I watched in horror as the final pieces were infused together with dark magics granted to the mighty Kormak by Shivenhusk Himself. The head from Lord King Vyrkril was placed on a base of blacked bone and thrust into the cold burning fire. I swear I hear it scream in agony. Decnus Kormak smiled at his late king and when he pulled the chalice from the blue flame bare handed, he clutched it covetously. That alone made me afraid.
Upon the third storm-cracked night, under the light of a bloated blood red moon, the Razor of ManBeasts was crafted. A show of revenge, or the creation of a druid gone mad, no one knows for sure. But the ManBeasts walk the nighted forests now, ever since then, not a coincidence I say.
The Deathstick is a potent weapon, but it may well do more damage to it's user then the target, as it has not been perfected by it's creators yet.
Most magical weapons look magical and stand out, Excaliver, Grond and a host of others. This one appears to be a common scythe, but is anything but ordinary.
It started as the answer to a monarch’s fears, but it ended up as a thing of terror.
Three manacles created by a devout priest of the Storm Queen. Connected to the storm queen via one of the shards of the storm they are used to take control of any person who wears one.
There are certain things that need not be said, and events best left in the past, to be forgotten. Be careful what you wish for.
Can a demon ever learn what it means to feel pity, grief, fear, despair, joy and the rest of those tangled emotions and feelings that plague humans? Can beings who obtain their deepest satisfaction from the suffering they inflict on others,ever embrace those very things they so passionately despise and hate about the mortal races? Mozrak,wisest of the half-demons and beloved of the Mother Godess, believed it not impossible. The Staff is both his curse and gift to his pureblood cousins.
The tale of King Shorthold and The Window of the Mind
An item that puts a horible curse on the victims of its spell.
The Nomin gypsies have a fiddling competition every year, known as the Danse de Velose. Beaters hit out the rhythm on taut drums and the competitors start to play, slowly at first. Youngsters can compete, but are soon pulled away by worried mothers, before the competition becomes too dangerous. After two hours the haunting tune has become dazzlingly fast. You can resign at any time, but the moment you make a mistake you receive an arrow through the neck. Strings may snap, but the players must play on. The whole affair never lasts much longer than three hours, and the last fiddler playing is crowned king of the gypsies.