This looks like an elaborately fashioned wooden egg-cup, but it is a powerful magical tool, used mainly by witches to conjure up spirits and familiars.
The Glow Lights of the Great Library. This set of five unbreakable crystal balls provide bright magikal light so people can read among the rare books and scrolls in the Great Library without risking candles. These innocuous items are often overlooked. They would not be, if anyone knew their origins were with Corvus the Mad.
The Dragon Carved Egg, is a perfect crystal egg, the size of a goose egg, etched with images of a pride of dragons. It grants the one holding it immunity from Dragon. This item is another Legacy of Corvus the Mad. In fact, his signature is written in tiny script in the edtchings.
Bed, health, live, get well.
An Elven artifact with no other purpose but to spread hatred and mayhem.
A small door, often wood but sometimes metal or stone, that is a doorway to an extra-dimensional room.
Grothar’s oxen driking horn has an ornate silver encasement over the bottom half of the horn. The horn will turn saltwater into the finest dwarven ale.
A bronze bowl with warrior carvings around the outside of it. When used correctly it will allow the wielder’s spirit to venture out of thier body and go where it wishes.
Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.