“Bah!” The bowman cried, for his bow had fallen apart in his very hands, after firing but one arrow! “Wait until I get to that weaponsmith. These arrows are obviously cursed!” The bowman discarded the quiver of 200 arrows by the road, where scavengers found it, and each separate arrow went their own ways with different owners, as time passed. Some found them cursed. Others, found that they may not be as cursed as one thinks.
Even some of the most mundane-seeming items may have surprising and useful - or dangerous - qualities about them. This particular item is one of those.
Feu’mer the inspector was quite adept at his work of solving and preventing crimes. He was known for a very sharp eye - and not the one remaining eye that was in his head.
It sees you, can you see it? Even when the room is lit?
Funny how those shadows twist, as though the room were filled with mist.
But theres no mist, the room is clear! About now, you should start to fear.
clear your mind, take a last breath. For in a second, you’ll meet with death.
The tale of King Shorthold and The Window of the Mind
The tale of colourshade of the two-fold, and his reknowned skill of painting.
“Ever in my hand, lies the Blade of the Mad. It’s straight, simple craft is so alluring to me… It drives me to evil, but I love what it does. For the first blood the blade tasted was that of a human.”
A particularly volatile element, Imuricum is found in Adamantite covered by Red Mui’aan Fungus. Only the greatest of alchemists dare attempt extracting Raw Imuricum; only the most foolish metallurgists mix it with inferior materials, and only the bravest blacksmiths will create weapons from this rare and dangerous metal.
A set of gloves crafted by none other than our friendly resident soul-mage, Tarquin. Designed specifically to give a physical attack that is effective even with his weak body.
A curiously designed ring - but not uncommon. Similar in design to most traditional ‘magi-rings’, which often hold enchantments on them. But unlike those rings, this one may take quite a hold on you…
The accepted mode of getting otherwise unobtainable information is to go visit the cranky old hermit living in the mountains. It's just the sensible thing to do. So, naturally, everyone takes their monthly excursion to the hermit's hovel to consult him on everything, from lock-jaw to lovesickness, necromancers to nasal viruses.
Now, if everyone's always visiting the poor old hermit, there's going to be an enormous queue... "Wellcome to the Hermitt's Hovele, Please Take Ye a Number and Have Ye a Seate" reads the sign outside the packed dwelling.
Imagine the poor hermit, having retreated into the mountains to escape this precise situation...