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.
The village sits on the edge of the deep fjord, often engulfed in mist or rain. Its people are fishermen, who work even through the sea-ravaging winter. And they pray to the gods of the deep.
At the beginning of every winter they hold a summoning ceremony. Three boats are taken out into the fjord, a hornsman on each. The mournful horns are blown in the language of the whales, the gods of the deep. The whales sometimes appear in answer to these calls, and it is taken as a good omen when they do.
To a party of PCs wandering the misty hills and valleys nearby however, the doleful whalesong of the horns can be disturbing and misinterpreted...