But there is something different about his hammer.
The weapon itself is unremarkableor so it appears. Passed down through his family with minimal explanation, it bears the faint imprint of runes along its head, symbols so old and worn that they seem almost like natural patterns in the metal itself. His grandfather mentioned them once, years ago, with a cryptic warning not to push the hammer to its limits, not to strike with anything resembling desperation. His father never spoke of them at all. The hammer has hung in the forge for so long that it has become part of the landscape of his daily life, just another tool among dozens, neither special nor particularly interesting.
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