Maddoc sat amid a pile of unrecognizable corpses. Men, Dwarves, Orcs, you couldn't tell. He periodically took a stab at one with his new knife and screamed, "STOP LAUGHING AT ME!"
A symbol of desired peace among the Flame and the Frost. The White Fang is a amplifier of chill winds and a pacifier of burning hearts, in the right hands.
The curse of poverty is very real, and sometimes you are forced to learn the error of your ways before you can break its shackles.
The Elders say there was once a great kingdom here. Yes, in this field of cattle, void of rubble or debris. Now, there are just a few fences and a barn for the bovine herd. At the most, you'll find some fresh dung. No treasures or artifacts of bygone ages here. What fate could have befallen such a place, as to leave no trace? Come closer, and I will show you...
The crafty Murdholm Dwarf had not seen these new shields. Fools, he though, bigger shields won't help you when you swing like a bear.
He felt the spear being yanked from his grasp. Before he knew it, his own spear slipped back to him, into him, point first.
Upon the third storm-cracked night, under the light of a bloated blood red moon, the Razor of ManBeasts was crafted. A show of revenge, or the creation of a druid gone mad, no one knows for sure. But the ManBeasts walk the nighted forests now, ever since then, not a coincidence I say.
The Sword of Huran is the chosen weapon of The Order of the Spellswords. Each one of them crafts their own Sword of Huran to serve them in their battles for the king.
"Goblin Sorcerery? That's bullcrap. A Goblin couldn't enchant the backside of a sick goat to- Well, you get what I'm saying."
Relics of an ancient necromantic faith: A few strange charms and a small black book. What power do these odd devices hide?
The Essence of Light, mined from the body of a fallen Star-Child.
Drink deep from the Moon-Cup, let its powers quench your thirst, or even save your marriage.
A shaft of golden solid light; a powerful artifact of all that is good and holy. This staff is the bane of evil and the boon of justice.
Devjuha backed away from the engaged foe, his opposite wand moving further out. He held the rod sideways, bracing it against his chest. Then ran, full speed, to the right. He caught an unwary opponent, lingering near the edge of the battle, right in the neck with the vicious assault from his Rod of Duality.
A mighty Demon, now trapped and confused, may make for a powerful ally.
The mundane-looking "Sanguine Coffee Cup." A ceramic monstrosity that holds something said to be thicker than water.
Time to test yet another one, He thought as he approached the bus. He withdrew the quarters from his pocket, the exact fare. Marvelous!
A horrible torture device. Not for the squeamish.
"All I could do was stare as my strange opponent hefted his key-like lance. He told me my armor would only hinder me in this fight. I didn’t believe him at the time, but he was right."
A candle inside of a skull is a typical creepy feature in cultist's lairs or haunted places, but what if they served a more practical purpose?
A hilt built like a ceremonial goblet, and not the nice kind, a hideous blade of ash and flame erupt from the lip. To wield this blade is to forsake the Heavens and thrust the power of Hell into your foes.
Fedolf, the notorious headsman of Iddland, is known as much for his beheadings as for his operatic arias of doom. A tower of power, standing nearly seven feet tall, and weighing in at almost four hundred pounds, Fedolf strikes fear in all onlookers, especially when he dons his executioner's hood, and goes shirtless, wielding his gigantic double-bladed pole-axe, on his way to the headsman's block. He possesses a beautiful singing voice, and will often send off his charges into the next life, while belting out baritone dirges and antiquated arias, usually involving death, destiny, and duty, in heavy doses.