An unassuming sewing needle, five to six inches long. Certainly nothing out of the ordinary.
This was it? A small ornamental hammer the size of his palm. Where was this "fabled treasure" this man possessed?
The young rogue left the manor by the same smelly route he'd came by, disappointment showing plainly on his face.
<span italic;"="">In the study, the case sat open, empty.
"Got this here from a wizard on a bargin. Just the thing to survive the salvaging of treasure from the deep when you don't have a lot of start up cash. Not everyone can tame sea turtles mate, you know what I'm saying? This here is an item with it's own character, a real unique item, so beware of imitators! The surest way to spot a fake is have a friend try it, if he dies, all you have is a ordinary bucket and a funeral to pay for, this here is the one real deal you've been looking for and it's still available for a steal!"
- Street hawker outside the Affordable Arch-Mage
A small millstone, as far as millstones go, made by a wizard for his clerical friend to ensure he was always able to make fresh bread, wherever his travels took him.
If you had writing as bad as Corran's, you'd look for a way around it too.
"All the guests were thoroughly checked before they entered the manse, my Prince. There was no sword on him...yet, he pulled the blade from his belt! But how..."
The ties that bound their childhood home might just be the ties that repair their broken kinship.
Apprentice: “Master, this ritual must be performed under an eclipsed sun. We'll be here until next winter if we want to complete it!”
Mage: “Ah, but you are forgetting that we have a portable eclipse handy! Observe carefully . . .”
The massive hammer of Nial Ironspirit, there is no finer tool for the manipulation of steel.
Odd little devices, almost ubiquitous in any city which relies on thaumatechnology.
Sturdy goggles with thick green lenses, and wires that lead to a battery of thaumic energy.
"Whats this do?" Asked the visting Human.
"That," Dugfar replied. "Is my- Wait! Don’t tou-"
...and with that they were buried alive.
Doctor Foster was fed up of being known as Doctor Fester, and decided that no more would the people he operated on face the risk of gangrene after their surgery.
"Didja see the way way I nailed that, Marty?" "Thunderingly effective!"
On route from Geli to Nekrass the characters meet a peasant boy on the road. He's wandering in the direction from which they've just come. If this seems a little bit incongruous, they may wish to ask him a few questions. He's perfectly willing to talk: he's called Lamish and he's run away because he knows he is the heir to the throne of Geli and his parents didn't believe him. How far is his home? About five weeks walk from here. How much has he eaten? Nothing. Has he drunk? Only from the filthy roadside ditches. In short, it's a wonder he is still alive. And yet he seems perfectly healthy.
Is he a thief, waiting for travellers to trick? Is he lying because there's something more sinister under all of this? Is he telling the truth? And anyway, what should the characters do? Do you take him to Geli? Do you try to find his parents? Or leave him to make his own way?
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Just the thing for making your demon-infested two-handed sword from Hell!