Not a bad weapon, but don’t miss. It takes about six minutes to reload…
The ornate flintlock pistol of a highwaymen, consecrated to Nahrem, God of the Crossroads
This item is not listed in many tombs of magic, nor is it detailed in any text books among the arcane. It is however sung about in many a tavern and bar across the coastal cities. The tale is sung more about the man who created it. His tale has been embellished time and again until he seemed more a god than the coward that he was.
The armies of the Treaty States go to the fronts of the Great War armed with the sturdy, trusty and effective Dirziet Model-6, a magazine-fed bolt-action rifle.
This is another item made form Troll parts that I created for my game. This one went to a bard, but it is well suited for anyone that can use a bow.
A firebow, though no longer the staple weapon that it was during the era of it’s modernity, is still a powerful and versatile missile weapon in it’s own right.
And so Blinkly opened his newly crisped mouth and replied.
“I think toast would be an appropriate description.”
“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.
Three shuriken carved from the skull of a dragon, they say they never miss the heart…
An over sized blowgun with a matching specialized bag of holding. This blowgun is halfling made and it should be noted that “whiffle” is the halfling word for gerbil.
Stormbound, the ship rolls hard over to once side. All that is not strapped down is tossed violently overboard in a splash of freezing water.
There, on the horizon- a tower. Squat, it stands alone on a tiny island. However, it's the only land in sight, and any more of this ferocious storm will crush the boat to splinters.
Taking shelter within the ornate entryway of the squat tor, the party notes with interest that no signs of life break the silence of the stone tower. As they take another step forward, they realise why.
This is the fabled tower of Brenji, a rich merchant who wished none to share his enormous wealth. He constructed this tower to store his gold- trapped and ready for any potential thieves. But the ingenious pitfalls and scything walls are not the only dangers within the silent walls of the building. A guardian, left behind by Brenji, still stalks these very halls.
A rattling hiss echoes somewhere from below...