Like magic Methnik’s sword passed through that of his foes….All too late, the blade was at his neck, it burnt, stinging like acid, it slivered through skin and muscle. Methnik crumpled to his knees, then to the floor, his eyes greyed over and he heard faint words, maybe those of his foe? "Your last lesson in this life. Your teacher? A Serivemn"
‘To the victor goes the spoils’ it is said but what if those spoils are not what they seem. What if those items of victory, are deadly.
If thrown into a moat or a ditch, they react with water to make an area of ground a foot wide and solid enough to walk on rise from the bottom. If eaten-well, the body of the one who ate one of them is a real mess. Used to storm moats and forge rivers, streams and ditches. Must be kept dry until used.