...The light reflected off its pale green surface, glinting off what seemed to be veins coursing through the stone. A curious ring, just lying there as if asking to be found…
Machines powered by this battery can gain some interesting traits from their deceased co-worker, the Battery of the Damned.
I have found the Book of Remembrances in the royal library… a wellspring of knowledge directly from the mouths of great rulers and scholars of the past… my only wish is that I might discover a way to add my own knowledge to this work.
T’Arkia, Imperial High Mage
An Elven made memory stone
A rare and diseased jewel, a canker fallen from the heavens
Warning: Trickster’s Tankard may result in alcohol abuse, random bar fights and very angry dwarves, half orcs, orcs, giants and anyone else who enjoys their drink.
Use with caution
"Never seen anything like it before. Two strikes, and the room was awash in blood."
You are the lovers rock
The rock that I cling to
You’re the one
The one I swim to in a storm
Like a lovers rock
- Sade "Lovers Rock"
With no helm or hat, closer inspection reveals that part of his face has rotted away. "Give me orders!"
Who would want to make food you can’t eat? What purpose does this insane oven exist for?
Ever want to be half-man half-horse? Probably not, but these shoes can make it happen.
A set of pale white panpipes, etched with images of the winter storms…
Most weapons of legend are made in the days of legend; Nightfall is an exception, birthed in violence and vengeance.
Most magical weapons look magical and stand out, Excaliver, Grond and a host of others. This one appears to be a common scythe, but is anything but ordinary.
A sword that stores the identity of the wielder. To transfuse the soul to the blade, one must first stab himself through the heart. The person will not die, but lose the freedom of the soul upon real death.
As if there was not enough siliness around…
...The ring slid onto her finger as if it were lovingly crafted just for her. Its diamond seemed to take in the sunlight, amplify and reflect it in every direction. Then almost immediately, the light waned and the stone went dark. Her throat clutched in a constricting gurgle before she slumped to the ground, still and lifeless.
...The rubies seemed to withdraw into the ring and then into his flesh. The man howled in pain, two small holes were the only reminder the rubies existed, but he could feel them still.
Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional.
Ogelend, Border Reiver
"What, another murder?! How can this happen?! No leads at all? I didn’t think so. Something’s got to be done about the children, I suppose…"
"A doll for your child, sir? Only two coin. My dolls want to be played with, sir. That’s why they were made. They’re very special dolls, sir."
The Mad Pope is a wandering mercenary. He is very well deranged as he considers himself to be the pontiff of the dominant faith. His robes are tattered, his mitre has seen better days and there are surely lice in his long ratty beard. What sets him apart from most addle-pated would be holy men is that he has armor under his robes and carries a large crossbow and several one-handed swords. While many would discout him as just another lunatic, for some reason, he inspires others around him and has demonstrated the ability to lay on hands and heal the wounded.