Full Item Description
This item is a standard blacksmith’s puzzle.

History
As the blacksmiths anvil beat down in it’s repeating motions, sparks flew during the forging process of Thunderheart, a legendary item forged with one of the Shards of the Storm. Sparks are actually red hot pieces of metal that are scattered on the ground. After the forging of Thunderheart, the floor was swept, and the metal was recycled and recast into many small objects and trinkets…
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On his birthday, Collin, a twelve year old boy, opened a small box. Inside was a blacksmith’s puzzle. Collin was genuinely impressed. It didn’t look like any blacksmith’s puzzle that he had done before, and he had done a lot of them. He was very good at them, and considered himself one of the best around.

Exited, he immediately took to solving it with the care and patience that he always used, methodically trying one thing, then another. After about half an hour, he realized that this was a particularly tough puzzle, one of the hardest that he had ever seen, and he was even more determined to get it right.

Two hours later, he was a little bit annoyed that he had not yet solved it, but at least he was getting close. His mother called him to come down for lunch and once lunch was over, he quickly raced upstairs, having realized the solution while he was eating.

When he got back up, he tried his solution that he knew would work, but instead, he found that he had somehow overlooked something.

In total, he spent about twenty three hours with the puzzle, getting more and more frustrated with it, until he finally threw it out of his window in anger, something that had never happened before.

Magic/Cursed Properties
This blacksmith’s puzzle contains the smallest fraction of a Shard of the Storm. Because of the random and volatile nature of these shards, the blacksmith’s puzzle is unusually hard to figure out.

Even more frustrating, is the fact that, left unattended, the puzzle changes. The change is usually small, but even a small change can change a blacksmith’s puzzle drastically. The change never makes the blacksmith’s puzzle impossible to solve. There is always a solution, but that solution changes, and if solved, another way has to be found to put the puzzle back together again.

Because of the nature of the shards, prolonged use of the puzzle will cause the solver to become more quickly frustrated or aggravated than usual, espescially while trying to solve the puzzle.

Description
A small rounded disk of metal approximately five inches wide, its silvered surface smooth and perfect, able to reflect the light of the sun. A small crest is etched into the center of a hammer and anvil, the mark of the smith Marcus. The crest is thick and solid and can be forged into shields and armor or worn as a brooch or amulet.

History
Marcus came across a shard of shiny metal embedded into the ancient oak that shaded his smithy. Proud of the find, he thought little of its appearance, thinking it a boon of the gods. He rested it in his home for fear of it being taken, wondering what he could use the marvelous piece for.

That night he dreamed. Of storms and thunder, lightning and wind all erupted in his mind with clarity that he was sure was real. His sleep was uneasy and wrought with energy and power. He dreamt of a battle between two mighty foes, their faces obscured by the storm clouds and lightning. He did see their crests on their shields and armor however. The lightning over an open field, which he knew to be the Queen Abelra of the northern Kingdom of Rhomas, which is were he resided. The justice scales on a field of coins he knew to be of King Woedan of the southern Kingdom of Ediren.  He woke with many questions and no answers.

The next day some of his answers were given to him. A page from the capital came to the small village to announce all able bodied men who could serve at arms were to announce themselves at the castle by mid day in three days. A war was brewing between Rhomas and Ediren. Marcus knew the Gods had spoke to him in his fevered dreams. His son stepped up and claimed he would be there. His son, Anthony was no long a boy. A man grown, with arms to match his fathers grown from hours bent over the anvil. He would go to war. Marcus knew then what he must do with the metal he found.

He spent the three days pouring over his smithy, working the metal. Forcing it to do his bidding, mentally bending it with his will alone it seemed. Bending it over and over, demanding it be finished for his son’s departure. When his son woke on the third morning, he was gifted with a sight that brought tears to his eyes. His father handed him a rounded shield of immense beauty. Silvered and smooth, it shone in the light with a bluish tint, like the after image of a lightning strike. A small disk in the center showed an etched hammer and anvil, a testament to the family crest they so laughingly talked about. Energy seemed to jolt his arm when he first gripped it, standing his hair up slightly.  Anthony took it and was surprised by the weight; it was light but firm, solid in his thick hand.

No words were spoken by Marcus, a tear drifting from his eye, but Anthony knew. ‘I will father. I will make you proud.” With that he gathered his few possessions and left.

Anthony was given grief by many superiors about his shield, claiming it stolen. However, whenever someone tried to take it from him they failed. He would push them aside like a grown man would a child. His captain saw this and was intrigued, spoke with Anthony of the history of the shield and allowed him to keep it. His size and talent at learning warcraft quickly stood him out above the others. He quickly rose to a position of trust and skill. Anthony went to battle, his shield in hand and his promise to his father on his lips. He was nervous, but not scared. He knew that nothing would stop him from returning to his father.

Soldier after soldier blasted into him, but his shield was always there stopping the attack as if by its own will. He would always enter the heaviest of combat leaving with minimal injuries and plenty of honors to claim as his own. His commanders saw this and elevated him quickly, seeing his potential. Soon his name was talked about through the lines of friend and foe alike. Soldiers would rush to fight by his side so they could say they were there in the thickest of battle. Enemies would try to angle away from his men, avoiding his raging talent. Indeed it was raging. When he fought, storms boiled and thunder always sounded, but no rain would fall.

When he was on the battlefield, he didn’t see what others saw. He saw the Gods. He witnessed the Gods battle every time he swung his sword. Every time he blocked a strike, he saw the Gods battle each other and he knew it to be true. He was no longer Anthony; he was becoming them, becoming a God himself. With each passing battle, his renown grew, and so did his rage and sense of himself. He began to ignore the commands of his superiors and make his own battle designs, always coming out on top. He demanded his soldiers to follow him or die; they did willingly at first knowing they would gain respect. Then his demands began to worry even the stoutest of soldiers.

During one such meeting with his superiors, they commanded of him to use his force as a reinforcement only unit. Anthony refused and went to battle with his men, who were beginning to reluctantly follow his lead. Many of them were beginning to become injured as they found the tightest of enemy forces to battle each time. Some were not making it anymore.

His commander confronted him on the battlefield about his insubordination, Anthony’s answer sounded with the swing of his sword. They fought amidst the tumult of soldiers on both sides, with each swing enemies stopped and stood and watched. Shoulder to shoulder previous enemies watched for the outcome of the single combat. Blows were traded, but only his commander was hit. Many times it would seem as if Anthony would be struck, only to have his shield to stop its progress instantly. On one such strike, the commander saw an opening in which no one could defend, Anthony was over balanced and his shield was behind him. He struck and was knocked to his feet as a wall of wind erupted from around Anthony and blocked the strike for him. Those close by were also knocked to the ground; the force of the wind was so strong. “You can not defeat me! I am the God of the Storm!” His cry resounded loud enough over the battle field that most within hearing stopped fighting. He thrust his sword into his commander’s throat and bellowed at those around him, attacking anything that was close.

The wind came to his aid and threw enemies aside who tried to flank him. When he struck light flared and sent those he hit flying away, smoking and twitching. The soldiers of Ediren began defending him for a short while, but when Anthony began attacking anything with reach, they began helping their former enemies to defeat the monstrosity before them. The fight was long and fierce, but Anthony walked away unscathed, his blood boiling from rage. His last kill was a young soldier, no more than a boy of thirteen. His doe eyes broke through the rage and anger of Anthony and he saw what he had done.

He ran in the night and didn’t stop until he collapsed. He lay, covered in gore and blood, some of it his enemies but most of it his previous friends. He whispered prayers to the Gods to beg forgiveness of his crimes, but no answers were forth coming. This angered him again and he sought to punish that who brought this on him. He anger, his rage filled him he cried out to the heavens and it began to rain.

Marcus has heard of his son’s exploits and his skill and was proud as any father could be. He was shocked on evening to hear a bang at his door. The rain had not stopped for weeks. He opened the door to see his son. Or he thought it was his son. He seemed larger, his muscles taunt, his face and neck corded in rage. “You are the reason for my damnation and that is the reason you die.” He struck out with the shield his father created and lightning struck the small house.

No one knew what happened but no bodies were found in the charred house. The metal crest of the shield was the only thing intact. It was brought to the King who gave it to his must trusted commander. Tales of his exploits rang through the Kingdom and enemy lines as did Anthony’s.

Magic Properties
The metal crest can be attached to any item of substantial size, such as a shield or a breastplate of armor. It can also be worn as a necklace or amulet and has been known to be used as a brooch. Tales of it being sewn into the back of a gautlet also have followed in its wake.

The crest was made from one of the Shards of the Storm, a testament of the Gods ability and anger. From the love that was placed into creating it, it will protect the wearer from harm by calling on the forces of nature and of the storm itself.

It can create walls of air at the wearers bidding to block attacks. If the wearer is unaware of the attack it can send a force of air to propel the attacker away, blasting the air from their lungs.

It can also send charges of energy into an attack by the wearer. This sends the anger of the gods in the forms of energy, similar to lightning into the victim. A sulfurous odor always seems to follow behind such a strike.

There is a great price to pay for using this item however. The more it is on their person, the more they will feel superior than those around them. They will begin to refuse advice and orders. They will also begin to become real quick to anger at the slightest of offense. This seed will continue to grow in them until they begin to feel as one of the Gods. This is brought on by dreams of the Gods warring, and images of the battles they fought while on the battlefield. If they are strong enough they can fight the urges for a time, but it is inevitable that they will break under the pressure of the Gods will and turn on those around them.

Many aeons ago, when the Gods were young and the world was new, the Storm Queen and the Mad Lord of Avarice met in battle in the heavens. The battle between the two raged not for hours, but for decades, with no quarter asked, and none recieved in their madness. Beneath them, the lands were shredded by mighty winds and shattered with the force of the Mad Lord’s blade, while the soil was soaked and charged by the very blood of the gods. In the end, both of the gods had been weakened enough in their battle that for precious moments, each was no longer immortal. In the beginning of their moment, the golden steel sword of the Lord of Greed crashed into the crackling blade of wind and thunder the Storm Queen called her own, and in one shimmering moment, each shattered as if they were made of fine glass. Reduced at last to biting and clawing, the Gods withdrew from their battle, concerned far more with survival than with vanquishing their foe, each drained of their fury, and indeed, much of their divine power.

Now, hundreds of millenia after the battle here, the lands have changed in response to the divine blood that soaks them.

Though often dead and empty of life, this shattered land does not lack the rain and moisture that marks a typical desert. In fact, it has them in overabundance. On a nearly daily basis, wicked windstorms, titanic typhoons, and horrible hurricanes scour the land, battering and lashing at everything they find. At night, hail and slashing drops of frozen rain rail down upon the ground, scouring it free of soil and life, and even the rocks beneath shatter at night.

Beneath the shattering force of the weather, the land is broken and rough, a maze of shifting caves and ravines, created and shattered by constant, eternal earthquakes. Volcanic eruptions are frequent here, showering the land with ash and rock, which is almost immediately beaten and frozen back into the ground by the fierce weather.

Where rivers run through the gutted land, they run deep and fast and red, and taste of blood. Those that drink of them are suffused with the divinity that soaks the land, their lives becoming longer and healthier, though it tinges their minds with chaos.

Furthermore, a spirit of madness inhabits this place, and it settles into any creature brave or stupid enough to attepmt to cross the lands. Their thoughts are scattered and they find it increasingly difficult to concentrate on a single thing. They lose the restraints that keep them behaving in a civilized, or even a pack or herd manner, acting upon any little thought that may cross their mind, guilt and selflessness slowly leeching away from their mind. In the madness, they are greedy and destructive, and will go to any lengths to take any little thing they might want, as long as they can remember what it is. In any case, whatever they attain is not enough, and they will want more.

Why bother to come here? The treasure of those who have died crossing it, and the Shards of the Storm…

An exceptionally dangerous badlands, the Desert of Divine Despair is really quite indifferent to things like Character Level, the basics needed to survive it will be the same no matter who you are. Daring men and women may skirt its edges to evade persuit or gain an advantage on a foe, or they may penetrate deeper in in order to seek the lost treasures of the madlands. So too, do the gods hold council here from time to time, knowing that they cannot be harmed by the effects of the land, and an eye of the storm seems to follow them when they are here, the land bright and clear near them. Here there are so very few mortals who can reach them. Still, here is one of the few places where a mortal may have the chance to gaze upon much of the pantheon, and even gain their attention for a short time, for they are well aware of the area’s hazards.

Many thousands of years ago, when the Blades of the Storm Queen were shattered in battle, one small fragment of one of the blades, Typhoon, was embedded in the trunk of a tree. As any other wound, sap flowed about the translucent blade, and crystallized about the fragment, entrapping it in amber.

It was not until millenia later that a madman who’d attempted crossing the Desert of Divine Despair found the amber, freed from the tree by a bolt of lightning. Not understanding what he found as he picked it up, he spent precious hours staring into the yellow stone. His confusion magnified, he eventually snapped from his trance and fled, not even noting in his delirium that the storms about him had ceased. Several weeks later, it was his misfortune to die in an attempt to fly like the sparrow he’d decided he was across a wizard’s moat.

The wizard, however, was far more prepared to deal with the divine bauble that dropped, most literally, in his lap as he was out for his evening swim. After much consideration and deliberation, he polished the amber carefully, into a sphere, and set it as the stone of a rather gaudy looking pendant. The Amber appears to be the eye of some demonic creature, bringing forth the name.

Magical Properties:

A fragment of the Divine Sword of the Storm Queen, Typhoon, the source of the Eye’s power is the translucent, jagged shard that forms the slit ‘pupil’. Composed, as it is, of a shard from the non-cutting edge of the faintly curved blade, the Eye of the Typhoon is a less combatative fragment, serving as a support for more deadly portions of the blade. These functions are only reinforced by the nature of the setting.

Now that the power of the Eye has been shaped, it has become a powerful artifact to bolster the mind and senses. As the Eye is donned, the wearer’s sight, hearing, and smell become sharper, significantly beyond the normal for mortals. The air becomes clearer, easier to see through, and the breeze always sees to bring the sound and scent of far away things. So too, do etherial things become clear, a tiny fraction of Her senses bestowed upon the wearer.

Further, the mind becomes supernaturally calm and balanced, so much so that it is extremely difficult to rouse any sort of passion in the wearer of the amulet. He does not become a logical machine, however, his thoughts will be unclouded by anger, lust, grief, or the like. It is further difficult for him to feel pressured or panicked: The more absolute the chaos about him, the greater this calming effect. In addition, the wearer of the amulet gains a sort of weather sense, and can both predict and recall the weather with absolute accuracy. Note that the Eye does not grant the power to control the weather, but rather, simply knowledge of it.

In times of great peril, the Eye may take a sort of defensive action: Just beyond the length the wearer can reach with arms outstretced, a thin wall of high velocity wind may encircle the wearer. While many forms of magic can penetrate this barrier, projectiles, blades, and even human flesh are ripped to shreds by the force of the wind. There are no simple limitations on this power, however, the wearer must feel significantly threatened, and may not conciously invoke the power.

The longer the Eye is worn, the more detatched the wearer becomes from reality, feeling as if he is drifting over the mortal world with only the fleeting touch of the wind. It is not uncommon for the wearer to forget his mortality, and die of self-neglect.

The calm at the Eye of the Storm is not quite invulnerable, however. Should the outside influences succeed in unbalancing the wearer of the Eye, he will lash out with all the fury of the storm. Characters so enraged will strike out uncontrollably with gale force winds, massive devestation their only goal until the fury subsides after several hours.

(NOTE: These are NOT intended for PC consumption! They are things of legend, not of the present!)

Many are the tools of the gods as they contend with each other, my child, the iron tools and swords of man, the earth and wind of nature, and even the immortal celestials are but pawns in their great games. But have you ever wondered, mortal man, why they play these games? Why they ne’er appear, to take a direct hand in acquiring what they desire? Settle, young one, and ye shall learn.

In ancient days, of course, when man was newborn, and walked the world with coltish, staggering steps, so too did the Gods themselves walk amoung them, to guide those staggering steps. It was a time of bounty, of beauty, and before long at all, one of Sorrow.

For you see, mortal, it was in those days that the God of Desire fell to that one thing which can truely harm a God. Himself. Succumbing to the enthrallment of His own Aspect, He made war upon the other Gods, seeking their Power for Himself. And Desire and Greed and Lust and Paranoia and Madness of every kind became His weapons as He struck out at Them, and One by One, They fell before Him.

Now, certainly, did the Gods see that They must stand before their fellow God, and destroy Him, but None felt Themselves able to withstand His touch of Madness. None, but One Whom Was Already Mad. Descending, then, from the Sky which was Her home, the Storm Queen, the Chaotic Mistress of Destruction, to come upon a mortal soul, one with but the faintest traces of desire marking it. And She took it upon Herself as Her Avatar, woman and Goddess truely becoming One, a composite Being with the Will and Power of a God, and the Presence in the Here and Now of a Human. Thusly fortified, She knew exactly what She needed to do.

Reaching out into the Sky which was Her home, She drew forth two Blades, one from the Eternal Typhoon, one from the Eternal Monsoon. These, then, would be the Perfect Concentration of Her Destrictive Power. Varied are the accounts of Their shape, but all agree that They were perfect. No iron nor steel nor bronze were They, but forged were They of the Fiercest Winds, the Harshest Rains, the Brightest Lightning, and the Loudest Thunder, and when She struck with Them, it was all of these together that became Her weapon.

Thusly armed, The Storm Queen came upon the Mad Lord of Greed and Desire at the center of His power, and She made War upon Him. By the hundreds of Centuries, His worshippers melted before Her Wrath, one fell swing after another, and in the end, She forced Him to take up His own Sword, a great blade of gold and silver and jewels and all manner of things that man desires, and She forced Him to make War upon Her. For days, for weeks, for months, and even for years They made unceasing battle upon each Other, and Their blood and fury saturated the ground about Them, changing it forever. In the end, He fled before Her wrath, seeking His refuge in the null places where Nothing Exists.

And in the end too, Her weapons were scattered about the landscape, more than two dozen Shards of the Storm, and She left them, as She retreated to Her Home to heal the sorrowful wounds, Her Mortal Avatar left dead on the ground behind Her as She left. Looking upon Her, and upon the vast, shattered expanse, the Gods swore a vow. Never again would this occur, for if it did, all that They had created would surely be destroyed…

Magical Properties:

As much things of myth and legend as things of reality, Monsoon and Typhoon do not even have precise forms, though between the encounters of them, there are always certain consistancies. Always they are two, and always they are smaller bladed weapons, though exactly what kind of bladed weapon is often in debate. They have been described as the flat, broad blades, as wakazashis, as khukris, as every kind of short blade, and once, even as hatchets, but all agree that they are the most miraculous of weapons.

Their blades are made of all manners of the weather’s destructive elements, of wind, of rain, of lightining and of ice, amalgated into a beautiful, rippling blade of power by the will of their Commanding Goddess. To be struck by them is to be struck by all of these things at once, but this is the least of the blade’s power.

Unmeant for the hands of mortal man, Monsoon and Typhoon are each seperately, and even more so together, a direct channel to the power and mind of the Storm Queen. To wield both the blades together is to -be- the Goddess of the Storm, and mortal flesh and mind cannot possibly bear that touch for long. Though he has total control of wind and weather, so much as his will will allow, the swords will swiftly consume a mortal bearer, rending him, both body and soul, with wind and thunder and sleet and a dreadful, terrible power from within. In his final days, or even final hours, he will be as the Goddess Herself, uncaring in anything except the joy of excercising the power of the swords, enraptured by the sheer power that destroys him so painfully/pleasurefully.

Further, there exists the very likely possibility that She will feel Her power being used, with or without Her will, and She may come upon the Bearer of the Swords, and make Him into Her Avatar, even as she did so many years ago. Should this occur, the soul of the wielder is subsumed into the Goddess, and his body becomes a reflection of Her terrible beauty, for so long as she desires it. If She leaves the bearer, he will remember what She has done, but during this time, he will have no will nor voice of his own, as much a part of the Storm Queen as a human’s finger is a part of him.

—
Uses: This is a background item, more than a thing that should be placed in a game as is. Hooks may include:

A villian seeking to reassemble them from the Shards of the Storm. The PCs must keep them out of his hands.  - The PCs may have artifacts made from the Shards, and the villain may have up to one fully assembled blade during the encounters.

A PC must gather together all the Shards, and return the assembled weapons to the Storm Queen, to prepare for a threat against the divine realm.

Someone else has put the swords back together: The PCs must find a way to shatter them once again, so that the world is not consumed by their bearer.

Full Item Description

This blade and tang are constructed from a single long shard. The blade is irregular in shape, with grooves along the edges, and variable width along the blade (The forte is thick, the Foible is thick, in between is thinner). There is a wide and deep fuller along both sides of the blade, which is not a straight line, but a gentle curve. The two fullers are asymetrical.

The grip is brown leather strips wrapped around the tang. It is always soaked, and can never be dried. Fixed to the grip is the pummel, which is modeled after a sea conch, and made of gold. The quillions of the blade are elegantly carved snails of gold, and the Ricasso of the blade has a intricate Annellet of gold. The annellet is constructed of loopings of gold.

(You can find out what these sword parts mean here: http://www.historicalweapons.com/swordparts.html)

History

The descent of this shard, after the sundering, rested it along the shores of an ancient lake, the exact name and location have been lost into time. It is known that the shard was found, by elves, and became a matter of contention among the elven people. This shard had the gift of water.

After being struck with sufficient force, or during times of storm, the shard would pour water in a great deluge. Its fullers would fill, the water would run and large puddles would form with each blow.

After the splitting of the elves, and the creation the hated drow, the knowledge of the shards was not forgotten. The drow sought the shard and attained it. It is not known how long the shard remained in the underdark, but it became a source of life to the drow. With its powers the deep unclean places, where the water is fetid and wrong, could be settled.

It is thought that the shard was forged into a blade by a drow Matriarch, who wielded the blade - symbolically and paradoxially, life and death in one woman’s hands.

But all empires fall, and in the great battles the disperesed the drow finally and forever into the furthest reaches of the underdark the sword was recovered to the surface world. Once on the surface its history is hazy; lost and found, traded and sold - in the large human inhabitants where clean water is ample the sword is a novelty. It has passed undocumented through the hands of many people.

Magic/Cursed Properties

The sword is always wet to the touch, and dripping of water.  In times of storm the output increases, till the sword is pouring drinkable water. On impact the sword releases a burst of water. The amount of water is so great that when wielded as a weapon, and planted harshly into the body of an opponent, the quantity of water will dilute blood and rearrange tissue. Its possible to drown a man by stabbing into the chest or mouth.

Full Item Description
The Soilturner of the Spring is a typical seeming plowshare, meant to be pulled through the dirt by a pair of oxen. Though it appears a bit more battered than most, it is still solid and ready to be used. 

History

As he turned the soil of his properties one long spring day, a old, weary farmer heard a powerful cracking sound, as his plow struck something beneath the earth. Halting his oxen, he took up his shovel, and was most disturbed to see that his plow had cracked upon a shard of the strangest metal he’d ever seen, buried beneath the earth. Cursing and swearing, he dug the long sliver up from beneath the rocks that trapped it, along with the remnants of his plow, and put his oxen away for the night.

The next day, he dragged the whole mess to the smith, to have it repaired, forgetting the shard that he’d thrown in the pile. And, in the end, it was all forged into a single item, the farmer gaining a Shard of Storm as the leading edge of his plow. He took it home, and was pleased with its effecacy, for now, it clove even the greatest of rocks in its path, and he was even more surprised when the gentlest of rains fell the next morn, just enough to dampen the soil.  And again the next, and the next, and the next…

Magic/Cursed Properties

The powers of the Soilturner are really quite a simple set: First, no obstacle beneath the ground can stop or damage the plow. It will simply slash its way through them, the edges of the cut object left worn and sandblasted in its appearance. Second, from spring till summer, the fields tilled by the Soilturner always recieve just precisely the right amount of precipitation. The Soilturner does not regulate temperature in any way - The yields of the fields of the Soilturner, however, are typically many times magnified from a naturally tilled field.

And as two are the powers of this accidental artifact, twofold are its curses. First, the Soilturner’s fields must be carefully rotated. It is extremely easy, over the course of a few years, to totally deplete the soil of its ability to bear life. These fields become bogpits in spring, and crumble away to dust in the summer, carrying the life-blood of the farm away upon the wind… Second, recieving, as he does, the yield of the field, the farmer who uses the plow is invariably filled with the oe’rweening pride and even hubris of the Goddess and her foe…

Description
These silver rimmed glasses appear scratched and old, their precious metal flaking off showing tarnished and brass metal underneath the false exterior. The lenses have been scratched in multiple places making it impossible to read any text from their damaged surface. The purpose of the spectacles is not for reading text however, but for reading energies.

History
The King of Cerab, having a fear of magically hidden assassins, originally commissioned these glasses for his personal protection. An apothecary was found who had the desired skill to create the very thing to penetrate the Kings worst fear. Eventually however, the King had his entire guard looking for assassins only he could see.

The apothecary commissioned to create these items was of quite renown in his time, having been sought by many of the rich and noble for special items for personal use.

Thinking of his latest commission for the King he set out to create what he could. He chose to create spectacles as they could be worn and be inconspicuous. He set out and achieved the creation of his best item to date. He made ten for the King and his guards, and one pair for himself.

They were exquisite in their design, looking regal yet functional at the same time. When the first was complete he put them on to se his work. His vision was taken from him from the bright glow he saw from his lab. Having items of the arcane nearby was common for him, yet they shown up as brightly as if daylight was horded in the core of the items. He saw his lab and knew pleasure, because it was his and no one else’s. He removed the glasses and worked on the others.

Two months he toiled on the spectacles, each one perfect in its design. He tried everyone to be sure of their use and was pleased. He knew that he could determine items of magic and the arcane with ease. It was in his nature to covet these but he knew the King would punish him if he failed in his commission. He finished the spectacles and placed them in velvet lined boxes of cedar, to add a touch of personality and class and sent for a soldier to tell the King of his completion.

He put forth all of his effort, all of his energy into creating the perfect pair, for himself of course. And perfect they were. Not only did they pick up the energies of creation magic as well as divine magic, they also could tell when another pair of the spectacles were near.

He was taken to the King with his gifts, reluctant to give them to the King but knowing his were superior to any others he made. The King was pleased and granted the apothecary anything he desired which he asked for one item from the King’s personal horde, which he was granted. He was led to the chamber but stopped in the King’s study. Through the glasses that he wore himself, which looked as his old glasses had, he noticed a piece of crystal on the King’s desk. It was palm sized and being used to hold down one edge of a parchment scroll. The lightning-like glow he saw from the corner of his spectacles told him all he needed to know. That was his choice, which the King just shrugged and sent him on his way.

The King was never seen without his new spectacles looking at everyone, scrutinizing the smallest of details. He would jump in startlement every time he saw something arch with the telltale lightning-like glow. His guards would confiscate items from people when they entered the castle, “For the protection of the King.” Soon however, these items he saw as tools of his assassination, he began to covet. The items that the guards confiscated were failing to be returned to their owners, must to the complaint of the visitors. Within months however, in fear of his life and fear of his coveted items being taken from him, he secluded himself in his study with his most prized possessions admitting only a single guard he trusted and his wife on occasion. His most trusted guard however had a pair of these spectacles as well and when he viewed the King’s possessions he began to covet them for himself.

It is said that the guard killed his King over a crystal doll, but those are just rumors. It is said however that when he was hung publicly he claimed the King took his most prized possessions for himself and he was trying to reclaim them.

The apothecary however was no so fortunate. The crystal that he had taken glowed brightly in his spectacles as he gazed at it nightly. Lightning seemed to arch from it’s very core to his surroundings. He wanted to know its powers, needed to know them. He would stop at nothing to have it unlocked. Removing his spectacles one evening of study he noticed something happen within the crystal. A reflection of a man, a selfish man, a greedy man. He peered deeper into the crystal, farther than he had before. He looked close and saw his spectacles on the far side and that was his mistake. For in the glass lens of the spectacles he saw himself looking through the crystal.

They found his body a week later slumped over the desk, the crystal and his spectacles in hand, his body rotting. No one took notice of the smoky grey crystal or the spectacles. Instead they boxed them up and sold them to a merchant. His death was a mystery as were the other events of the recent past. All because of greed and fear.

Magical Properties
When worn, the spectacles impart knowledge unto the wearer of any magical objects within a 10’ radius. A distinct bluish colored aura will surround any item or object that has any form of mystical properties. No one but the wearer will notice this. This does not work on living creatures that are magical, only inanimate objects. So if a person has an item to make them invisible, that item will be revealed but not the person.

If the item is held while looking through the spectacles, then it is possible to discern the type of enchantment the object holds. Closer inspection may reveal specific forms of activation that the item may have as well. Each attempt to analyze the item will give a possibility to find out any information.

There is a side effect to the spectacles that few ever realize. Those who wear the spectacles to often will begin to see the magical items as personal property and desire to possess everything that is magical in their field of vision. This can be an embarrassing incident when a soldier of the King’s guard refuses to give up an item that they confiscated from a guest, stating it was now property of the King, as it had to be taken for examination for his protection.

Full Item Description
These boots are worked from Steel. They are blue and grey in color, and have silver forks of lightning inscribed on them.

History
Jonard the Viking King strode into battle. Each footstep crashed with the sound of thunder echoing through the chamber of the Gods.

Jonard was a legend. He had survived all of his friends in battle. His speed was unmatched by any. It was said that he was so fast that he could outrun the horses charge. That he could leap over the heads of an army ten men thick to cleave the head off of the enemy general. That he could walk up walls.

These of course were just legends about him. Tales carried by word of mouth. These tales however, were all true.

This day was a good day to die. It was raining hard, thunder could be heard in the distance, although not from him, and he could think of no better place to die by the edge of a sword, in this, the valley of blood.

As he drew his sword, he felt funny. Something was different. The hairs on his body stood on end all at once, and it was not until he reached the after life, that he realized that he had died not in battle, but by the stroke of lightning crashing down upon him.

Magic Properties

These boots have been combined with a Shard of Storms. Although being made from steal, they are lighter than a feather to wear.

Upon taking a step with these boots, they emit the sound of a thunder clap, although the sound is not as loud as a real one. Running creates the sound of a dull roar and a crash of force similar to that of a Sonic Boom.

Furthermore, they can grant the wearer the power of the fierce winds, causing him to have short bursts of incredible speed, as well as the ability to jump impossible distances.

Also, the boots can latch onto the electrical force in any object, and bond with them, allowing the wearer to walk up walls, or stand on ceilings effortlessly.

There is, however, one drawback. the boots are supernaturally conductive. All lightning spells cast against somebody wearing these will take more damage from them, and all lightening spells not cast at him, have a one quarter chance of being redirected to hit the person wearing the boots. Lastly, all lightning that strikes even remotely within the area always strikes the shoes, and anybody wearing them.

Full Item Description
This Rod is really a large pole twenty feet high. It is made from metal, and has a blue grayish tint to it. At the base, it has what appears to be eight long metal pincers that resemble the legs of a spider, which are unfolded and stuck into the ground.

Also at the base, there is a large metal ring about a foot thick that goes around the base of the pole (it is literally welded to the pole). The ring is ornately designed with forks of lightning that cover it, as well as a pair of handles that is actually part of the ring itself.

This set of handles is made from metal, consisting of curved cylindrical bars with finger impressions on them, obviously for holding. There is only one pair of such handles.

Also, underneath the ring, there are very strong metal anchors where straps can be attached. These anchors go all around the base.

All considered, the entire thing is rather heavy, weighing a solid four hundred pounds in all.

Magic Properties
This rod was made using one of the larger Shards of Storms. It always has a fierce storm nearby. Strong winds, pouring rain, and powerful, frequent blasts of lightning always surround the pole’s location.

When the pole is raised, and firmly attached to the ground via the unfoldable metal stakes attached to the base, all lightning anywhere near the area always strikes the pole. Powerful blasts of lightning should strike the pole roughly every three seconds (more so if a natural storm also happens to exist in the area).

The Ring at the bottom of the pole serves three purposes.

For starters, it draws the storm to it, and the lightning to the pole. More importantly, however, it converts electricity that strikes the pole, into magical energy, and then acts as a Power Well, storing this energy inside itself until it can be drawn out by a wizard or mage.

The entire process would be impossible without the Shard of Storms enhancing it. For starters, the conversion rate is greatly increased by the Shard of Storms. More importantly, conventional methods of causing this effect are impossible because the magic required to summon the storms that fuel the lightning is normally much greater than the energy received by the lightning itself.

In order to use the magic held in the Power Well, a wizard needs only to grab the metal handles and take as much as he wants. This is converted into temporary mana that must be used within the next eight hours or else it will cause mana burn and cause an equivalent amount of electrical energy to electrify the Spellcaster as well.

The Power Well is not without limit. It can hold about a full week’s worth of lightning strikes in magical energy, although this could be transferred into other magic wells as well. Once it has absorbed the maximum amount of energy, additional lightning strikes will cause smaller bolts of lightning to emit from the ring within a thirty foot radius, roughly similar to the effect caused by a powerful chain lightning spell (every three seconds). Anybody without The Breast Plate of Storms (I have not actually submitted this item) or a similar form of electricity protection had better stay clear.

Transporting the item is also very difficult. First it has to be taken down. This alone is very hard, specifically since the ground around it has assuredly been turned into rain soaked mud. Then, transporting it requires a wagon, which has to navigate with powerful winds, heavy rain, poor traction, and of course, the chance of being struck by lightning. Even more aggravation is added by the rarity of horses who won’t get spooked by lightning.

Then comes the problem of location. The location needs to be someplace that already has a major stream nearby. Without proper drainage, the place will flood over, and those lightning strikes will start hitting you no matter where you stand (via the large pool of water that you are standing in).

On the whole, it is all a very risky business, but well worth it.

Suggestions and Ideas

Right now I cannot think up a suitable History for this item. Any ideas would be appreciated.

-Nobody

Full Item Description
This simple Table decoration is made from simple bronze. It is in the shape of a geometric star, and stands up on any flat surface.

History
As the blacksmiths anvil beat down in it’s repeating motions, sparks flew during the forging process of Thunderheart, a legendary item forged with one of the Shards of the Storm. Sparks are actually red hot pieces of metal that are scattered on the ground. After the forging of Thunderheart, the floor was swept, and the metal was recycled and recast into many small objects and trinkets.

The Star of breezes is one such item.
Magic Properties

This decorative ornament has the smallest fraction of a Shard of the Storm inside it. This fraction is always trying to cause chaotic effects in nature, however it is only powerful enough to create a light breeze.

When this ornament is put on a table, a light breeze stirs through the room, even if that room would normally be very stagnated.

Forged in a time long forgotten, the Thunderheart is a solid breastplate, of the most archaic of designs. No matter the conditions in which it is found, it is always the most brilliant of polished silvers, so bright that even the faintest light reflects from it with an actinic glare. In the precise center of that nigh-glowing chest is set and sealed a fragment of metal, pointed at the end and perhaps four inches long and an inch broad, bearing a gentle curve, obviously the remnants of a sword even more ancient than the armor itself. The metal itself is marked with a strange pattern of runes, a incomprehensible holy script from ages long forgotten - May she who dons Her Power have the swiftness of Lightning, the strength of the Gale, and the Heart of the Thunder.

Though in its natural state, the breastplate is sized for a smaller-than-normal human female, any sentient creature brave enough to don it will find that it fits, and well. Light as a feather, Thunderheart will not encumber its wearer, though it will still hamper motion as any other suit of mail.

Magical Properties:

Perhaps the first of the Shards of the Storm to be found, the chunk of shattered metal set in the Breastplate is also perhaps the largest, consisting of a full fifth of Typhoon. Unlike the others, the finding of this piece of the Blade was no accident, for it was found not by some rogue or curious magi, but rather, by a shaman of the Storm Queen himself, a man whom, in an organized religion, might be named the highest leader. Shortly after her horrible battle with the Mad One, he found himself near the edge of the howling, bleeding land where his Mistress had nearly perished, knowing that it was his duty to return as much of Her power to Her as he could. Trusting in his sense of the Mistress’s presence, he passed through the Chaos as only one of Her minions might, unerringly homing in on the enormous shard first, the only he could sense. Yet, as he found it, and reached out for it, he found that its nigh-overwhelming power was responsible for drowning out all the others. Girding himself with ritual chant and prayer, he reached out and took it, resolving to take the blade-shards to his Mistress one by one if so required. Yet, it came to pass that this was not enough.

As he bore the shard towards the place where the North Wind leaves the Earth for the Sky, that place where the Kingdom of the Wind might be most easily accessed, the Shard’s power began to overcome his mind. It was not long at all before he was quite mad indeed, his augmented magics spiraling out of his control and bringing devestation to the countryside. In this state, he was eventually captured by a small division of knights sent to investigate the mysterious destruction. The ravings of the mad-man revealed, in time, the nature of the artifact that he carried, and as it was claimed by the captain of the knights, a woman of some formidable training in the mystic, it occured to her that to give the shattered thing a new form might contain its power.

And so she commissioned a breastplate to be fashioned around it, and she himself chanted the magics that might bond the holy artifact to the steel, thinking all the while of the strength and speed of the storm that might come to the wearer. The success of her plan was beyond her wildest dreams.

As the Captain of the knights drew the finished breastplate about himself, she screamed once in pain, before falling to the floor, flailing and convulsing with a thunderous sound.   It was many long minutes of thrashing and flailing at the men who attempted to remove the device from her body before she began to settle slightly, her body slowly becoming acclimated to the touch of the Storm…

And share the Breastplate with that storm the wearer does. As Thunderheart is donned, its spell begins, the wearer of the armor takes significant damage as the wind tears across his skin and the lightning slams through his flesh. To wear the armor means excruciating pain, so much so that to bear it for more than a day or three(Depending on the sturdiness and willpower of the wearer) will almost always result in death, and simply wearing it should cause frequent checks against the effects of constant agony. Natural healing and swift regeneration while Thunderheart is borne are also nigh impossible, the wind and lightning serving to hold open wounds, though instant magical healing has a chance of success. Finally, it bears all the ill mental effects of any other itm=247.

Though it exacts its uncaring price, Thunderheart is not witohut its benefits. First, the lightning that runs through the body enhances the speed of the wearer’s reflexes, though it slightly hampers fine motor control, resulting in a jerky sort of highly accelerated motion. Second, the gale that storms through the armor imparts significantly additional strength to that motion. Thirdly, any time the armor is breached, the lightning will ‘escape’ along any metallic weapon used to open that breach, potentially shocking and stunning the wielder. Finally, the sheer pain of wearing the armor can grant a situational bonus to checks against mind reading magics and mental domination magics - the sheer presence and volume of the agony makes it difficult for another mind to bear being in contact with the wearer of Thunderheart.

No one really knows how the long sliver of metal wound up in the hands of Baran the Shipwright. There’ve been many inquiries into the matter, many attempts to decipher the crazy code that he kept his final notes in. As of yet, there have been no satisfactory explanations.

What is known, however, is that as soon as he carved the place in the keel of the newly laid skeleton of what would prove to be his final creation, the rains started. Despite the soaking the finely seasoned wood absorbed, Baran took up his overseer’s lash, screaming and exhorting his men into continuing work. For five long years they labored, slowly driving the master shipwright’s business into bankruptcy, in both the fees for wood and waterproofing, and the price of funerals for the workers struck by the lightning.

As the last board was laid, Baran climed through the whipping wind to the Crow’s nest, where he took it upon himself to crow forth his triumph to the winds. Ironically, it was the winds who had the final triumph, a powerful gale sweeping him over the railing to his death on the main deck beneath. It was to be the last death upon the Winter’s Bounty in its making.

The Winter’s Bounty was purchased by a merchant of more superstition than sense from the grieving widow. A month of sacrifice to the storm later, he set sail with a great cargo of spice and silks, the full fury of the winds filling his sails. Ne’er before had a boat crossed the Great Western Sea with such alacrity - nor with such casualties. Fully half the crew was slain by the cold winter voyage, gaining the ship its name.

Magical Properties:

Holding the largest shard of Monsoon in its keel-board, the Winter’s Bounty is ‘blessed’ by the touch of the storm. Any waters that the Winter’s Bounty plies are always storm tossed, at least a perpetual light storm in its vicinity. Fierce winds claw frequently at the deck, forcing sailors and navigators to learn their trade to the utmost.

The howling storms however, have their benefits to join with the dangers. With winds rising from brisk to near gale force, the ship is capable of reaching incomprehensible speeds for a sailing ship, the vast power of the Shard keeping it from being torn apart. These storms frequently serve as the first line of defense against pirates: Few have the skill to sail near the Winter’s Bounty. More, at the will of whatever poor soul stands in the Crow’s Nest throughout, the storm can actually be directed to strike at other ships with vast sheets of hail, ice, and lightning! This individual, however, is faced with all the chaotic, stormy tendancies that the Shards of the Storm visit upon their users, in addition to having to survive the tearing, graspy wind that swirls about the crow’s nest: A far more difficult task than most sailors are capable of.

"I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice."
-Robert Frost, "Fire and Ice"

Full Item Description
Hazy and indistinct as it rests, hidden in swirls of freezing mists, Winter’s Tempest reveals its form only when grasped by one with the intent of wielding it, a form that varies slightly for each. In all cases, however, it is a short, and slim blade of some brilliantly clear crystal, shining beneath the snow and ice that always seems to kiss it. A terrible, biting cold seems to radiate from it, as it draws the warmth away into itself, to bring the destruction of ice.

History

Among the fees and treasures that Ironspirit has collected over the years rest many a forgotten artifact, many a thing whose power and potential is forgotten by mankind - But not by the Gods. To watch over these is one of the self-appointed duties of Grandfather Adan Ironspirit, from whom all of Ironspirit has descended. Among these treasures, once, rested a handful of artifacts imbued with the Shards of the Storm, imbued with the power of a Goddess far greater than himself. And he had thought to keep these artifacts from mortal hands, so as to prevent them from becoming a catastrophe upon the world. But even a Demigod can fail.

As Adan slumbered, a part of the price of the curse he placed upon the rapist Rulakir, it was the victim herself that sneaked into the treasure chambers, the divine locks falling away before her Ironspirit blood. And from them, she collected that which called to the hatred and destruction that lodged in her heart, and with them, she fled, far to the north, to the frozen ancestral lands of her mother, and her ultimate grandfather.

It was a long and difficult ordeal for her to extract the Shards from the artifacts that encased them, but in time, Alina Ironspirit held them, four pieces of destruction distilled, a conduit to the primal rage of the Storm. And she took up the hammer, and she took up the ice of the tundra, and she took up the shards, and without the touch of fire, she hammered them forth into a slim, slender blade, suitable for her hand. And all the while, whilst she hammered, the winds keened and the sky shook with the force of her blows, a frothing vortex of divine power surrounding her, the union of the Storm Queen’s lust for destruction and the shaping power of her own divine ancestry. More than one celestial power attempted to interfere, and yet into this vortex, none could penetrate, held at bay by the dread and baneful union of the two powers.

And she took up her blade, and as the chill winds descended around her, she let forth a terrible cry, a keening of hatred and shame that echoed across the glacier. She would show her defiler the true meaning of cold fury, as her frozen talons rent the beating heart from his flesh and froze it solid. She swore it, and began to stalk in the direction of that heartbeat, shattering all in her path with the strength of the arctic cold, be it man or material, demon or angel.

Magic/Cursed Properties

To take up the Blade of Winter’s Tempest is to die. Containing, as it does, a broad conduit to the power of the Storm Queen, it’s power will begin to cause immediate and irrevocable effects upon the body and soul of the one who wields it, as both physical and mental warmth are torn violently away from the wielder.

Rapidly, one who takes up the sword in anger or hatred, and accepts its power is transformed into a twisted and frozen mockery of their former selves, their flesh becoming cold, hard, and mummified by the caress of the winter wind. The mind, meanwhile, becomes full of a focused hatred, the cold, unending desire to destroy the chosen target, and the new frost-revenant will pursue its target with tireless furor, driven by the frozen winds that accompany him. Hunger, thirst, and fatigue all disappear for the wielder, newly sustained by only her thoughts of vengeance and destruction.

Even in the hottest of climes, the winter follows the sword, full of bitter winds and slashing ice, extending for miles around the wielder, becoming worse the nearer that the target is, yet somehow, the path of the bearer is never impeded by this weather.

When wielded in battle, Winter’s Tempest calls forth the frozen storm that surrounds it, every stroke of the blade accompanied by razor’s lashes of ice born upon the wind, and a frozen chill that can injure the unprotected even on a wild miss. There is no simple limit to the wielder’s ability to use the arctic clime caused by the sword to attack and defend, rather, it will continue until the remainder of the mortal soul is overcome by the raw divine power of the blade.

Should the target(s) be slain, the conjured winter will dissipate, and the wielder will expire, as his hatred is expended, and is no longer sufficient to hold onto this world.

Should the blade be picked up by one who chooses to reject its power, or who has no vengeance to wreak, it will become too cold to handle, either forcing the bearer to relinquish it, or slaying him outright through that same cold.

Special Notes
To a great many of the Powers that Be, Winter’s Tempest is a thing that should not be, and must not be. While the Gods are strictly sworn against direct, personal intervention, they are terrified that the destructive aspect of the Six may be too much for this world to bear, and that this weapon may even be used against one of their number with effectiveness. To that end, each of the Gods of Man has very likely selected a Champion, and given them the order to find Winter’s Tempest, and to shatter it, to scatter the Shards of the Storm to the winds once more.

However, for each of these Champions, there lies another faction, one who believes that the blade can be made to be of great use, either to have, and to hold as a threat, or to be used, in all the ways that a weapon of mass destruction might be used. These factions, too, have selected their agents, and sent them forth to retrieve the blade.

And finally, it has occurred to a few that if this is the lesser, then the whole must be that much greater. Many of these beings have begun to search out the remaining shards, intending to collect them all, and reforge the blades of legend, and claim them for themselves.

PCs may find themselves used by any of these factions, for help or to hinder others, or they may have their own reasons for seeking the dread blade. But each and any of them is likely to have to deal with the frost-revenant that wields the blade.