Forged in the final days before Kam Ladur’s fall, the Shadowbane Hammer was the last weapon crafted in the city’s sacred forge, a place once blessed by the mountain’s divine light. As The Darkness crept through the deep tunnels, swallowing outposts and silencing entire halls, the greatest dwarven rune-smiths and battle-priests gathered for one final act of defiance.
The hammer was forged under the supervision of Thrain Ironwake, the last Runeforger of Kam Ladur, and High Priestess Veldra Embercall, a devoted champion of the Elder Flame. The weapon was meant to be more than steel and stone—it was to be a beacon against the shadows, a weapon that would never be tainted by corruption.
As the final blows of the forge hammer rang through the halls, the city’s outer defenses crumbled. The hammer, still cooling in its oil bath, was seized by the Stonebound, Kam Ladur’s legendary guardians. They carried it into the fray, standing at the great bridge of Durgrim’s Crossing, where the last clan warriors, forge-masters, and priests made their final stand.
The hammer’s first wielder, King Thalrik Deepwarden, struck the first and last blow of the battle, shattering the twisted gate of the invaders’ advance. As he fell, the hammer was lost to the chaos, buried beneath the rubble of the collapsing city.
For centuries, the Shadowbane Hammer was thought lost, but rumors persisted—whispers of a weapon entombed within the ruins, waiting for a worthy hand. Dwarven exiles and archivists have long sought its return, believing it to be the key to purging the corruption still festering in Kam Ladur’s depths.
Some legends say the hammer remembers those who have wielded it. That when grasped by a true warrior, the echoes of the past rise to guide them. Others claim that its radiant light wanes when wielded with ill intent, warning of a greater darkness yet to come.
The warhammer’s black iron head is veined with silver inlays, pulsing faintly with a golden glow. Runes carved deep into its surface flicker as light dances across them. The grip, wrapped in aged leather, feels unyielding.