In the depths of the Whispering Wastes, where the sands dance and burn hot under the gaze of the sun, there lies the Straight River. It is said that after the rain falls, the river awakens from its slumber and flows with a fierce determination, carving an unbending path through the heart of the desert to the city of Al-Lazar.

Along the banks of this elusive river, there lurk creatures that have long haunted the dreams of weary travelers and poorly-guarded caravans. They are monstrous three-eyed frogs, Sandgorgers, whose skin glistens with a sickly green hue, and whose croaks echo with a haunting resonance.

These monstrous frogs are unlike any other in the world, for they only come to life after the rains. They emerge from their slumber in the sand, and begin their short-lived existence, their sole purpose to feed and breed before the river dries up once again.

Those who travel along the banks of the river are in grave danger, for the frogs are not to be trifled with. They attack with a fierce and unrelenting savagery, their three eyes glinting with an insatiable hunger.

Yet the frogs are not invincible. They have one weakness, one thing that they fear above all else: fire. The mere sight of a flame is enough to send them scurrying back into the sand, their haunting croaks replaced by the sound of their frantic retreat.

Such is the way of the monstrous three-eyed frogs of the Whispering Wastes. They are a peculiar and fearsome sight, a product of a land that is harsh and unforgiving. And though their existence is fleeting, their presence is felt by all who dare to travel the Green Road.

- Monsters of the Mortal Realms by K. D. Fidditch.

Unwrapping the brown cloth of the package revealed a sword in a dark, utilitarian leather scabbard. Drawing the weapon from its sheath, I was struck by its ingenious construction, for the Azag-Gishban was a sight to behold. What truly set this blade apart was its crossguard. For it was not a simple piece of metal meant to protect the wielder's hand. No, the crossguard of the Azag-Gishban was formed in the shape of a hammer, with a blunt striking edge on one side and a sharp spike on the other.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The handle of the sword was thick and sturdy, ending in a large rounded leaden pommel. Its blade was single-edged, and measured around seventy or so centimeters in length and honed to a razor's sharpness. Three-quarters down the length of the blade was a hole rimmed with bronze, perfectly positioned for the wielder to grip the metal on the unsharpened edge. This was the handle when the weapon was to be used as a hammer, allowing for a powerful grip and maximum impact. True to the grizzled Guard Master’s word, the weapon before me could serve effectively as both a sword and a hammer. I had never seen its like before.

Out of habit, rather than any real curiosity, I used Identify on my new weapon.

Steel Sword-Hammer [Azag-Gishban]

Durability 207/225

Overall, very impressive, I thought to myself, as I attached the sword to my belt. A happier memory of a time long ago, of Elwin teaching me how to tie a sword to my hip, rose to the surface. A small sigh escaped my lips, and I wondered if using the thing would improve my Hammer’s skill or simply give me a new skill. Perhaps both? There was only one way to find out, but for the time being there was a distinct lack of enemies nearby, and I was not quite in the mood for a spot of cold-blooded murder. Perhaps I could ask one of my fellow guards later for some tips and instructions.

“Come now, Elwin and Kidu. I wish to see how Patches’s doing before we see to getting you some new equipment,” I said and rose to my feet.

We made our way to where the animals were hobbled for the evening. Lowing gently in the evening, the large Xaruar were unhitched from their wagons and tended to by their loving minders. I saw a boy of about eight cleaning between the spikes of one of the large saurians with a large brush, causing the creature to bellow in pleasure. Next to them were where the horses and other equines were kept.

An old hunched and bearded man sat before a fire on a small wooden stool, his face creased with wrinkles as he looked into the depths of the flame. At his side were a few baskets of feed, along with vegetable and fruit treats for the animals of the caravan. He was Abas Yar, the Beastmaster of the caravan, and responsible for the welfare of all the animals of the train. In short, he was a man of some importance.

“A fine evening to you, Honored One Gilgamesh,” he greeted me in a voice common to those who had grown tired of life. “Back has been giving me trouble again. I wonder how much a silver piece can go towards having the gods send some of their mercy my way. Heavens know I could be due some, after fifty years of prayer,” he said a little grouchily, leaving a silver piece on the lid of a basket.