Forge of Isenbrad

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Description

Isenbrad, Paragon of Wisdom, is a legendary smith said to have been so skillful he was able to craft weapons and armour from ice and snow. This sturdy mage armour allows a magician to repair broken items quickly and efficiently. but comes into it's own when dealing with items to which they are personally bonded. Indeed, the forge of Isenbrad could conceivably allow a magician to use tools of ice, provided they were bonded to them and had a short time between strikes to repair their shattered tools.

These potent suits of mage armour are commonly pale, and almost always bound with the runes Irremais (wisdom), Pallas (wealth) and Feresh (majesty).

Rules

• Form: Mage Armour.
• Effect: You may cast the mend spell in 5 seconds rather than 10. In addition, you may cast the mend spell on any item you are bonded to without expending mana, provided you know the spell.
• Materials: Crafting a forge of Isenbrad requires twelve measures of orichalcum, nine measures of ambergelt and six measures of iridescent gloaming. It takes one month to make one of these items.

The immense beast crashed through the Imperial lines, bellowing and flailing as it went. Wherever one of its immense limbs swung through the air with all the finesse and gentleness of a tree-trunk, men were smashed to the ground and weapons shattered. Even strikes against its stony hide left edges dulled and spears splintered.

But Tarquinius could see that the lumbering behemoth was just a spearhead; its clumsy assault served to break the line but, through the smoke and mayhem of the battlefield, the Sentinel could see a wedge of barbarians storming forward in its wake.

The moronic beast was still just driving forwards like a rudderless ship. It ploughed through the other side of the lines and kept on towards the woods, howling its fury and its pain. It had done what its handlers wanted, forging a vulnerability in the battle-formation that the barbarians would now exploit.

So Tarquinius plunged forwards amidst the soldiers. “They come!” he roared as he forced his way to the front. “They come! Form yourselves back up! Make ready for an assault!”

But many of the warriors were clutching at splintered hafts or broken blades after the behemoth's attack, and uncertainty flickered across their faces as they saw the barbarian troops rushing across the battlefield towards them.

Tarquinius reached out for the nearest man's ruined sword, scooped the shattered blade from the earth and shouted the incantation as he slammed the pieces back together. They sealed into one piece with a flare of magic, and then he simply twisted the bent blade back into shape as he continued to chant.

That done, he shoved the thankful soldier back towards the front, then turned to the next; this time a woman clutching pieces of spear. A handful of dirt in one hand, Tarquinius bound the splinters together with spatters of earth, then once again his incantations forged the weapon anew into one solid whole.

On and on he went, forging the broken weapons of the Imperials back together until his throat was hoarse with the chanting, his soul empty of power, his pouch of crystals now held no more than dust and broken fragments. But in that minute, a dozen more Imperials now stood ready to meet the enemy rather than flee with shattered blades.

And a dozen more could make all the difference.

Through the dust and the confusion came the barbarians, their orderly wedge thundering across the last yards to the Imperial forces.

“Hold the line! Hold the line!”

They held.