Some people are terrible liars. No matter the size of the falsehood, their manner and tone will infallibly expose them as the fraud they are. Malthis of Woodsman’s Dell was one of these people - until his brilliant mind concieved a solution…
Pure scent, while technically a potion, is not designed for drinking. If it is allowed to evaporate, it reacts with all ‘impurities’ in the air and removes them.
A rather non-descript burlap sack with some interesting qualities.
A curious ring, it seems to effect the sanity of a person when worn.
This beautiful golden staff has caused many a man or woman to become lost for words…
The divine weapons of the Storm Queen, these enormously potent weapons are both the Source and the Destiny of the Shards of the Storm, the physical manifestations of the destructive capacity of the wind and rain.
An extremely shiny piece of bling, so big and amazing that it inspires anyone who sees it to ask questions about its origins, the bearer, and most anything else they can think of.
Why call a staff a sword? No accident, I assure you. A sword strikes people down, injuring thier life. Danrick’s Sword injures the victims lives, to be sure, but a bruise from an old man’s stick is only the beginning of thier woes.
A classical enchanted weapon…
An emerald, the size of three fists, and burning with an inner light. A most worthy prize for any adventuring party.
The Doll House holds what you would expect it to hold, dolls. With one minor detail.
Few in the history of the world have mastered creation of the aspect stones - certainly there is no mortal alive today that could craft one. Few even know of such an items existence. It is said, however, that all legends are derived from truths, and the Aspect stones may be the fact behind many great myths.
It’s no secret that Ogres fight dirty. The slobbering hulks will wield anything they can find in their bloodthirsty rage - which often results in very odd weapons indeed!
Invented by the Pelezians, the ceremonial bowl became a part of the holy tradition, coupled with a most practical purpose.
(Made for religions of agriculture.)
Who says maids can’t use magic?
Your eyes can lie. Blindfolds can slip away. The Dark Latern extinguishes the deception of light and shadow.
This beautiful amber charm has changed the fate of empires, saved towns in the past, caused romances…and left a trail of damaged and destroyed minds in it’s wake. The one who would use it’s power should be prepared to pay a heavy price…
Why go to all trouble of applying makeup, when a few simply cantrips can produce much better results in a fraction of the time?
Fairly small and innocuous looking, appearing to be little more than broken trinket, a dissassembled "ship in a bottle", this artifact of immense magical power only starts to show it’s power as you meticulously rebuild the ship in the bottle.
The weapon has elvish writting on the hilt, which describes the power of the blade and a warning to whomever may use it. the main users are elvish warriers and members of a royal family as it is normally handed down a family line. The blade is made of platinum which shines mother of pearl and when commanded to it can submerge itself in boiling water which can get up to 110 degrees. The attacker can not withstand the blade near them or on there skin, as the blade enters the body the boiling water will burn them from the inside out within a matter of seconds.
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.