A staff of great power in the hands off those who manipulate the strands of fate.
Amos only wanted to please you with his music.
That there is a big gun, partner…
Sure is. Feeling lucky?
One of many small artifacts created eons ago, The Sands of Fury is capable of creating massive turmoil and destruction from above.
Day in and day out the library and labs Robert was always about. When questioned of his motions, he explained he was fetching his master’s potions, but secretly crafting a wand is what he pained. In the end an ebony wand was made, it would be known later as Trotters Unfair Trade.
a fur coat with interesting properties and penalties
Ghostly flaming apparition of a blade, slayer of spectres and all that is ethereal, wielded by its durable hilt inlaid in gold, silver, ivory and white pearls. It can turn the tide when fighting the intangible.
“Your eye, your eye!” crowed Imupokith, the Sea-Witch, and Vruthath, clutching his bleeding socket, held out his hand.
Upon the palm was a staring green eye.
Poleran: Hey what are you chewing there sir?
Bearded Man: Gunjii a super sticky gum.
Poleran: What do you mean sir?
The wall unsealed, Mirror Serpent peered inside, ready to gaze upon the riches within. But he recoiled. There was only a withered corpse, and in its hands, a flickering lantern…
“Clear glacial water, spring barley, winter wheat and summer hops are what good ales are known for. The ale should not be too old or it will be stale or bitter, it must breath or the favor won’t be just right, and most importantly it should be chilled to just a hair above freezing, so the taste is sharp and crisp” ~ Taliwar Jil - Master Brewer, Far Doman
The shield of the gods forged from the sun by Apollo himself but how can it be…...........
The Seven Lords of the Peninsulari each wore a magical signet ring identifying them as a sovereign lord.
“Wolf, have you not heard, Red Riding left to college years ago and is married with 2 kids of her own, she has not come to Grandmother’s house for 5 years now. What have you done with Grandma, for if it is murder, the axe you will have.”
“Odd style, you present yourself with.”
“Yes indeed, it suits me well enough.”
::lunge:: ::parry:: ::cross:: ::reposte:: ::parry::
“Strange you lead with your dagger, yet you attack in defend with your right…”
“I’d honor you with a flourish from my left but that would hardly be fair…”
“First blood it is, on guard!”
Manifold collections of wheels, and gears, springs and coils, all bound by the inexoriable tread of time.
“Made on a small island in the Black Sea, it has the power to make a person invinsible in magical concerns, but people should be warned, it has never brought luck to it’s wielders.” Conan Highblade, High Seer of Abasil
“A brand forged in the dying embers of the old gods, such that a pact was formed in the light of the new era. The birthing gods of the lands would attribute to man his due accord or be unmade from the power that bore them. So it came that man was able to vanquish the tribulations that followed.” ~ Caeracyn folklore.
A Magical Stone, look into it and see what you need to, but beware…
The Kite Shield of Caladin, passed down to son from father in the Whitewing Family…
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.