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The Bastian Churn
The Pekalese warlock panted and gaped for air, exhausted from the beating he’d given the young gnome. As Tilbuck lay on the ground, a motley of bruises and a squeezebox of whimpers, Dark Carl stumbled his way to his pack. It was here somewhere. Somewhere. No. Maybe in the pocket there. No. Carl stopped to catch his breath while Tilbuck fell unconscious (finally). Taking a few minutes to cool off and even pull a boot off (it looked like he split a toenail on the gnomes helmet, shit), the warlock felt much better and far more collected. He went through his packs until he found it–an unimpressive, small dark brown egg. To anyone else, it’d have looked like a half-rotten sparrow’s egg. To Carl, it was a gift worthy of a king. Or Tilbuck, as it were. He spent the next few minutes propping the little gnome up, opening his mouth, and using an old flatbow bolt to plunge the hard little egg down his throat. The gnome choked once or twice, unconscious. It was a brutal sight as the darkly cloaked human rammed a stick down the smaller man’s throat over and over, ignoring involuntary spasms. When Tilbuck came to, throat raw, cheek torn a bit, spitting wooden splinters into the grass and speaking hoarsely, Carl only beamed.
“So…”, the gnome hacked and coughed as he groaned his way to his feet, “…did it work?”
Carl smiled, “Like a charm.”
System: The churn is an intestinal polyp from the body of a dying Great Old One. Finding one in the world is rare, but not impossible–using one requires someone with an affinity for or attunement to the mind and will of the otherdimensional beings that move behind the world. Warlocks of the Great Old One, obviously, are most able to use the Churn–but never on themselves. Anyone else trying to must succeed in a Wis save DC25 (extremely difficult), on a failure they are afflicted with 1 point of exhaustion for the next year as the toll communing with the vastness takes its toll on them (it comes back every day, even if restored or rested away).
The benefits, however, are the stuff of legend.
A warlock (or very strong-willed other person) may force the Churn–which resembles an irregular, dark brown stone–down the throat of another creature–this is difficult even for strong-willed people to tolerate and is far easier on someone unconscious. Once pushed through into their stomach (the process does 2d4 bludgeoning damage), it stays there forever. The Churn relieves its host of the need to eat, the need to drink, and grants them a resistance to poison. In return, however, the unliving stone robs them of the ability to enjoy food or drink, they lose their sense of taste and smell (disadvantaged on perception relying on smell), and on any critical hit they must roll 1d4. On a 4, on their next turn they double over and fall to the ground (expending their movement) and vomit a black, viscous substance onto the ground that bubbles and smokes (spending their action), out of which an oily, malformed creature rises (use the rules for a stirge with half HP). It has three wings, one off-center eye, is covered in oily black goo and flaps like a bat while a bulbous mouth of many thin leathery pink tentacles grasp out for flesh. It attacks the closest creature near the host on that turn. The host may act freely and normally (including using a Bonus Action or a Reaction, they have only spent their movement and Action).
The Flashwood Rapier
Polly Flashwood raced across the rooftops of Zoa, cackling madly while the ruffians in
the Docksiders leapt and sprinted after her. “Humans”, she muttered behind gleaming teeth. She’d only relieved them of their money, but when you took a human’s purse, her mother had always said, its like taking their balls. So here she was, making the best of a midnight chase. They shouted and growled after her, crowding her over to the building in the Racks. Worst part, they were succeeding. The Racks… spaced out buildings over wide streets. Fuck.
Polly ran, and slowed as she saw the 40ft gap between the tannery she was on and the candleworks she needed to get to… the ruffians were closing and laughing. Pulling old great-uncle Mercy’s rapier, she said a quick prayer to Risk–something about “oh please, oh please, don’t be a dick right now”–and sprinted for the edge. Three steps. Then two. Then one… and as she pumped her legs, she thrust the rapier out in front of her boldly–like the mast of a great ship–and less than elegantly found herself dragged through the air like an arrow shot forty feet across the road into the side of the candleworks. Hanging by the hilt. Feet some twenty feet off the ground. Sword stuck in the old wood. God, it seems, is not without a sense of humor
System: The rapier counts as a +0 magic sword. By spending a bonus action, one may thrust the sword in a direction and then roll 6d10. The result is the number of feet one is dragged by the weapon in the indicated direction. Keeping one’s footing afterward (if staying on the ground level) requires a Dex save equal to half the resulting distance roll or fall prone and lose one’s grip on the sword. If in a direction without ground under you, it’s a STR save (same difficulty) to hold on afterward. Should the sword come into contact with walls, stone, etc. in its path it should be treated accordingly–damage to the weapon, damage to the object. Pointing the sword at another creature and using its ability is a ranged attack roll. Letting go of the sword for any reason immediately turns off the flying effect.
The Odomic Dart
Every hit counts. Move fast. Don’t pause. Keep moving. Keep moving. Keep moving.
The young half-orc pulled his cloak up against the wind and stayed to the snowdrifts to the side of the street. The four men were dragging his friend off, presumably to rape and or kill him–this place was absolutely fucked. Why were they were?
He pulled the 8 inch steel spike, with its grated edges and sharp short point and muttered something in shitty elvish. The dart came to life, glowing a faint orange. He breathed heavily. One. Two. Three. GO.
As he left the shadow, and closed the distance to the man in the back, he cocked his arm and shot the dart forward like an ogre pitching a boulder… fiercely and strong and heavy. The dart flew true and straight and sunk three quarters of the way into the bastard’s skull. He started falling, but the rogue skipped forward, placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, grabbed the end of the dart and yanked it out before he’d dropped more than a foot or two. His colleagues had barely noticed the silent murder and as they stopped, the half-orc had already spun into the shadows of the next alley, muttered that elvish word, and held the spike close while they frantically saw their friend fall and began searching around the area for whatever had just killed their man.
Move Fast. Don’t pause. Keep moving. One. Two. Three. GO.
System: The dart is a +1 magic dart with four unique properties driven by charges. The dart regains 1d4 charges per day, it can hold a maximum of 7. Developed by the elves of Lindenwood, it was the favored weapon of their most famous assassins–the East Side Wood Lords. First, the dart possesses a recall ability that may be used by expending a charge. By spending a reaction and a charge, you may have the dart (if you were the last one to touch it and it is not restrained in any way) return to your hand so long as it’s on this plane of existence. Second, it is retrievable from being stuck (in bodies, in objects, etc.) by expending a charge (the dart pushes itself out as you grasp it and pull it free of the object/body without counting against your interactions. The dart, by expending two charges and a bonus action, acts as an immovable rod (for the next round). The dart ignores piercing resistance and changes piercing immunity to piercing resistance by spending an action and three charges (for the next round).
However, the magic of the dart is as fluid and chaotic as the elves of Lindenwood. The dart only responds to the last living creature to touch it. Thus, the recall only works when you miss; the free extraction only works if what you’re pulling it from is dead; and anyone that gets their hands (or body) on the dart breaks your connection to it while they live.