Description

The dark wood haft of this spear must be supple and flexible, while maintaining its strength. An artisan carefully chooses the wood and treats it throughout the crafting process with ambergelt dissolved in pure alcohol, reinforcing the whole with green iron to maintain its responsiveness in the hands of a skilled warrior. In combat, the spear twists and turns, seemingly under its own power, and when properly guided will trip or unbalance an enemy, sending them sprawling.

Some stories claim that the more blood the Stumbleroot Spear spills, the more malicious it becomes. They suggest that the spear begins to take on a mind of its own, seeking to trip or injure opponents without the intent of the wielder. They rarely speak of these worries unless deep in their cups. There is a tradition among some thorns of burning the spear after a year to ensure it does not turn on its wielder. Some Imperial Orcs have adopted the same tradition, which meshes with their own beliefs about worth and the ways objects may be influenced by the uses they are put to.

Rules

  • Form: Weapon. Takes the form of a one-handed spear. You must be wielding this weapon to use its magical properties.
  • Requirement: You must have the weapon master skill to bond to this item.
  • Effect: You may spend a hero point to call STRIKEDOWN with this one-handed spear.
  • Materials: Crafting a Stumbleroot Spear requires six units of green iron and three measures of ambergelt. It takes one month to make one of these items.
The two warriors faced off against each other, Nakkan of the Sunhammer Legion stood a little over five foot, small for an orc but with an athletic body hardened by a life of battle. The fine leather that she wore was studded with ambergelt stones, each added following a particular victory, each a tale of its own. The hammer she wielded looked comically large in her small hands but she gripped it firmly and taunted her opponent, a Navarr thorn named Gwyneth. The two were old friends and had fought together many times but whenever they travelled to Anvil it had become custom for them to share an honour duel – the winner of which was a purse-full lighter by the end of the nights festivities.

“You call that a weapon, human?” she taunted, gesturing to the short, unassuming spear that Gwyneth carried alongside her slim wooden shield. The weapon looked simple enough but seemed to hum with an untapped power, Nakkan would’ve sworn she heard the voice the ancestors whispering to her directly from it but she maintained her bluster.

“You’d be better off picking your teeth with it tonight after you’ve paid for the meal” she laughed, a rough sound from such a small figure and swung her weapon in a wide arc. The weltsilver swirls that decorated the hammer’s head glittered as it travelled through the air and seemed to leave the echo of silvery threads behind it.

The blow, however, never landed. The Navarr thorn rolled elegantly underneath the path of the weapon and struck out with the short spear in a sweep aimed at Nakkan’s ankles, Gwyneth felt the weapon twitch in her hand as it connected and the orc was lifted from her feet to land on her back. No sooner had Nakkan hit the floor than the weapon tip was pushing against her throat, a sly smile on the thorn's face.

"So....are we having venison or pheasant" the orc croaked, before being helped laughing to her feet.