An ornate reliquary box, covered in fine metalwork that twists the eye and causes headaches.
You find a dusty violin on a stand in the next room. Through the grime of the years, you can tell that it is of excellent make. Perhaps someone can put it to good use? An instrument is meant to be played, after all...
30 books to be found within a steampunk setting. Manuals, tomes, and blueprints galore!
With bright light and 5 minutes burn time, this is required equipment for any cave-diver worth his salt.
Fire is best kept in the boiler; it's much too dangerous to be using for something as simple as lumination.
Not all hammers are tools of creation. Some are made for destruction, and some rare few truly excel at it.
That Which Kills Without A Touch. The Sorrow of Aler.
The Writer glimpsed it in his journeys through the various hells, but he paid no heed to it. His tale was about the afterlife and the punishments therein, not the arms and armor of the Darkness.
"And 3..2..1..Smile!" *flash* *thump* "Mwahaha."
Ether, magical energy condensed into liquid form, is the fuel powering the magidustrial revolution on Ryngard.
The fey are strange, but occasionally, just occasionally, their actions make sense.
"I’ve nearly found it! The fabled Tear is almost within my grasp. Tomorrow I will finish my trek across this barren wasteland…" ~Fragmented page of a journal found in the Blasted Lands
From Strolen: (Items) Village has a nearby natural substance that comes from the ground and burns well when lit. They use it only locally and try not to let the secret get out.
When L’ruhk was banished to the Nothing Beyond Creation, he returned at the head of a demonic army, wielding a spear black as his corrupted soul.
Sometimes, the simplest things are the ones that get you in trouble…
Pyre, first of the five elemental armors.
“...Ande in the Dayes of the War, the masses of the darke ones grew into a greate ande terrible force, ande thus were the Fyve Armours sent unto the worlde…”
~The Grynthar Codex, chapter three verse ten
Jemas Lorne, the most celebrated poet of the age, was found dead, clutching a fragment of verse torn from his journal. The tantalizing fragment spoke of wealth:
Golden sands, empty and cold,
Treasure's crypt, forgotten gold.
Under stone, ancestor's doom,
Noble's prize, troubadour's tomb.
Rumours claim that the poet's father, an eccentric nobleman, had hidden much of his wealth before his death. Perhaps the missing journal has more clues?