These powerful weapons are favoured by battle magicians across the Empire. Whether being used by a Highborn Magister to smash through a defensive battle line alongside the cataphracts, or hurling a chosen target or employed by a thresher to separate an enemy sorcerer from her allies, a stormweaver is a clear sign of a magician who appreciates the potent control offered by the repel spell.

The only drawback to a stormweaver - and it is very slight - is that the rod seems to attract storms. On land this generally leads to slightly heavier rainfall, or the occasional unpleasent gale. At sea, it can be life-threatening. Very few ship's captains will allow a stormweaver aboard, especially on a ship sailing out of sight of land. The exception are the most adventurous Freeborn corsairs or Steinr merchant-traders, who often welcome the opportunity for excitement an unexpected, magically enhanced, storm can offer.


  • Form: Weapon. Takes the form of a rod. You must be wielding this implement to use its magical properties.
  • Requirement: You must have the magician skill to bond to this item.
  • Effect: Three times per day you can cast the repel spell as if you knew it and without expending any mana.
  • Materials: Crafting a stormweaver requires eight ingots of tempest jade, seven measures of iridescent gloaming, and three measures of beggar's lye. It takes one month to make one of these items.
"Let me tell you the tale of the warcaster Jok of the Snowspears, the orc legion posted to the harsh Varushkan borders where many a tale is weaved" the man spoke, running his hand over the rough stubble at his chin before he continued. The crowd around him at the tavern had grown as the night had gone on. His tales were famed in the region and the tavern often drew a number of patrons simply to hear him speak. The barkeep shook his head and sighed, he'd heard the tale a dozen times before and each time it had escalated in the telling, but he wouldn't complain as long as the coins kept coming in.

  "The warriors of the Snowspears had been entrusted with guarding a supply caravan for the front lines but had been forced to leave the roads" he went on, those gathered around him made warding signs across their hearts or shook their heads in sympathy. He knew he'd already got them hooked.

"They had been forced back by raiding barbarians, driven into the woods with their wounded to escape the horde of orcs. Their legion numbered but a score, a dozen of which had suffered wounds which might not let them see the rising of the sun, so they fled. Spears out, dripping with the blood of any enemy who managed to track them, their arms grew tired the deeper they went and every barbarian slain  drained their strength. The caravan merchants who had been saved by the Snowspears wailed and begged their protectors to take them back to the roads but the orcs continued despite the sobbing men and women they guarded. As the brutal war cries of the barbarians grew quieter they thought themselves safe. Then the howling began”

The crowd who sat around the tale weaver hissed their disapproval. The story went on.

“The orcs turned their weapons outwards, a loose circle around those they protected. Jok stood at the centre of the merchants, shield raised and looking out into the forest. Hearing the unearthly sounds that terrorised them he drew a rod of shaped metal from a large leather pouch at his waist, jade stones glittering along it in the twilight. As the orcs readied themselves for combat the sky rumbled and lightning split the sky, revealing the cause of the howling. The Wolves were upon them”

He stopped to sip his drink, allowing the last sentence to hang in the air for a while before continuing.

“The Snowspears fought with the fury that burns in their blood, but no matter how hard they fought the Wolves would break through to the merchants at their centre. Each time the monsters broke the line, brave Jok would strike them true with the glowing rod as a crash of thunder pealed, launching them back through the air with the power of the winds. Even when his power waned he drew strength from the fight, the very storm around him seeming to empower his blows. But eventually Jok fell, a pair of Wolves tearing him in two as his power finally dwindled. Yet it had been enough. The howling had stopped and Jok’s killers were dispatched by the Snowspears that still stood. The orcs mourned for a moment and began taking items from his still warm body. ‘To remember him by’ they uttered to the disgusted merchants, who shied away from the scene. None among them would touch the discarded weapon though. They claimed it was a weapon of power but one of ill portent, one that would bring the Wolves when the storms came. They left it where it lay, a sign to any who passed of what had happened there”

He smiled and clapped his hands together, the sound startled some of the crowd. He laughed and pulled a large pouch from his belt and threw it onto the table where it landed with a rattle of coin.

“So...which of you will become the next part of this saga...and retrieve it for me?”