A thankfully rare mineral that burn's one skin as if the Devil himself had spit on you
Sometimes, you just want to accept that something tastes good without knowing how it was made.
If you had writing as bad as Corran's, you'd look for a way around it too.
All it takes for evil to triumph is for Ennui to convince good men to do nothing.
The leader of the Seven Brave inhabits this arrogant weapon.
The deadliest Sinblade, Wrathbringer is coveted by the violent and feared by all.
Coins for those with friends who live far away.
I am the mask that grins and lies
I'll hide your face and shield your eyes....
Even the most despicable and evil Tyrant will be convinced they pale in comparison to this monstrosity.
The Truth Mage, Veracit, feared to utilize the Observer's Paradox, uncomfortable with their perilous effect on reality.
"This sword! It's helping me connect all the dots!"
"Yeah, even the dots that don't exist!"
Despite becoming the god of creation later in life, Corran was renowned as being a master craftsman first, and possibly the worst cook to ever live second. This cooking set changed all that.
What do you do when your shield is more courageous than you?
Named for Corran, the epitome of artificers and craftsmen; the flame of creation is often too powerful to control.
A magical pair of glasses once allowed the sharpest of minds to perceive the physical world around him. His cutting insight, throwing light on the darkest of secrets, is now housed within the spectacles.
"I was out on that lake for a good eight hours trying to dreg up that seaweed, and boy did I get burned."
As Corran spoke, his walking stick started to glow, suddenly erupting flames over his left foot.
"What do you mean I changed clothes?"
"Sir- did you steal that cloak"
"Of course not! Haven’t you seen fabric change color before?"
A weapon for those in dire need, Corran’s glove holds a nasty surprise.
The weapon of choice of the royal guards, the Danamax rapier is a symbol of an enduring dynasty.
Along the sluggish Vanne River, the banks are lined with thick stands of tall bulrushes. These areas of wetland are considered ill-omened by the locals, for they hide the skeletal remains of thousands of grazing animals, washed downriver in a terrible flood decades before.
Adding to the uncanny reputation of the place is the occasional undead cow or goat that lurks there. The product of a necromancer's experiments some years before, these relatively harmless undead wander the area at night, startling livestock as they attempt to graze with them.