Mysteries of Golarion
Shoanti do not craft magical arms in the same manner as the so-called civilized folk of Varisia. Of course, there are few things the two of us see eye-to-eye on.
Chelaxians consider a weapon an empty shell on which to impress their will. It is a symptom of their society’s greed and vanity. Ore, wood, hide, and gemstones are perceived as nothing but commodities to be traded, lacking agency until molded and wielded by their own hand.
A Chelaxian takes no pause in damming a river or naming it after one of their great heroes – as if they lorded over the tributary as a child. But Shoanti respect the nobility inherent to the ripples of water and light. We realize that the constant heartbeat of that river has eroded and shaped the land around it for centuries before that Chelaxian hero was born and will continue to do so for centuries after he is forgotten.
The same is true for the ore, wood, hide, and gemstones used in crafting arms. These materials have existed for eons, reincarnating in endless cycles of life and death. A simple pebble is as wise as any scholar, and a fallen tree branch humbles the most powerful shaman.
It is not the job of the craftsman to shape these materials to his will; rather, it is to comprehend a precious fraction of the material’s own will.
Outsiders think I name the weapons myself. In truth, the weapons already have names. It is only through this intimacy of spirit that they whisper them to me.