Instrument or Monument? These blur that line.
Few know the secret behind the Flying Monks of Ka-zin is not entirely due to their remarkable skill at acrobatics, but also in the colorful belts they wore.
"The Blizzard be strong outside, lads; settle yehself in and breathe the steam; we'll pass the time with a story."
The product of the Entwiner’s art, this net is carefully crafted with nearly invisible knots in its fine mesh. These knots speak in the language of Entwining Magic, the words of keeping and holding.
The Deck of Shadows is bound to other dimensions through demonic blood magic infused in the wood, and the eldritch essence woven into the vivid paintings on the cards.
Magic that really gets under your skin.
An ancient shrine of a mischievous goddess. The proper offering will give you her blessing, but 'ware you don't feed her wrong!
A statue with the power to fix your mistakes.
To fly. One of man's oldest and fondest dreams. To soar above like a bird, for the joy of it, to explore, or to strike at one's enemies. It is only natural that magic would be turned towards granting this wish.
A well-loved and somewhat crudely hand-crafted tribal drum owned by the Tribal Half-Orc, Somnak. It is said that Somnak possessed the ability to call upon the spirit of any creature whose skin was pulled over the drum to aid him and his allies in battle, as well as curse his foes.
A polished flake of porous stone, stained a deep, rusted brown, this once-hallowed knife contains traces of the eldest of magics.
An ancient pocket watch grants its possessor sway over time itself, granted, at heavy price.
You find a dusty violin on a stand in the next room. Through the grime of the years, you can tell that it is of excellent make. Perhaps someone can put it to good use? An instrument is meant to be played, after all...
The three sacred relics of Ahkti.
The sound was most troublesome. Long have I been prisoner to Kormack and his evil designs, and the torturous sounds my heart has been cursed to endure has left me cold inside. I endure and ignore. Cold to the pain and the suffering of poor souls around me. Their Fate forsworn as soon as they enter His lair. But this, this atrocity has pierced my now icebound heart and cracked deep into my very soul. The children... The mewling babes that know nothing of their future, nothing of the joys of life. Innocent of horrors of the world and the dread future it holds. How short that future is. I can not get the sound of the mewling infants from my mind, it is seared into memory as a brand on an animals flank forever to remain. Some have even laughed right up till the end and nothing is more damaging to ones sanity than a broken childs laugh.
Master Blacksmith Heaf Astes
Slow and meticulous, Heathen had a great deal to prove to the other witches of her coven. So, she set out to do the impossible: the wand of death.
The grudging gift of thankful mermen, a fine blade with a bit of baggage.
A dwarven masterwork shield, imbued with the power of wind.
"We fought the li'l beasties," the gruff old Dwarf growled, "so where the blazes is their treasure!"
Glacier grinned, "Just give me a second, I know how to find it."
You pass through a woodland with a floor that seems remarkably clean of debris. Suddenly your attention is drawn to a twisted bit of wood by the trail side, a short broken twig with several stubs of branches along its length and most of the bark missing. When you reach it, the twig blurs and turns into a small brown lizard, caught in the middle of its body-twisting run. The little reptile darts away down the trail with impossible speed, no doubt magically enhanced, and is lost to sight in a moment. Now someone knows you are coming...