Thin, tough, gummy almost to a point of rubber, and pitch black in color, it was only by sheer accident that anyone outside the drow race ever learned it was food.
An innocent square of delicate material - barely larger than a handkerchief in size. However, those who’s skin come into contact with this cloth, may find themselves wishing they never handled it.
These items, potent wards against spirits, were once commonplace. Following the end of the old Empire the methods of their manufacture was lost and none new have been made in the intervening centuries.
A reflective sheild, when a weapon intended to harm the wearer of the sheild is seen in its reflection, the weapon will instantly turn to dust.
An ancient sword, corroded yet sharp, which heightens all the worst qualities of its bearer (eg bloodlust, greed, no care for others). [Edited for more detail.]
A small and horrible bundle of needles and dyes with a truly sickening history and unpleasant side effects.
Specially treated troll flesh dried in strips like jerky which heals in small doses.
Thousands of orcs chant in unison as their champion and chieftan raises the black iron morningstar, they chant for the hammer of the underworld, the unbeatable weapon of orcdom.
A small trinket, unseen for centuries. It could be found anywhere: Perhaps lying with another cache of coins in an abandoned monestary. Perhaps behind a glass casing of a coin collectors display. But those who know what this coin represents may be inclined to flip it during times of oppression. Doing so may become their salvation, or the instrument of their demise. So toss the coin if there is nothing to lose, and see if you have The Devils Luck.
The Pier Point Crown was more then just a piece of royal headgear.This crown wanted to rule in
it’s own right,and would stop at nothing to do so…
These are artifacts of an earlier age. The Wells are symbols of a great power, that of the Eternal Flame, now lost to Humanity.
Or is it?
It is only the size of a thumb, but when this spakling stone burns with an inner fire, the destiny of holder changes.
a very useful exotic weapon
It looks very much like a normal short stabbing spear, wih a bulbous metalic haft and a slight greenish sheen on it’s razor-sharp blade. But those who have encountered it and lived to tell the tale, or used it themselves, know differently…
In some cultures,a man’s repect depends on his virility and sexual prowess in bed,as does his hope of getting a heir. But what if for some reason,he find himself unable to perform his duty in the bed chamber? Well,he should despair not,for the Soup of Fertility may save him yet!
Savage,blood thirsty,the amphibious shark men or Zaben cannot be controlled,so the conventional wisdom goes.
But is this really the case?
Oft overlooked, and moreso understaffed, the majordomo of Jesolo Manor sought out a sorcerous cousin to craft for him some sort of charm or spell to aid him in the maintainence of the sprawling manor. A six foot staff of twisted oak was his prize.
When magic is the stuff from which the world is made no man can afford to ignore it. For those who are unable, or unwilling, to undertake the rigorous study required to master the arcane arts the power of magic may still by available - for a price.
A tool of war, given free will to foster stife and conflict, that used that very same free will to become a messenger of peace.
What is it that hangs from such a fine belt? Tis a sword of Righteous Slaying, and a Mace of Disintegration. A pouch of Perfect Invisibility Dust, and a wand of Endless fireballs?
Good sir, This must be the Belt of Munchkin-kind
Molk Peruda is encountered by the PCs on the second day of their journey west from the salt-choked port of Quyn, as they prepare to explore the jungle.
He appears a gaunt, wolfish man, with matted, dark hair that sprouts from his head in dreadlocks, contrasting with his well-oiled, blue-black, conical beard. His eyes are hidden ebon shards beneath thick arching brows, his nose, crooked, long, and reminiscent of a snout. His mouth is a thin, dark line, his teeth unseen even when he parts his lips to speak.
His skin is the color of tallow, surprising perhaps for a renowned jungle guide, yet his natural helm of dreads and the jungle's canopy keeps the sun from bronzing his originally pale flesh. On his back are tattooed three women from the waist up, side-by-side, each resembling the other but of different ages. This is a tattoo of Molk's mother, sister, and daughter. His wife (don't bring her up to him!) was killed by marauding Qullan years ago, and appears as her own tattoo on his broad but sunken chest.
His feet shockingly are turned around 180 degrees at the ankle, facing towards his back! A curse from a pernicious shaman. Molk walks feet backwards (he's used to it) and walks backwards, forwards. This can be very disconcerting and outright creepy to the PCs as he guides them through the rainforest.
Slung from his back is an archer's quarrel of treated wood carved to resemble a stalking leopard, in his hand a re-curved composite bow of horn and sinew, with a pair of vivid, red eyes, each one painted on the opposite side of the hand-grip. In a leather sheath at his belt, hangs a falchion, its pommel adorned with a curved bird's head and beak.