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Lament of Naamah
As Raxaia took her first step toward the throngs of buzzing, salivating, angry things she could feel the tension in the air behind her. They were out-numbered ten or twelve to one, if not more. The twisted creatures of the deep chattered angrily at the group, their dead and pale eyes focused on nothing, but their keen hearing more than able to locate the intruders.
Broadways closed his eyes, holding his shield before him, waiting for the tide to break and the things of the dark to swarm. He mouthed a prayer, the very act of piety made Raxaia uncomfortable. He barely tolerated her on the best days, and for her to bring her Partner’s influence to bear here was almost too much for him. It was a fortunate thing he knew enough of the world to tolerate a good tool, even if it had a dark origin.
Each step she took seemed to buy them more time, the creatures flowed away and into the cracks and crevices of the cavern. Thirty more feet and maybe they could make the bridge before hell broke loose.
System: Naamah Warmaker, Naamah the Breaker of the Realms, Namaah of the Bright Lightning. The greater Fiend of Cacerat was old when the world was young and has been one of the principle antagonists of the Riders, the Celestial Council, and the Elders of the Lost Dimension. She is ancient and her plans reach far into the future. Four thousand years ago, she was caged by the cultists and warlocks of the Blue King—an Arch-Fey gone mad in the world of men—and from her prison in his ethereal tower, she called out a rage and sorrow across time and those word found her first servant and partner.
Her name is lost, that warlock, as was heir pact—but upon being freed, Naamah fashioned a staff from the bones and sinew of the Blue King and over the years it has passed from loyal servant to loyal servant.
The Lament is a light, almost impossibly light, bone staff nearly six feet long. The surface is yellow and blackened at the ends, the middle worn smooth from handling. If one presses an ear close to the staff, one can hear the screams of an ancient, still dying Fey.
Attunement requires a day and a night in Fey Wilds or lands—not easy to find, and once there not easy to survive. The very act of hubris powers the staff and the bearer walks with Naamah’s terrible mein.
So long as it is wielded visibly, the first round (even if surprise) of any evil creatures with max hitpoints lower than the wielder’s current hitpoints must be spent Frightened. The force and fury of the great Fiend is almost palpable for those that would respect it. The wielder may sustain this effect (thus keeping the Frightened condition in play) each round by temporarily lowering their Charisma by 2 (this impacts their ability score and all subsequent calculations for spell DC’s and ability checks). They may continue this until the modifier in effect is +0, and cannot extend farther.
These temporary ability points return after a short rest.
The Irresistable Wind
To the outside observer, the gesture was small and uninteresting. The quiet man in the road only flicked his stick away while unshouldering his pack as the brigands demanded. His calm was infectious, and his manner was deferrent. There was all the concern and excitment of an old woman easing into a bath.
The stick, however, shot out impossibly quick and caught the leader across the throat, driving him back with incredible force and fury, the sounds of choking and gagging followed soon by a crack that sickened the few quick enough to notice anything had happened at all.
Seven men found dead in the road a day later.
System: The Listeners of the Storm, a sect of penitents and ascetics in the windswept plains of the Elos Desert, spend their whole lives in quiet contemplation of what has never come–the fury of the storm, the rage of the Great North Wind. It is part of their mythos, of their folklore.
The last time the Great North Wind came to the plains was nearly three hundred years ago, when the Elemental Demigod of the North Wind himself came to destroy the desert and plain inhabitants. In that cataclysm, the Listeners were formed and their monestary was where the Irresistable Wind was forged.
The Wind is a rod of pure, blemishless copper. Unattuned it acts as a +0 magical club. Attunement requires finding one of the North Wind’s servants, one of the great Blue Dragons of the world, and having them bless the rod with their fury (and breath weapon) either knowingly or not. Any lightning damage will allow the rod to attune temporarily (1d4 hours), but only the deep magic of the pure lightning will attune it without expiration.
Once attuned, the wielder may use an Inspiration Point to throw the rod (20/40) at a creature no more than one size category larger or smaller than themselves, using a ranged attack roll. The hit does no damage, itself, but the struck creature must defend against a Grapple with a DC equal tot he attack roll’s total (with all appropriate modifiers). If they succeed, the rod hits them with insufficient will behind it to have effect. If they fail, they are caught by the rod’s force and thrown back the full max range of the thrown rod (40ft from the original point thrown from) taking 1d6 for every 10ft they travel.
If impeded by a solid object (wall, door, rocks, etc.) in that span, they are grappled to the solid object by the rod (with the standing DC from the attack roll) and begin to suffocate. They may end the grapple on their turn with their action by beating the standing DC. The rod is immovable until they are unconcious or dead (thrower’s choice).
Body of Power
“It won’t work, you know”, Miles grinned over his half-eaton capon.
“Oh, dear boy, why not?”, Walks-In-Terror hardly glanced his way as he drained his third cup of the night and snapped his fingers for one of his abominations to serve him.
“Well…” he seemed to think deeply, the halfling, “What if I mastered death?”
His host guffawed in riotous laughter, spilling wine over half his dinner and causing his usually stone-faced horrors to break what appeared to be smiles.
“You? Oh, Miles, don’t lie please. I appreciate your company, tonight, and adore your pluck, but only I,” he droned on in-between gasps of catching his breath (which Miles suspected was simply a matter of habit, as the creature hardly needed to breath anymore), “…you know.”
The halfling shrugged and pulled his wand free.
“So, you want to do this, then?” he asked, eyes quiet and face bored.
The ghastly figure at the other end of the table sighed (or whatever that was supposed to be, it sounded like a wheeze) and pulled free an orb of crackling energy from his robes.
“If we must… I’ll miss your stories, old boy.”
And the world erupted in light.
System: The Body of Power was originally a sacred relic of the Temple of the Riftmaster, held in secret and divine contemplation by the mystics and sages of that holy order. Their dedication to the Great River of magic that flowed through the world and their God, who embodied it, led them to honor the Body so deeply as to hide it from the world.
Their canonical texts speak of it as having been part of the Riftmaster’s actual form, though the most learned believe that’s more metaphorical than anything.
The Body appears to be a shard of glass, like a short and delicate crystal wand, slightly purple in color and otherwise unremarkable. The only telling sign it is more than it appears comes from its inability to show a reflection of anything in its facets.
Attunement requires the permanent investment of one Sorcery Spell Points. Once invested in the Body, it comes to life for the wielder.
The wielder of the body may invest up to 10 points total in the wand. After the first, the only time one can choose to invest is when leveling. When leveling, one can invest as many or few (or none) as one likes, but once invested, the points are gone.
Upon death, the wielder may call upon the Body to resurrect them (they may elect not to, as well). Every point spent into the body is a 10% chance of success when called. The wielder may choose the time and place of his resurrected form coming to life (it need not be the just deceased former body) within a mile of the site of his death. On resurrection, the wand retains 1 spell point per proficiency bonus. The remaining invested points have a 50% chance (each) of staying in the wand (50% chance they release into the River, gone forever).
As one invests more and more points (up to 10 max) in the wand, one finds their consciousness starts to slip and dissolve between the object and their own form. At 3 points, one can see and hear from the wand as though using their own eyes and ears (this is not activated, this is on all the time—be mindful of stowing it away in a remote and dark place as one might incur penalties with perception using their actual eyes and ears). At 7 points, one’s mind is so diffuse across the Flow that one is advantaged on Magical Saves for Intelligence. At 10 points, the wand may hold an additional Inspiraton point for you (in addition to the normal one per character).