Legend

They had not meant for him to carry it.

Among the ranks of the risen, he was nothing remarkable. A simple skeleton, his name was once Oscar, he thinks... it has been a long time. His armor, mismatched from older wars, covered his worn bones. Yet when the line began to falter and the cultist press threatened to break through, it was placed in his hands without ceremony.

A relic of weight. A relic of judgment.

Anathema.

It rested heavy in his grasp, sacred and profane, its surface crowded with twisted faces half-emerged from the metal, their hollow mouths frozen in silent cries. He did not understand it fully, but he remembered enough. Fragments of instruction. Echoes of a rite.

He stood still as the battle raged around him. Bone shattered nearby. The ground trembled under advancing forms. Before him, an eldritch warrior pushed through the line, towering and inevitable, cultists gathering in its wake.

Still, he began.

First, he raised the relic. Then, he steadied his grip.

A pause.

Was there a third step?

For a moment, he hesitated. Not from fear of destruction, but from the only fear left to him.

Failure.

Then the memory returned. He drew the relic close, as if in reverence. The faces along its surface tightened, their features straining as though waking to the task.

The count mattered. It always had.

One.

The air grew dense.

Two.

The whispers recoiled.

Three.

The relic answered.

Light bled through the eyes and mouths of the carved faces, not bright, but absolute. The world seemed to hold its breath, as though something long denied had finally been permitted.

Oscar did not flee. He did not turn.

The eldritch warrior raised its weapon. The cult surged forward.

He completed the rite.

And Anathema was released.

The blast did not roar. It resolved. Flesh, bone, and corrupted form alike were unmade in a single, perfect instant. The eldritch warrior was split and erased, its mass undone alongside the cultists that surrounded it, and Oscar who had carried the relic into their midst.

Nothing remained where they had stood.

Only silence.

And judgment fulfilled.

Description

Anathema is an unholy throwing weapon designed for safe and immersive LARP combat. Inspired by forbidden relics and desecrated symbols, its sculpted form evokes a sacred object twisted into something far more dangerous.

Crafted from Calimacil’s Mellow Foam, it is soft, lightweight, and perfectly suited for throwing without compromising safety. Its compact size allows for quick deployment, whether as a surprise attack or a decisive opening in ritual combat.

More than a simple projectile, Anathema embodies a moment of rupture. A breaking point where belief falters and something darker answers in its place. It is the kind of weapon not drawn, but revealed.

In the hands of the faithful turned, it becomes a declaration. Not of chaos, but of purpose carried through destruction.

Character

You do not cast spells. You deliver verdicts.

As a servant of the Chapter of the Seventh Seal, you wield Anathema not as a tool, but as a final word. Where others chant and prepare, you act. Swift. Certain.

Each throw is deliberate. A mark placed upon the unworthy. A rupture in the line where doubt spreads and resolve collapses.

You are an inquisitor fallen from grace, a cult enforcer, a herald of the end. You do not linger in the ritual. You bring it to its conclusion.

This piece is ideal for aggressive casters, zealots, and battlefield controllers who combine mobility with symbolic, high-impact actions.

Characteristics

• Weight(g): 80
• Height(cm): 14
• Width(cm): 8
• Material: Calimacil Mellow Foam
• Use: Safe throwing weapon for LARP combat
• Design: Compact, ritual-inspired form for quick deployment
  

Care Instructions

• Avoid prolonged exposure to direct sunlight to preserve the foam integrity
• Do not compress or store under heavy weight for extended periods
• Clean with a damp cloth and mild soap if necessary
• Ensure the item is fully dry before storage
• Designed for safe throwing.
• Avoid excessive force against rigid surfaces