Thrown Weapons Bandolier

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Thrown Weapons Bandoliers were originally handed out on the Wavedancer.

Those with 20 ranks of Thrown Weapons can buckle a bandolier on and have an unlimited supply of weaponry.


  • Minimum of 4x
  • Flares can be added
  • Create vapor-based weapons


There are many handaxe bandoliers. There is at least one each discus, maul, and jeddart-axe bandolier. A few chakram, dagger, and spear bandoliers exist.

They may be altered into anything, as long as the merchant feels comfortable with the item. For example, a handaxe bandolier was altered into a fan (the fandolier). Many merchants are uncomfortable with the bandoliers and if they will change them at all, they will not change the name.


As the song begins, the world dissolves into a grainy image of windswept tundra where a pair of hunters hide behind some scrub. Time passes, and a beast of burden lumbers past. The younger hunter stands, takes aim with his single spear and hurls it with all his might, yet for naught as it flies wide. The elder sighs as he watches the beast tramp away. He quips, "Too bad little brother, you shall feel father's bow across your back when we return home with no game." The picture dissolves away.

Sitting around a fire, the young hunter has grown and many rings adorn his upswept pointed ears. He sits tailor-fashion, stretching the hides of a tribe of fenghai he has slain in his trial of manhood. He stares at them with fascination, as he carefully scrapes the skins and alternately glances at the old shaman sitting before the fire chanting in an old, forgotten tongue. "Old one, in my hunt, I was burdened carrying an entire sheaf of spears and my stealth was less than I was capable of." The old man stares into the smoke, lost in thought.

Many moons have passed, and a group of hunters stand around a bier. The elder hunter intones a ritual as the old one is lowered into a pit lined with oil-soaked grass and sticks. The hunter, now a warleader in his tribe and considered one of the smartest in his village, removes the shaman's pouch and sorts through it. A single scroll with an unbroken seal is the only item that he has never seen, as the other items are common; a smoking pipe, various herbs and medicinal items, some assorted bones, and a slender willow wand. He opens the scroll and gazes fondly at the body. "You finally came to an answer for a young man's question." His eyes mist over as he casts a torch into the pyre, sending the old man home.

Sitting in a circle, the village elders chant ritual verses. The old hunter's son is ready to face his trials. His son straps on a quiver of tanned fenghai hide, adorned with many glass beads, and leather fringe from which old bones hang. The old man gazes fondly at his son and, reading from the old scroll, draws arcane symbols into the air. The single spear within the quiver glows softly a moment as it changes. "Take it," he commands. The boy grabs it and pulls and, to his surprise, it shimmers as he holds a spear in his hand, yet the one spear remained within. The old man lifts his head to the sky, and silently gives thanks.

Your song draws to a close and you feel the story has ended.