A weapon from before the time of men, enchanted in times of legend by the greatest of the land’s druids.
When you face a foe in desperate life-or-death combat, there’s nothing like getting good and liquored up first…
Few cities could stand long before the invincible "Firedrake", the Hegemon’s mightiest vessel of war.
Nerundill caught hints, snippets of conversation. The rumors surrounded a book, a book of magnificent power. A book that contained the knowledge of the ancients. With every new tantalizing bit of information he heard, his resolve to possess this book increased.
Click, Zap, Fazaz, and Boom; carrying us all to our tomb. -The BombLovers
Not a bad weapon, but don’t miss. It takes about six minutes to reload…
The ornate flintlock pistol of a highwaymen, consecrated to Nahrem, God of the Crossroads
This item is not listed in many tombs of magic, nor is it detailed in any text books among the arcane. It is however sung about in many a tavern and bar across the coastal cities. The tale is sung more about the man who created it. His tale has been embellished time and again until he seemed more a god than the coward that he was.
A simple knife, designed to hold its poison far longer than a blade with poison simply smeared over it.
The tradition of Battle Sashes is only a century or two old. It started in Celedor by the River, but it has been adopted in every part of the WestLands. Given the presence of blood, spirit and honor, it was only a matter of time until magic became involved.
The armies of the Treaty States go to the fronts of the Great War armed with the sturdy, trusty and effective Dirziet Model-6, a magazine-fed bolt-action rifle.
“Masterful Ares, god of war you place me in this dread place far from my home, no friends or family, and only you to talk to. Still even you seem never to answer. I have served you many a century and still you wont answer my prayer, well this last prayer I will send with all the blood of the men of this world if you will send me home.” Paladrim, his final prayer to Ares
A dark dagger of song, forged for vengance. It shall have that vengance.
A long sword with a curved light steel-like blade and a ruby inlaid into the pommel of the swords hilt. Used by the greatest of Warriors to vanquish their foes, be them good or evil.
The Broom of the Dai Kiri, while looking like a normal broom, was a deadly weapon in the hands of a Dai Kiri Keeper trained to use it.
This is another item made form Troll parts that I created for my game. This one went to a bard, but it is well suited for anyone that can use a bow.
It seems to me that monks tend to get the short end of things, item wise. There is not much variety out there, and most of what there is is rather cliche. So, when my players were sent on a job to clear out a troll cave, I created something a bit different.
“A man needs two things to become a saint. He must perform three miracles, and then he must die. Perform your miracles, sir, and come to me when you are ready to become a saint.”
—Azariah Saintmaker, Dread Lord of Hatred
A unique spear that was lost in production.
This is a light armor developed by a smart -now master- alchemist. It is a light, gives decent protection, is of high quaility and thin enough to not be noticable in public. In short the perfect armor for travellers that don’t want draw attention to themselves.
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.