It’s Not Cursed, Master of Shovel-Fu, and Twin Sisters…

You can find the ever-growing list of “Better Than Nothing” items  over on the right. Read ’em, like ’em, share ’em, and comment.

Accursed Ring of Krin the Arcane

As the earth came pouring and tumbling down–a dark, earthly flood of soil and stone and mud and sand–Belinda recited the half-remembered parable of the day the Earth Spider riddled to the wandering man about the nature of what is beautiful.

The dark was moist and warm, the cavern rumbling and grumbling its collapse. She felt the pressure around her–at first an embrace, now a seamless prison–and felt her body grow distant and cool. The sensation was like sleeping in a room where the fire went out–ever colder, but subtle and slow, until the dry, chilly feeling was deep in her flesh.

As the rumble slowed, as she lay there pinned under tons of dirt and rock, she meditated to drawn down the perfectly normal panic and hoped her comrades would be along soon to dig her out.

System: The infamous Krin (the profane, the arcane, the twice cursed, the devoured) was fabled to have the ability to step back and forth across the veil of life and death at will. Some say that meant he wasn’t truly undead, others that it only meant he was no longer rightly called amongst the living. Centuries after his disappearance, a cult grew that worshipped him and the Ring was one of their great achievements–a ring of crushed bone that crawled around the finger as though a river of thick white sand in an infinite circulation.

The ring itself is not cursed, despite its name, the wearer may attune to it by creating or raising an undead creature from one who died willing for the transformation. Once attuned, the wearer may arrest their own life and biological processes (breathing, eating, excreting, needing warmth or water, etc.) and their body becomes a corpse for up to their proficiency bonus in hours. During this time, all of their physical actions and saves are made at a disadvantage and their movement is halved. They are also immune to any natural diseases and poisons and resistant to magical ones; though may be subject to those effects as normal after they turn back. They may end this state at any time.

After one hour, however, the body does begin to decompose. For every hour in this state, the wearer gains 1 exhaustion that is taken on all at once after the state is dropped. They may drop it at any time. They may only the ring once per long rest.

Periapt of Understanding

“What yer donn anderstan, Broodie, issa ter bate sooch a theng rai, yer naed isser rai tools an thang”, Burchester droned on in his overwhelmingly generous accent while Ser Broadways tapped a golden-armored finger on his knee. Sitting around the fire, a long day of travel ahead, it seemed impolite to interrupt the dwarf while he explained the finer points of the especially incomprehensible martial arts of his people.

“Teka bigbig raed on–“

“Wait… a what?” impatience overruled the old paladin’s politeness. He was tired and the headache of trying to decipher the squat man’s jargon was not helping that.

“A. Big. Big. Raed. Won” the stout, and not a little drunk, ranger parsed.

“A red one? A big red, what? A Dragon?”

“Rai. Yea. Bigbig. Saw, yer wanna wha? Bigbig sward it? Shet planner, Broodie. Raed ons, them, best ter fait wit a wegen-acks”

“A… what?”

“A wegen-acks. Ar, um… whassat… witter rawlin?”

“A wegen?”

The dwarf was red-faced now, and not entirely from the whiskey, He pointed over to the cart they’d been using to carry the goods and made a pantomime of it rolling back and forth.

“Wait… a wagon axle?”

“HAH! YEA!” the round, puffy-faced man slumped down and took another drink, pleased with himself and looking for all the world like he’d solved some great arcane mystery. Ser Broadways sat, looking confused… then frustrated… then near to angry…

“What kind of stupid damn nonsense is that? A WAgon axle? You’re saying I should refrain, sir, from attacking a bloody dragon with a sword in favor of a damned cart-shaft?!?!?”

“…duh” and the dwarf went back to his drink.

System: The Periapt is a dwarvish creation from the barbaric tribes that roamed the Southern mountains, a circle of silver links–small and expertly made–worn about the crown of the head.

Their champions would wander the peaks and crags and bring justice and order to the many clans and tribes that lived there, a sacred and honorable duty for a people so poor and isolated from the world.

Attuning to the Periapt requires a full night’s rest, after which the wearer finds they are superiorly advantaged with insight into the many ways common objects around them may be used in personal combat. While wearing the Periapt, any improvised weapon starts with a rating of 0. For every successful hit against a creature (actively fighting back, conducting genuine combat), add 1 to the rating of the item. For every critical hit, add 20. Once the rating reaches 100, the bearer gains Weapon Proficiency in that item (specifically that one and things exactly like it with minimal variation–the DM is the judge of similarity).

If the Periapt is taken off, any items in progress (<100 rating) return to 0.

Nirvat and Sallac

“Well, he just sort of come in here, as you like–kicked that door in entirely and asked for the biggest and meanest one here”, Wex was eight shades of beaten and his face bore the marks and bruises and lumps of a man that took a horse’s hindkick to the face and then went back to see if that was the best it could do… a few times.

Marshall Fenxes listened carefully. The little run-down shack was a reputed hideout for some of the less savory folks in lower Wetside, but a little harmless mugging here and there was hardly worth days of reports and interviews outlining just how many people “didn’t see nothing”. This morning, however, to see four grown men lying about and near tears over some bastard–that was worth the trip.

“Do you have anything more than that? What he looked like? Did he have any marks? Tattoos? Anything unique?”

Wex looked to the far wall, where a wineskin sagged against the panel, a vicious looking hatchet pinning it to the wall right through the middle–the smell of stale wine hung in the air and purple stains spread from the floor underneath.

“…well, he’s got the other one of those things.”

System: Nirvat and Sallac are a pair of twin short-hatchets, a set of weapons uncommon in the greater underworld of Greyghast, due to their rather unimpressive look. Most thieves would rather a fancy dagger or a serious edged sword rather than some crude hand axes.

But the Magewright–and prolific gambler–Ennis d’Aleour enchanted these two in his youth as payment for a boat race gone bad and they’ve been passed through the criminal networks of wannabe’s ever since.

Attunement to the pair takes a week of hiding them on one’s person such that nobody (at all) notices that they’re there (Sleight of Hand, roll sets the DC against the Passive Perception of everyone on interacts with; done as one roll a day, each day).

Once attuned, the hatchets count as +0 magic weapons that do 1d4 + STR slashing on the foreswing and 1d4 +STR bludgeoning on the backswing (this is not an additional attack, this is just the two damages they can do as a choice). They can be thrown (10/20) and once per hatchet per day (twice overall), one may attempt to throw a hatchet to disarm an opponent. If within 5ft, the throw (using one’s attack roll) is disadvantaged, at 10 ft. it is normal, and at 20 ft. it is advantaged. Regardless the distance, the hatchet thrown goes an additional 10ft. in whatever direction it had been going, skipping across the floor. In the event of there being no additional distance for it to go, it sticks in the wall pinning the disarmed object there. Athletics DC = total roll to pull it free.