"Please, there must be something you can do. Oh if he'd just managed to keep his eyes open, two more minutes would have been enough."
“You will all die for what you have done to me!” Van Torxes hissed. As his face reddened with anger, he stormed out of the room towards his chambers.
The tornado hat may look laughable to wear, but it's anything but funny when you're facing the tornado caused by such a hat. If using it, beware, do not spin for too long...
“Beware those gems that adventurers try to sell you. Before you know, they turn to fools’ gems”
Everyone knows that firearms are weapons only fit for orcs—smelly, loud, and unreliable. But there are guns made for ogres, too, and the largest of those are called Thunderguns.
"We don't understand why such things are even spread about us, we are not at all like that!"
One of the strangest weapons deployed by Z'pl'rt the Mad
"The gods must have truly wanted the king to drown, to make him meet such an end in a mud puddle, most unfortunate indeed. Then again we all knew he was unsteady on his feet, a pity that cane his son gave him for his 85th birthday didn't serve him better..."
A magically cursed walking stick, often gifted to those who have been on the throne a little too long. Suitable for use in any magical fantasy setting and easily adapted to higher tech magical settings.
Few things shine as bright as the jewels of Hell
The faded, yet oddly pristine robes of an ancient healer, this cloth radiates a palpable sense of comfort, of wholeness.
It is rare that humans earn a gift from the Merpeople, as most of the time the two races tend to avoid each other, and with scarce resources the Merpeople tend not to give gifts very often, yet it does happen...
"Got this here from a wizard on a bargin. Just the thing to survive the salvaging of treasure from the deep when you don't have a lot of start up cash. Not everyone can tame sea turtles mate, you know what I'm saying? This here is an item with it's own character, a real unique item, so beware of imitators! The surest way to spot a fake is have a friend try it, if he dies, all you have is a ordinary bucket and a funeral to pay for, this here is the one real deal you've been looking for and it's still available for a steal!"
- Street hawker outside the Affordable Arch-Mage
The Shay-Keded, or “Sand-Slaughter” is a magical kopesh hailing from the forgotten deserts of Nehekhara. The blade steals the life-force of its victims into potent magical energy for its wielder. However, it holds a great curse that backlashes the wielder if the magical energy absorbed by the blade is not spent…
Once the source of power for a cult now scattered, this item acts as both sacrificial altar and food grill.
EPB: when a computer program goes off the reservation and starts having feelings.
A 100-word piece of Sci-fi minutia
A ring that is not just magical, but stylish as well.
This ever-full, ever-surprising, ever-ridiculous flask contains a magical liquid that may be the best or worst thing you've ever drank. Handling with caution won't do you any good.
“Space farming ain’t like jumping through hyperspace boy! You got have patience, lots of water and thousands of kilometers of tubing.”
A 100-word piece of Sci-fi minutia
A small millstone, as far as millstones go, made by a wizard for his clerical friend to ensure he was always able to make fresh bread, wherever his travels took him.
If you had writing as bad as Corran's, you'd look for a way around it too.
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.