The Assassin looked at the scroll, smiled and put it away. His work was done...

And… The Young Thug pulled out a… Dead Rat? Didn’t see that coming.

Soft, squeezable, and potentially deadly. Mallow is to be cuddled and feared!

"Greetings, Mortal," Said the bubbly, hissing voice in his head... What the hell was that, he thought. "Not hell, the Ocean. Walk into the surf, my child. I will protect you."

The Cursed form of poor Shump Thokk. He will offer helpful advice to anyone who dons the helmet.

"All I could do was stare as my strange opponent hefted his key-like lance. He told me my armor would only hinder me in this fight. I didn’t believe him at the time, but he was right."

This is a wretched tome of oceanic blasphemy; a foul water-stained, bone-white binder of bitter dead-men's secrets and a guide to Nautical Necromancy useful in the hands of the young sea-faring necromancer or the Great Lich Umeen herself.

A candle inside of a skull is a typical creepy feature in cultist's lairs or haunted places, but what if they served a more practical purpose?

Who would want to make food you can’t eat? What purpose does this insane oven exist for?

'Music is the wine which inspires one to new generative processes, and I am Bacchus who presses out this glorious wine for mankind and makes them spiritually drunken.' ~Ludwig van Beethoven

The secret device behind the most feared corrosive substance to ever plague the mortal realms.

He had done it a hundred times, taken eyes. It was so easy by now, he rarely used a spoon or knife, but, with his own fingers, would pilfer those beautiful orbs from the skulls of the deceased...

As soon as he had set his eyes upon The Sword of all Swords he knew it must be the perfect blade for him. And he would stop at nothing to possess it!

"That not normal dark. My eyes can not see in it." - Bloodrock, Orcish Warrior.

A mighty Demon, now trapped and confused, may make for a powerful ally.

The follow string of Mirror-folk evolutions, Mihradhz, Mihrral, and Mihradamagus, are collectively known as The Mirr. They are all curious and slightly annoying, each in their own way. They advance through their lives by pestering the rare mortals who visit their plane.

“Oh look, a glass wall between us and the treasure.”

She wore an odd blue gem stud in her navel, it was a very attractive piece of jewlery. But, I just couldn't seem to get her drunk.

'Hell hath no fury like MY RIGHT FOOT!' Shardath yelled as he stomped upon the holy ground.

'One for you,' He mumbled, pouring some rum onto his boots, 'And a few gulps for me, and we’re off.'

He took a large gulp from the bottle, put his boots on, and was out the door in a flash.