And… The Young Thug pulled out a… Dead Rat? Didn’t see that coming.
A curious dagger, with a blade stained by ancient gore; it has seen many dark deeds, yet goes unsuspected as more than some old piece of junk.
Carved to bring glory to the Patient One, the silent and frigid Abomination that holds dominion over the frozen wastes, the Glacier’s Fist is heralded as a deadly weapon, but the true purpose of it is a much more subtle thing.
The Icicle Sword is a powerful weapon of cold, but those who use it’s full powers almost allways pay with their lives.
30 groups of magical swords
Forged of destruction, in the name of hatred, Winter’s Tempest is a cold echo of its parent blades, yet still it bears the destruction of the frozen elements.
The Spear of Light is a potent weapon, but those who steal it or do not treat it with the proper respect soon wish that it had never ended up in their hands.
Forged and folded by the ancient and holy methods, Warprender and Weftcleaver have incorporated the very transformations that allow man to traverse the stars into their exotic blades.
These light daggers are the tools of the priests of Death, bringing Her Mercy to those whom suffer.
Forged from the light of the first dawn, of the world, it remains radiant even now, long ages after…
This seemingly normal stake is potentially a lot more then it seems. Few people however can unlock it’s full powers, or would want to.
This weapon did not start out as magical. Nor was it ever enchanted. It was the touch of the Dark Man who made it a "fell item".
"O Victorious Maul, send down your fury!
O Hammer of Justice, bring Dalraaen’s law!
O Weapon of Righteousness, cast out the unlawful!"
- Magistrate Archivinus Kelstori, Ode to the Gavel
With the patronage of Dalraaen, this heavenly mace is the focus of the Magisterium’s strongest order. Its darker roots, however, are hidden even to its wielders, and its very existance threatens the world.
The famed Sigil Swords were a great help to the naval forces of those who served Big Red, and their magic would only serve their owners, much to the anger of the Admirals of the De Madden Company.
An otherwise simple spear, the dread blade of Hatred brings rot and decay to all it strikes, be it armour, body, or soul.
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"
This blade is one of the fabled Fatal Swords of antiquity, the metal of the blade folded one-million times.
A sword that stores the identity of the wielder. To transfuse the soul to the blade, one must first stab himself through the heart. The person will not die, but lose the freedom of the soul upon real death.
A wonderous weapon bearing the power and grace of the elvish people…
Cursed swords that bring bad fortune to whoever wields them. Or are they?
In a new town for the first time, the White Raccoon Lodge looks like a comfortable place to spend the night. The owner, however, makes sure to explain to you that there is a curfew after sundown and the door will be locked... from the outside. "We don't want anyone being caught out on the streets after dark," he says.
Now that you think of it, all the doors in this small town did have a crossbar on the outside rather than the inside... You wonder what goes on at night...