"The Steel is for Monsters. This Blade is for You."
The air reeks of smoke and iron. In the crumbling halls of Kaer Morhen, a blacksmith hammers molten steel into a weapon destined for one hand: yours.
This isn’t a toy.
It’s Geralt’s Oathblade—a 22cm sliver of the Continent’s soul, forged to mirror the Butcher of Blaviken’s own steel.
Chapter 1: The Trial
You’ve faced your share of beasts.
The deadlines that howl like drowners. The inboxes bloated with rotfiend tasks. The meetings that stretch longer than a wyvern’s tail.
But here, now—gripping this blade—you remember: Witchers don’t break.
22cm of Relentless Steel: Tempered to Kaer Morhen’s standards. Display it, and let coworkers wonder: “Does it cut spreadsheets?”
Gift Box of the Griffin School: Arrives wrapped in mystery. Open it, and hear Vesemir’s ghost mutter, “Not bad, pup.”
Battle-Worn Details: Tiny mold flaws? No. Scars. Proof it survived a Nilfgaardian foundry.
Chapter 2: The Path
Slide a finger along the blade’s spine. Cold. Unyielding. Like Geralt’s glare when Jaskier sings off-key.
For the Wolf Who:
Commutes through urban jungles but dreams of Toussaint’s vineyards.
Wants their bookshelf to whisper, “I’ve slain more than paper dragons.”
Knows true power isn’t in magic—it’s in surviving Monday.
Chapter 3: The Binding
Wholesale? Dropship? We Speak Your Tongue.
Arm Your Cohort: Buy 10 blades, and we’ll carve your guild’s sigil into the hilts.
