Valkyrja

The legendary dwarven throwing hammer that Thoradin purchased from the Thieves and Assassins Guild in Alador - City. (They thought it was cursed. But it just needed someone who knew what a precious weapon it is!)
Its forging is a well known Dwarven legend.

The Forging of Valkyrja

Far north of Fyrstheim, surrounded by the tundra and icy wastes is a ring of volcanoes known as the DarkOne's Forge. This place is populated by many kinds of fiery evils, including multiple clans of fire giants. The giants are usually content with the land they hold, but sometimes venture out of their home to raid within the icy wastes. They are sworn enemies of the frost giants that live in the cold.
Long before the fall of Fyrstheim the fire giants learned of the dwarven caverns and the riches they contained. They determined to take the treasures for themselves and ventured south to wage war against the dwarves. There were great losses on both sides.
During the war the dwarven smiths worked on creating weapons that would help them drive back the giants, many of them imbued with magic. Most blacksmiths with greater experience were paired with a cleric of Fenjal to help in charging the weapons being forged with magic. Only one in 50 of these attempts was successful. Most smiths could not be spared a cleric, as the majority of them were needed on the battlefield.
One young smith barely out of his apprenticeship busied himself with axes, swords, and hammers. His quality was better than most, but not of the level of the master smiths. One day he was asked to accompany some of the other smiths to the battlefield to deliver new weapons and to make repairs on existing ones where they could. During this brief trip away from the forges he saw the price that his people were paying to defend their home. He even saw a battle with two fire giants not far from where they set up their temporary forges. It took several dwarves to bring them down with their conventional weapons. He knew that he had to do better to help his people be safe.
On the way back to the mountains in which Fyrstheim can be found this smith and one of the clerics traveling with them noticed a strange storm near the highest peak above the gates to the dwarven kingdom. One that did not move. The smith and the cleric wanted to investigate and they found an old path that wound up the mountain. A couple of other dwarves followed them.
When they reached the peak they saw that it was a level platform on which was placed a forge and an altar to Fenjal. The storm encircled the platform, but did not touch it. As the smith approached the forge the bellows seemed to move on their own and the flames came to life. It was then that he noticed rods and blocks of steel and mithril sitting nearby.
He knew he was not at a level where he should be working with mithril, but he felt called to the forge. He took the smith's hammer from his belt and pulled out some of the metal and set them in the coals. The wind was cooling the metal, however, and the coals were not getting as hot as he'd like. The cleric stepped in then and added his magic to the mix, bringing the temperature up and allowing the metal to turn a nice yellow-red.
The smith set a bar of mithril on the anvil and began to pound at it with his hammer. He lost himself in the work, allowing himself to be caught up in the rhythmic pounding of the hammer, which seemed to beat in time with his own heart. He knew that simply beating the giants in battle was not enough. They needed a symbol that would drive fear into the giants, into all of their enemies.
He could hear the cleric call out to some of the other dwarves that had followed them, his voice strained. “Return to the forges below and bring me more spellcasters. All that can be spared!” The sound of retreating footsteps quickly disappeared in the sounds of metal on metal.
The smith pounded harder, folding and flattening pieces of metal against each other. The metal seemed to flow with the constant perfect heat. He worked on three separate pieces of metal, alternating between them. The steel he drew out, making it long and thin and folding it into a rod. The smallest piece, also steel, he flattened out. The third and largest piece, the mithril he worked into a brick shape. The sparks flew higher and farther, disappearing over the edges of the platform to fall along the sides of the mountain.
His blows grew louder and he could feel a part of himself leaking out every time his hammer struck the metal. The smith exhulted in Fenjal. He could feel the presence of the Forgefire in this place.
He used his chisel and rod, shaping a hole through the middle of the mithril block. Then he grabbed the steel rod and raised it high and slammed it down into place. He then laid the hammer on the flat bracket and shaped it to hold the head of this new hammer on the haft. Then he took his hammer and chisel and began to shape patterns and ridges around the whole of the hammer. He then used his chisel to form a shape on a small chunk of steel. He then roared as he raised his smith's hammer one last time over his head and brought it down on the new hammer, imprinting the ornamentation upon its side. A hammer within the flames of a forge. The symbol of Fenjal.
On the anvil before the sith lay a beautiful hammer. A work that was far beyond anything he'd ever created, or even thought he'd create. He looked down at the anvil, blackened from the work. His old hammer, now worn and dented, lay across it.
When he turned around he was amazed at the crowd that had gathered. There were at least 14 clerics standing around him in a semi-circle. The one who had discovered the forge with him was on his knees, panting in exertion. The rest stared intensely at the smith and then at his hand. He had picked up the new hammer without realizing it. He walked over to the alter and laid the hammer across it. The storm that had been circling the mountain top flashed once, twice, three times, and then dissolved into a clear sky.
The cleric who had accompanied the smith approached from behind. “You will have to put down your smithing tools for a time. This hammer needs a wielder, and I think Fenjal has chosen you.”
With a final glance back toward the forge, Ragnar Hammerhand picked up the hammer and lifted it high. “Valkyrja! Chooser of the Slain!” Hammerhand had created a dwarven thrower. A hammer that could be hurled at an enemy, but would then return to the hand of its wielder. And imbued with Hammerhand's desire to protect his people from the invaders, the hammer was especially effective against the fire giants.
The invasion was turned away and the giants returned to the Dark One's Forge. And though there were attacks in the years to come, none had the sheer numbers of this war. Ragnar Hammerhand carried Valkyrja for the rest of his days, returning to the forge only when he needed to get away from this new life he had been charged with, if even for a just a few hours.
After he passed, the hammer went to his daughter, Rhovena Stonebreaker, and from her to the hero Bregor Battleborn, and finally to Fargrim Forgefire, the cousin of Arkur, son of King Amin of Mugnar. Valkyrja was wielded in the invasion of Karhanoth and the Necromancer. Some said that Karhanoth was wakened by the descendents of the fire giants and told of the riches of Fyrstheim, which drove his desire to possess them. In the battle Fargrim held the great hall in the city of Mugnar to allow his kin to escape during the dark exodus. The dragon brought the hall, and most of the mountain down on Fargrim, and the hammer was thought lost forever.

Footnote

Note: Kanteker took a lot of inspiration, and some actual description from Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson and their work on the Wheel of Time. One of the later books contains one of his favorite forging scenes ever.

Item type

Weapon, Ranged