A dwarven masterwork shield, imbued with the power of wind.
What used to BEE the crown of an old dwarven king has now BEEn made a portable BEE-hive.
A suit of dragon scale armor created from and psychically linked to a still-living dragon.
The faded, yet oddly pristine robes of an ancient healer, this cloth radiates a palpable sense of comfort, of wholeness.
A pair of magical armored gauntlets
An unusual set of armor.
When dealing with magic, there’s power in a name.
"We found 'im alright" mumbled Rizz the bandit, nursing a wound below his right eye. "'e was soaked in blood, 'ead to foot. But no matter 'ow much we tried to 'urt 'im, 'e just laugh'd and kept gett'n up. I don' think 'e'll be leav'n town like ya want'd"
A man in plate armor approaches, but you see no face, for the chilling mist seeping from every joint in the armor obscures the view.
This set of jet-black breastplate is suffused with the power of those long gone.
Honored and cherished by the people of the Ragosi mountains, the Osaki have allowed them to retain their freedom in the face of those who would enslave them.
An arcane substance able to convert kinetic energy directly into matter.
Fear ye not the sorcerer’s might / for ye be wreathed in Baunumdraung’s light!
Twin Shards of the Storm reforged to work in concert, the Gauntlets of the Fallen Frost grant the user power over winter’s weather, but at a certain price…
And from your enemies your only shield shall be blood, and in it you shall thrive.
-Passage from the Samahhi
The Armour of Arrogance would seem to be the answer to a coward’s prayer, but he or she normally ends up wishing that it had never been worn, for it exacts a price of it’s own that may be even worse then the price of cowardice.
Carelessly tossed aside in the middle of some forgotten tomb, this breastplate has survived the rigours of age perfectly. It’s obviously extremely valuable, but it possesses a dark secret.
A reflective sheild, when a weapon intended to harm the wearer of the sheild is seen in its reflection, the weapon will instantly turn to dust.
An armor that senses wearer’s needs?
This chainmail shirt would be usefull to anyone who would use music to weave magic. However, there is a catch…
The old clock tower stands tall, but the bulk of the uppermost storey is crumbling and unsafe, with gaping cracks in the walls. The metal struts and girders supporting the great bronze bells are still intact, though, and the bells survive. The grotesque gargoyles and arabesques which decorated the original design have either fallen into the street (once or twice a year more bricks fall from the tower, prompting calls for its demolition) or have been defaced, but the main doors to the clock tower are still intact and show signs of being kept in working order. This is the home of The Captains, clad in raggedy clothes, with sooty faces, and perpetually runny noses. But behind each set of eyes is the look of a survivor. They live to stick together and make it through each day. Older than their years in many ways, the friendship they share with each other and Wims ghost keeps the core of a childs innocence and hope alive in each. But they are still very suspicious of outsiders. They are a group of street children who live in the clock tower. Some are orphans, some runaways, and some nomads who occasionally return to their homes. But they’re all poor, dirty and perpetually hungry, as well as being wily, unscrupulous and mischievous in a fairly brutal way. Enough of them have suffered at the hands of adults for all of them to be wary of any grown-ups, particularly ones who ask too many questions, although with hard work and a lot of food it might be possible to win the confidence or even the trust of a few of them.