A dark emperors gloves that make an excelent weapon and torture tool.
People couldn’t reconcile themselves with her heritage. So they drove her away, calling her “Cursedborn.”
The Crown Princess of Sadaren needs a husband! There’s just a few teeny little problems.
The less-than-delicate heiress to the land of Sadaren, her battle prowess is as legendary to those people as her lack of education.
Will this tome be the saviour or the bane of your heroes?
When a mysterious man hires them to slay Baza, the Yellow Priest, will the heroes find more than they bargained for?
Centaur-crafted marching drums, imbued with firey power.
Warstaff (Warhammer/staff combo). Call of the Storm is five feet even. It is an archmage’s staff that has been modified into the Warstaff by adding a Warhammer’s hammerhead and infused with magical reserves.
A lute form of living crystal, powerful and ultimately fatal to the wielder…
A heroic warrior who is not what he seems to be.
A masterwork katana meant to give souls to the undead.
A blessing can also be a curse - and the last thing the world needs is an Orcish confidence trickster with an enhanced intellect and a penchant for storybooks.
Ringed round by ancient political foes, this ancient nation finds itself dealing with a powerful foe, one with far more sinister hungers than money or land.
A front-line missionary into the worst of places.
A magical synthetic limb, with the power to call Lightning and Thunder.
A great warrior, cursed with an eternal life and a dark companion.
Many years ago, a trader from far away died while in The City. One of the entries of his possessions was a "bag of 220 beautiful coyns". These coins were sold to a crafter who sold some of them and made others into hat band decorations, jewelry, bag clips, and so on. It was years later that someone discovered their true worth and their power. They make things move.
It is said that there is always night, even during the day it is dark. Undead prowl around freely, and pity to those living that end up there. Still, lucky are those eaten by the hordes, some fools get deeper and their very souls are consumed by the nameless horrors that lurk in some hidden spots. And still more serve as new material for the Necromancers, the only living creatures there, as they say at least…
A secluded mage garbed only in black, an obvious aura of corruption exuding from him. His emotions seem to be absent, and evil is more than a desire to him. Its a necessity.
Vernae is a forested island which, centuries ago, became the home to refugees from the civilised lands far to the east.
The party comes across a nice hermit in the woods. He gives them food and lodging for the night. They awaken to his terrified screams. "East! It's east! Stop it! It'll kill us all!" The poor horror-stricken hermit dies thrashing in agony, one boney arm outstretched, his finger pointing to the east.