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 accepted mode of getting otherwise unobtainable information is to go visit the cranky old hermit living in the mountains. It's just the sensible thing to do. So, naturally, everyone takes their monthly excursion to the hermit's hovel to consult him on everything, from lock-jaw to lovesickness, necromancers to nasal viruses.
Now, if everyone's always visiting the poor old hermit, there's going to be an enormous queue... "Wellcome to the Hermitt's Hovele, Please Take Ye a Number and Have Ye a Seate" reads the sign outside the packed dwelling.
Imagine the poor hermit, having retreated into the mountains to escape this precise situation...