'See that one, with the burn scars and dark veins? Don't stick too close; he shoots fireblood before engagements. Keeps friends and foes alike at bay, it does.'

The old soldier looked up with all three of his eyes. 'I lost one of my eyes to a sword point, and they used a little too much Growjuice to heal it. Still, I'd rather have three eyes then only one.'

A potion to cheat death... almost.

Mean ingredients bring mean effects...

The Staff of the Zythumancer can bring the most helpless alcoholic into the embrace of sobriety or turn a tetotaller into a useless drunk with a simple tap to the head.

A boon to theives, this can be used to replace items with duplicates, which means that the shoplifter or the sneak-thief can go about his or her work in safety with little chance of discovery, provided he or she takes care when stealing.

A black sword, blessed with elemental power, and tainted with hatred and rage

“Oh the shark has pretty teeth, dear, / And he shows them pearly white. / Just a jack-knife has Macheath / And he keeps it out of sight.” - Bertolt Brecht

The Voyeur's Wand was made by a jealous student of magic who had never had a girlfriend and was envious of those who were part of a loving couple, and wanted to embarass those who were.

“Nobody will laugh long who deals much with opium: its pleasures even are of a grave and solemn complexion.” -Thomas De Quincey

A mysterious legacy of a hard-working and much-loved mariner and welder.

Completely silent; jumping from Shadow to Shadow, he stalked his prey through the streets. Dawn would be coming soon, and he did not want to be caught within the enemy's grasp.

Necromancers have a common answer to most questions. This is a spell that one Necromancer invented in order to answer the question, "How do I get off this ship?".

It looked like a massive landslide, but, just before it slammed into us it turned into a bunch of laughing dwarven children!

Why won't this damn torch light?

A twist on the old.

A witches ring.

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

A man in plate armor approaches, but you see no face, for the chilling mist seeping from every joint in the armor obscures the view.

The mark of Kronath's ultimate favor, the Cloak of Dusk is held by her Hunter, her chosen avatar to hunt the living dead, and return them to her embrace.