Every adventure starts with a good stout pair of boots. Thirty pairs of boots for your PCs to encounter and maybe wear.
"I once saw a raven fly over the Druidic wilderness, the lands claimed only by tooth, claw, tree and vine. The Raven landed in a clearing where many beasts stood in a large circle, landing in an empty space of the circle. It was there that I saw the beast lords return to their true forms, human, elf, half-elf and more. Each wearing a mantle of the beast they had been. The man that was a Raven wearing a cloak of feathers black as night."
- -Dynath Solobren, Elvish explorer
A cloak designed to magically conceal one's weapons from all but the wearer.
An item to aid those who seek to be hidden in the shadows...
Those fancy robes are not just for show.
Two rival wizards. You can guess what happens. Yes, one flays the other naturally, but is interrupted half-way through the skinning ritual...
A wonderfully ornate wood and silk dragon suit of the kind used in the Chinese Dragon dance. Flawlessly crafted, it is a wonder to see.
Freetext Friday, A Tale of Mysantia
- Stop ogling!
- I wasn't
- You can't take your eyes off her even now!
Only the good looking can't see it
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 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
A fine cloak that allows the wearer to see from a statue's eyes.
"I once went questin' for Alexander Sehtolc's five clothes. Each item has a magic power that the wearer can use, see. And when you get all seven, each power is amplified. 'Course, I never could find Alex's boots."
-Old Gerald, man in the pub.
Time to test yet another one, He thought as he approached the bus. He withdrew the quarters from his pocket, the exact fare. Marvelous!
Vampiric panties? What a base a vulgar term, they are discretionary undergarments. Please, they are Braies of the Tides.
It's just a shoddy old hand bag, pay it no mind.
It looked like a massive landslide, but, just before it slammed into us it turned into a bunch of laughing dwarven children!
The mark of Kronath’s ultimate favor, the Cloak of Dusk is held by her Hunter, her chosen avatar to hunt the living dead, and return them to her embrace.
"He’d look a lot more majestic up there if he weren’t wobbling all over the place!"
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.