"With the OP(im) implant you can be the master of your own space and time!" - Advertisement

A wrong turn in an other wise well meaning curse leaves the PC's in a tight spot...

A cleaver the size of a large shield.

A magical plauge is disrupting the city of Blue Marina. Victims are found poisioned and covered in weals and, oddly, pennyless. Can the players solve this crisis before rich and poor are destroyed?

Chaos and Law have reached a comprmise and stopped thier warring. This truce holds as long as the respecitve priests honors the other's ways for one day of the year. Lawful preists must incite a large decadant celebration or carelessness and the chaotic priests must chaperone the event and keep the party from turning ugly while remaining out of involvement. Thus the warring of the gods has been kept in check for decades and all is well. At least untill the materials for the party come up missing two short weeks before the truce day...

'Life, what is it but a dream?' - Lewis Carroll

Some bags have more 'extra' than others.

A staff that was supposed to give control over all the elements was horribly warped by a misspoken incantation.

What the F#$%??? - Revolutionary Commander Flint Westbark upon seeing the device for the first time.

Princess Matriax was the daughter of Lord Greybaer, known from the war as "The Butcher of ..." a handful of towns and a couple provinces. If that wasn't enough, the princess had her own guard, troupe of guards, that was hers to see trained and use as she see fit.

She didn't need a defender, not in the sense of some bodyguard. She was quick to take offense, because it amused her to have an excuse to strike people herself, to "quell the insurgents" herself.

She uses her purse to bash people. Her purse is her defender.

A sturdy metal heater shield with properties useful to the battle commander or the individual soldier.

A weird way to carry and conceal your stuff.

An over sized blowgun with a matching specialized bag of holding. This blowgun is halfling made and it should be noted that 'whiffle' is the halfling word for gerbil.

There lies a valley, far to the west, on the shores of The Great Northern Sea, that has a mist that is both blessing and curse. All those that breath the mist heal with remarkable speed, so fast that only the mightiest blow or the truest strike can fell the smallest beast. The warriors who settled this land became soilders of great renown, for not only were they impenetrable defenders, they were warriors whose aim and might were unsurpassed.

Inspired by Ria Hawk's 'Lifecycle of the Dungeon' discussion.

The PC's come across a cave system that isn't on their map. The cave is in plain view and hard to miss. Once inside, several odd and unusual things are found.

A pike that holds the spirit of a brave slain warrior.

The rampaging goblin army that fell the Great Castle Craghold used this evil catapult to do it. That, and a number of their troops as sacrifice...

A dwarf's fear of the ocean is not baseless. In the unknowable depths lurks an evil that will punish any dwarf arrogant enough to be on anything less than solid land, and unfortunate enough to die.

In case you get a sinking feeling, you can use this.

A new take on hell that leaves you gasping on the edge of panic.

Made by an anarchist trying to seed dissent, the potions actually work better than normal potions of understanding languages ... sort of.

This item is silly.