its head a block of tempered steel engraved with pale blue runes that shimmer with every breath of wind in the room. The face carries a weathered patina and a dozen tiny nicks, proof of battles fought under open skies. The grip is wrapped in worn leather, tight and cool, and at the haft's end a brass emblem—an armored knight beneath a rising storm—is pressed into the metal. When you lift it, a cold pull runs along your forearm, as if the sky itself were guiding the weapon. Lore says it was forged atop a cliff where storms gather, the sigil bound into the head by an order devoted to weather and duty. Some say it hums softly when storms approach, like a distant thunder organ waiting to play. On the field, the hammer acts as a conductor. A swing hums with static, a crackling arc that seems to jump from foe to shield. A follow-up blow trenches wind to shove opponents apart, while the weapon's aura calls allies to attention, a visible pledge of judgment. In steady hands it rewards timing: slice into a ring of enemies, then unleash a heavy pulse that staggers the crowd and flickers healing light over nearby teammates. The grip invites shoulder and arm into the storm, a weapon that thrives when paired with coordinated charges and a careful, protective strike. In the right hands, its storms are a disciplined companion, not a reckless roar. Market rumor swirls through the stalls as dawn light filters through canvas. Near Saddlebag Exchange a roving trader hawks wares and whispers about the Knight's Stormcaller Hammer, its price rising with each storm remembered and dropping with calm skies. A wind-swept purchase, with the price swinging toward a premium when a storm is due and loosening when the heavens stay still. A practical buyer nods; in this market the hammer is less a brute tool than a beacon—a guarantee that a single strike can turn fear into order and story into reality. The air is thick with wool, leather, and rain, and a traveling minstrel threads a tune as a child tugs at a glove to catch a glimmer of the blue runes. Thus the hammer travels beyond forge to battlefield and back into town lore. It is more than metal and leather; it is an emblem of purpose, a reminder that power must be tethered to duty. The Knight’s Stormcaller Hammer remains part of a wider chronicle—knights who guide the law, smiths who temper the storm, and traders who carry tales of thunder through crowded markets—each keeping a steady grip on the haft as skies darken and the ground trembles. Returns from the field color the evenings; after battles, stories of the hammer's storm echo in taverns, and apprentices whisper to themselves while their chisels bite into metal. It is a relic that continues to demand a steady hand and an honest heart. It remains a symbol that storms can be mastered, if duty stays constant.