"Such a curious candle... it burns...with no wick?"
"Commander... every chime in a five mile radius is making a racket. Something big is coming... something mean."
John “Whiney” Winston, he was good at his job, maybe a little too good. When Jimmy the Snake found out his books were being cooked, Jimmy took it upon himself to end Whiney's employment. Too bad Jimmy's problems are over yet.
The ties that bound their childhood home might just be the ties that repair their broken kinship.
“They have a cave Troll”
And now you can too!!!!
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 . . .”
While the glory goes to the battlemechs, during the height of the Star Empire, the martial machines were said to be outnumbered 20 to 1 by their menial brethern, the industrial mechs
The massive hammer of Nial Ironspirit, there is no finer tool for the manipulation of steel.
Most steam engines require vast quantities of coal and water. Dr. Farthing’s Fabulous Engine requires only the water that it will turn into steam, or so the good doctor says…
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.
Who would want to make food you can’t eat? What purpose does this insane oven exist for?
"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!"
Sometimes an item can be a little too effective…
The final triumph of a twisted astrologer, this splendid sphere hides a terrible secret.
You never know when you’ll need an IRON SPIKE!
The wraith-witches of Bhudokima create these stones for the braves of the Mani tribes; they are tools of barbarian voodoo, infused with simple magic.
I saw him pull that odd piece out once more, using it to fiddled with the lock. He open the big fold, and flipped out one long thin piece. He pulled a single piece out from a slide and fiddled in the lock. He stopped, smirked, and flipping out a small thin scraping tool he began to probe the area around the lock. “Trapped,” he said.
Jemas Lorne, the most celebrated poet of the age, was found dead, clutching a fragment of verse torn from his journal. The tantalizing fragment spoke of wealth:
Golden sands, empty and cold,
Treasure's crypt, forgotten gold.
Under stone, ancestor's doom,
Noble's prize, troubadour's tomb.
Rumours claim that the poet's father, an eccentric nobleman, had hidden much of his wealth before his death. Perhaps the missing journal has more clues?