A neural interface and mind recording device
Spools, disks, plugs, and other giant ear ornaments of a bygone age.
"Okay, I didn’t like Thanger", I thought, "He was a punta of epic proportions, but nobody deserved to die like that." These thoughts were crowding out the screaming in the back of my head that we were all still in danger if we did not move.
I saw Peeth kneel down besides the biggest chunk of remains, where the heart was. He reached in under his leathers and pulled out a piece of jade on a simple chain. He placed it on the remains reverently. It was fitting, Thanger died stepping in to protect Peeth.
"He needs this more than I do. Maybe it will keep him out of The Hells."
There is nothing like them. They shine like a white gold.
Gauranteed to protect you from nightmares, hexes, and the diseases of the loins
A Ring of the Day is fine piece of metal work. Worn on a necklace, rather than a finger, it is a way to measure the cycle of the day.
Many are those who have worn this beautiful golden choker and paid for it with their lives. On the surface it appears to be no more then a very well crafted piece of jewelry.However, once put on it locks around the wearer’s neck and can only be undone with a certain key. When it is put on, a soundless clockwork timer starts.Three hours after it has been put on, a sharp blade comes out of it and slits the wearer’s throat.Attempts to pull or cut it off will also trigger the blade and besides, under a thin golden coating it is made of iron, and so hard to break.
There is a spell which can hold the blade in check for a far longer time, up to a maximum of a week.Another spell can set the blade off early.
A Nose Ring? Yep, a nose ring. The ancient symbol of power of the trolls and said to have magical abilities….
The village sits on the edge of the deep fjord, often engulfed in mist or rain. Its people are fishermen, who work even through the sea-ravaging winter. And they pray to the gods of the deep.
At the beginning of every winter they hold a summoning ceremony. Three boats are taken out into the fjord, a hornsman on each. The mournful horns are blown in the language of the whales, the gods of the deep. The whales sometimes appear in answer to these calls, and it is taken as a good omen when they do.
To a party of PCs wandering the misty hills and valleys nearby however, the doleful whalesong of the horns can be disturbing and misinterpreted...