This book’s origin’s are unknown, it’s owner, Pentwell, an old hermit gnome living of the coast of Felldart found it one day on the shoreline, floating in the tide. Then, he learned that the book fortold what was to happen.
The old boots of a farmer long dead. The hole in the bottom sudjests many things. But its cursed P’owers go B’eyond just a boot.
Technically, this would be the ring of DIM-wit…
It was a beautiful thing, a full length mirror in an elaborate gilt frame. But horror and madness followed it.
In certain parts of the world, DON’T ask for something in a language the barkeep dosen’t understand or say “just give me anything”
It is said that Marcus Diellus was an artistic genius. It is true that his paintings are magnificent, but they also have a dark secret.
This sword, enchanted with the dark magic of the Underworld, is wielded by Never Ending Silence, a Death-Knight.
And Cain said “Blood of my Blood, Soul of my Soul, partaketh of the Blood of the mortals, who art like the swine and chattel of the earth.”
Will certainly not be suspected, a bad luck charm for everyone around.
You know that little voice in the back of your head that tells you when you’re about to do something stupid? Well, he’s here and he’s brought some friends.
Beautiful red ruby seated in the golden gildwork of a half closed eyelid. Amulet causes unappreciated effects when rubbed or caressed.
A very ornate and very old looking spell book. Chock full of spells, most of which are unreadable by any magic user. The ones that can be read, unfortunately, don’t have the affect the mage is looking for.
Once every decade on the eve of St. Poskov's Day during mid-winter, the coastal city of Tiyabon experiences a horrific event. Quool's Tide rolls in, depositing hundreds of bloated, fish-eaten corpses upon the pebbly shores of Tiyabon's wide bay. This singularity is to this day unexplained, though countless theories abound. It is said for example, that these corpses are not eaten by the myriad fish of the seas completely, due to the fear all creatures of the seas hold for Quool.
Named for Quool, a terrible, antediluvian god of seas and storms, who no longer exists for he has no worshipers, the Tide chokes the beaches and surf with the countless rotting bodies of those who had perished at sea in a violent way.
Almost immediately, the lifeless corpses are fed upon by crabs, gulls, and worse things that await the horrid feast. The townsfolk let nature take it course with disinterested disgust, though lately some enterprising adventurers have taken to searching along the beaches of flesh for former deceased companions, with intentions of raising them again!
Surprisingly no undead ever rise from among the many corpses. This is also a mystery.