We were crossing a ridge when Corgan was lifted off the ground by something. "Shoot it! Shoot the tyrannosaur!" he screamed as blood streamed from the puncture wounds that had opened up in belly. I fired into the empty space above him to no effect. Then Corgan's ragged corpse dropped to the forest floor, and I was alone. Utterly alone. There was no dinosaur. There was nothing.
A Magical Hat that has only enough magic to stay on its wearers head, in spite of wind, falling, or even being turned upside down. The owner, never having to pick up his hat gains an extra swagger to his step, and a small boost to charisma.