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Finger of the Mad God
“You can’t possibly win this, Gallie. Don’t make me do it!”, Broadways brought one great lobstered gauntlet around and the Rogue could feel one of her teeth go loose as he shouted at her.
Clinging to him closely, she spat blood across his bare jaw, “It’s too late, Brodie. I’m sorry, but it’s too damn late”. Her voice was pained, her face a grimace of bruises and regret.
Again and again, the warrior brought his fist down–refusing to draw his greatsword, maybe hoping he could save her from… from whatever this was.
And with each blow, his knees grew a little weaker. With each strike, his vision dimmer. And as he stumbled, he looked up into her battered face and split scalp–at what he’d done to her.
“I can’t… let… you… will, stop… you…”
She choked back raw emotion as she motioned to his side where her dagger remained lodged between the plates of his armor.
“I killed you a minute ago–I’m… gods damn it all, Brodie, I’m sorry.”
And his world faded to blackness and void.
System: The Decider, the Lord of Murder, the Mad God of Violence and Ends… his greatest servant was the archmage Tolio of Pensk–who loved the happenings of death, but eschewed the fancies of necromancy as nothing more than the weak practicing magic tricks to comfort and console their fears about the finality that awaits us.
The archmage crafted a dagger, black steel and fishwood white hilt, and took his own life at the end of its making.
The Finger is a light dagger of black iron (1d4 piercing damage, counts as a -1 magic weapon… yes, negative). Against constructs or undead, the weapon does normal damage. But, for all other creatures, on a successful attack, the dagger pierces the flesh of the target and may be held tightly buried to the hilt with effort on the part of the wielder.
At the start of each of the creature’s turns, they may attempt (with an action) to force the dagger out of its body (opposed Athletics checks between the wielder and victim) or back away from it my moving at least 5ft away from the wielder.
At the end of each of the creature’s turns, if the dagger is still piercing them, they must make a Con Save (DC 20) or gain 1 point of exhaustion.
Stick of Brute
“I seent him do it, Hal–I seent him do it. He walked right up to that guy, the big one there–no the one on the ground, but he wasn’t on the ground then.”
“And then–wait a sec, Rek, I can tell this… so, like he said we saw him walk up to that big bastard there and they had words. Couldn’t make out what they’d said, but the big guy was mad and all his friends was mad. And then the big guy just snatches a big ole nasty axe from one of his friends and comes at the other guy.”
“No, he had it on his back, Pil–tell it right if you’re gonna tell it. So he pulls his axe from his clutch on his back and swings once or twice–but the other fella is quick. And then that fella, he takes his stick in his hand, right? And he just swings it like you was swinging anything and lops the big bastards head right off. With a stick! Damndest thing I ever saw!”
System: Brute was a vain and famously ill-tempered sorcerer from the Low Lands in the Elos Desert. He was known to be solitary and uninterested in the difficulties of society.
His walking stick, a 4′ length of gnarled staff of bleached wood more at home in the refuse of ruined forest than the hand of a powerful caster, was his way of avoiding most conversations (when they got rough) on his journeys to the city. It was enchanted so heavily that it tore the barriers between the supernal and material realms in its very essence.
The stick itself counts as a +0 magic weapon and can be attuned with a day of silence and contemplation of its features.
On being attuned, the mirage of the stick wanes just a fraction for the wielder and he can see that the stick is really a viciously crafted longsword with a razor’s edge. On handling the stick, it feels only as a gnarled bit of dry wood. It is imperceptible to anyone else that the stick is anything but–magically or otherwise. It neither sounds like metal nor feels especially heavy. If one were to scratch its surface with a nail, the wood is firm and dry, but one could scratch their name into the apparent “surface” accordingly. It even floats.
“So you kill the whole tribe?” the angry pink-faced drunk shouted from the high balcony while patrons nodded and shook their heads and drank their drinks and grew bored.
“I did! The whole lot of them. I juked and jibbed and jived–thank you, dear”, Wrench Livers took the cub from the barmaid and gave her a cocked eyebrow of interest before turning back to his story.
“And I jibbed and jived, you see. And then, just as they had me surrounded, I called out from behind the trees”, he paused for effect–it was always good to pause during this part. He reclined in anticipation, kicking his legs on the large table and snuggling with his newfound lady friend.
The crowd stared at him in various states of interest and boredom… which turned to curiosity… and then confusion.
The angry man garumphed, “See, now you can’t even tell it straight–you were surrounded but then was behind trees? You’re a fool, be fucked…”, he turned to walk off.
“He may be a fool, but you’re the dandy little girl I’m going to have licking my boots in a minute” Wrench said as he walked into the tavern–wet from the rains, his sword already drawn.
System: The crown is an oiled leather, wide-brimmed hat–the favored flair of a bard from the old empire who crowned himself, with it, before the Emperor himself as a joke. At least, the legend says so. It goes onto say that the Emperor was so amused that he had his great viziers enchant the “crown” so that the bard could perform even more splendid comedy.
The Crown can be attuned by the appreciative and entertained applause of at least 100 individuals at once, uncompelled by magic of any kind (requiring a Performance check at DC 20; one may try again at disadvantage if one fails; one must wait a week before attempting this again).
Once attuned, the wearer may take 1 full turn to split himself into up to 5 individual versions of himself. They last up to 1d6 rounds.
Each individual has the natural skills and proficiencies and class features the character has, but only has an equal division of the character’s hit points (rounded down). The crown duplicates any non-magical object carried or worn by the character. The group shares the same pool of spells and slots, as well as any “per day” or “per rest” abilities. None of the individuals (the original character is replaced by the collection of them, mind you) make Death Saves and are killed and dispersed into nothingness on reaching 0 hp.
At the end of the duration, the player may select one individual to “reform to”–the others fade away and the character is returned in that spot with all equipment and remaining collective hit points (as well as any conditions or effects the individuals had or were under). They make, immediately, a constitution Save DC 6/individual killed during the duration.
Success, they may act as normal on the start of their next turn. Failure and the crown-bearer falls to 0 hp and begins death saves.
(every use of this incurs a 10% of short-term madness and another 5% chance of long-term madness)