Anze’s Anvil Smithy
Location: Sigil / Lower Ward
Anze’s Anvil is a forge and weapons shop tucked away in the sooty labyrinth of the Lower Ward marketplace. It’s a rough place, even by Lower Ward standards, with the air thick with the metallic tang of hot iron and the occasional waft of sulphur from the overworked elemental forge. Anze’s place is where you go when you need a weapon that means business, no frills or fanciness—just brutal, unrelenting steel.
The front of the store opens onto the crowded street, marked by a wooden sign of an anvil splitting a skull in two (a bit excessive, but Anze claims it keeps the thieves away). The interior is a cluttered chaos of weapons, an organised mess of mayhem: battleaxes hang from chains bolted into the ceiling, racks of sledgehammers line the walls, and jagged knives are carefully arranged in glass cases. There’s a constant background din of clanking metal and the rhythmic pounding of Anze’s hammer echoing from the forge in the back, a sort of infernal music to shop by. The light is dim, punctuated by the glow of embers and the occasional flare of gout flame, which makes the shadows feel dangerously alive.
Anze, the Anvil’s Master
Anze is a hulking half-orc, every bit as grizzled and intimidating as you’d expect from a master weaponwright in the Lower Ward. He’s a scarred brute with a face like an old battle standard, lined with burns and nicks from decades of dealing with temperamental weapons and untrustworthy clientele. His hair is a wiry tangle tied back with a strip of leather, and his voice is a gravelly rumble, the kind that would make even a Hardhead namer think twice before crossing him. He has a particular fondness for axes (“Honest weapons,” Anze calls them) and a burning contempt for the flimsy fencing swords of “those simpering Clerk’s Ward duelists.”
When I was there, I saw a clueless prime wander into Anze’s shop, fresh from some backwater Material Plane and looking to arm himself. The poor sod made the mistake of asking if Anze sold rapiers. Anze didn’t even bother replying—he just grabbed a jagged knife, threw it, and pinned the berk’s hat to the wall. The prime ran out, screaming something about “barbaric half-orcs.” Anze only laughed and went back to pounding iron, muttering something about how “sods who don’t know real weapons.”
Despite his gruff exterior, there’s a streak of pain behind his dark eyes. His son, Lazlo, a market boy who ran errands and helped keep the forge in order, went missing months ago, presumably swallowed by one of Sigil’s thousand dangers. Anze has since grown even more bitter and less trusting. If you ask about Lazlo, Anze will likely give you a glare that feels like it’s trying to gouge out your liver. I got the impression though that Anze still reckons his son is out there somewhere, lost to an unruly portal rather than Lost to the Dustmen.
Weapons and Wares
Anze’s typical inventory features weapons both brutal and varied. He even has the occasional magically enchanted weapon for sale, although I’m not sure if he crafts them himself or buys them in. When I visited I found plenty of basic bashing implements and a few more exotic ones:
• Battle Axes: Something of a speciality, Anze has a seemingly unlimited stock of axes, all of ’em sharp enough to cleave through chainmail and then some.
• Green Steel Daggers: Forged from imported Baatorian green steel, these weapons have a nasty habit of causing extra pain to celestial types.
• Club of Piercing: It’s a club, but somehow it stabs. There’s a clever mechanism in the handle that flips out spikes when it’ triggered. I asked how it works but Anze wouldn’t tell.
• Magical Punch Daggers: Anze claimed that these subtle and easily hideable weapons can cut through even the toughest of fiendish hides like butter.
• Siphon Knuckles: Spiked knuckledusters that apparently have a vampiric effect, draining a bit of life energy from their target with each blow. Not my kind of thing at all, but to each their own.
For the right price, Anze will even buy your battered old gear, though be warned he tends to scoff at poorly maintained weapons. “Take care of your steel,” he’ll growl, “or your steel won’t take care of you.” And don’t even think about trying to sell him cheap enchanted trinkets. He’s got a good nose for fake magic and will throw you out faster than you can say “cross-trader”.
If you can put up with the owner’s demeanour, Anze’s Anvil will set you up with something to make your enemies regret crossing you. But remember: don’t touch the weapons unless you’re buying, and for the Lady’s sake, don’t mention Lazlo.
Canonical Source: Planescape: Torment game — I’ve expanded upon the location with some homebrew lore here.
Source: Jon Winter-Holt
