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Anya's Mysterious Bracelet | An arched niche cut deep into the stones of the wall holds within a glassed case, a pillow of black velvet bearing a sparkling golden bracelet, studded with brilliant diamonds like liquid white fire. "'Tis a siren song indeed that weapon sings, with lyrics no man can understand," Bally reverently mentions when he notices your attentions; his words echo as though he were quoting a memory. "I know, I know, more suited for a Bard than a squire. But that's what she told me when I asked her about it. Ahh, and who might she be? I can see the question in your eyes. Anya, the lass out tending the garden beyond the northern door." He shrugs in frustration, debating what else to reveal or stumble over with his tongue of clay. "She begged the Lady to place it here in the weapons-rack alcove. All I know is, that bracelet is supposed to become a sword in its bearer's hand, and that she recieved the thing from someone who left a lasting impression upon her." The lad appears as though he wishes he could do the same, as he kicks booted feet into the cobblestones. "Must not have been a good one, if'n she's putting the trinket up in here. Ninety thousand gold is the asking price, no less. Ay me. As if I shall ever have that king's fortune at my disposal." Shaking his head, Bally moves away to contemplate something less confusing than transforming weapons and strange girls. *note* This gold bracelet with fifteen half-carat diamonds is a magically transforming weapon, at verbal command flowing about the bearer's hand into a hilt and guard, with a three foot long tapering blade; the diamonds form a starburst on the guard. Registers as a magical item in sword and bracelet form, impervious to natural fire and acid; magical and elemental attacks potentially could damage the weapon, but for practical purposes it is indestructible. Inflicts 4D6 S.D.C.; in M.D.C. worlds becomes Mega-Damage.
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The Blood Drinkers | Sunlight on silver glints from an iron wall-rack mounted into the stone; a pair of balanced matching daggers are the source, serpentine blades with wire-wrapped hilts bearing a winged snake wrapping about the hilt, its wings the crossguards. "The Lady called those the Blood Drinkers, I'd no want to prick m'self on them!" Bally announces with a rueful grin, taking note of your expression. "She says t'me that they balance perfect, good fer throwing, and that th' first strike is but minor compared to th' next little while." Grinning in his musings of an enemy being struck by the daggers, the squire looks darkly pleased. "Near impossible to pull out for a solid minute, thats their magic, and every few seconds they twist and cut deeper, so's that by the time they fall out on their own, its like being struck by a sword a time or three!" He shrugs broad, lean shoulders resolutely. "Though with my pay at a pittance, their price of thirty thousand Llornian gold marks is beyond my purse." *note* Perfect balance and an ever-sharp edge add +2 to hit when thrown; +1 to a called shot. 1D6 damage occurs initially, with an additional 1D6 damage every melee round for four rounds. Once having entered flesh the daggers require a combined P.S. of 25 to pull free. After four melee rounds the daggers slide free on their own.
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Caersis Cearian the 'Palace Heaven' Comb | Grouped together along one stone wall, a series of casements lined in black velvet holds several beautiful combs, such as a woman would wear in her hair. Gilded ivory set with moonstones, pure silver and carbuncle gems, beautiful ebony wood and inlaid bone, each is a crafter's work of art, each different save for the sharpened edges and the particularly long, needlelike teeth of the comb itself. "M'told they're nobles' weapons, such as suitable to wear to Court," Bally murmurs respectfully when he catches your interest falling upon the Caersis Cearian. "Since so many courts deny any bared steel or weapons within th' halls. Certain gems also open to keep a bit of poison handy, for th' tines of th' comb," his finger points out tiny hinges nestled in the setting of some of the adornments. "Both men and women would wear them, so I'm told, nobles all who're taught th' art of defense and combat with such things." The lad shivers a bit dramatically. "I would no wish t'see a beautiful court lady coming at me with those! A'course, with a price tag of three hundred to four thousand Western gold, only a noble could afford th' like!" *note* In the hands of those with WP:Comb, the comb inflicts 1D6 S.D.C. plus P.S. bonuses. Poison may also be powdered or spread on the teeth to inflict further damage. Without a weapon proficiency in the Comb, damage is only 1D2. These weapons make perfect accomplices for assassins or secret agents within the court, women who wish to appear defenseless, or nobles who enjoy the element of surprise.
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Fan-Dancer | A collection of fans are displayed upon one stone wall of the Garderobe, each spread to reveal beautiful delicately-painted silk images on their ribs, rich inlay of wood and bone, or fine pierce-work through pearl-encrusted panels. "Aye, s'another fine noble weapon t'carry into Court," Bally agrees with your suspicions, gesturing to note the razor-sharp edges each fan seems to possess. "Ye can also use th' thing to give a great conk upon the noggin," the young squire pantomimes with a laugh. "I've heard tell many a traveling merchant-woman, highborn dame, priest and scholar's carried such a thing about them, looking all innocent and harmless until they're provoked. And then, ssss," Bally draws his finger across his throat, eyes wide in mock-surprise. "Well worth their cost, fifty to six hundred Timiro gold." *note* In the hands of the inexperienced, the fan will only enact 1D2 damage. For those with the WP:Fan, damage is increased to 1D6 S.D.C. plus P.S. bonuses; this is most common for the upper class, genteel rogues and the like. It is also possible to learn the skill fan-dancing, a combination skill/weapon proficiency that engages certain physical movements, combat skills, and the domestic art of dancing. Fan-dancing grants +1 P.P. and allows the combatant to inflict 1D8+1 S.D.C. plus P.S. bonuses, and is also learned enough to effectively apply poisons to the fan's edge; those with fan-dancing also know several attractive dance steps which may be employed independently from combat. Fan-dancing may also be combined with the WP:Paired Weapons, so long as each weapon is a fan.
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The Blood Drinkers | Sunlight on silver glints from an iron wall-rack mounted into the stone; a pair of balanced matching daggers are the source, serpentine blades with wire-wrapped hilts bearing a winged snake wrapping about the hilt, its wings the crossguards. "The Lady called those the Blood Drinkers, I'd no want to prick m'self on them!" Bally announces with a rueful grin, taking note of your expression. "She says t'me that they balance perfect, good fer throwing, and that th' first strike is but minor compared to th' next little while." Grinning in his musings of an enemy being struck by the daggers, the squire looks darkly pleased. "Near impossible to pull out for a solid minute, thats their magic, and every few seconds they twist and cut deeper, so's that by the time they fall out on their own, its like being struck by a sword a time or three!" He shrugs broad, lean shoulders resolutely. "Though with my pay at a pittance, their price of thirty thousand Llornian gold marks is beyond my purse." *note* Perfect balance and an ever-sharp edge add +2 to hit when thrown; +1 to a called shot. 1D6 damage occurs initially, with an additional 1D6 damage every melee round for four rounds. Once having entered flesh the daggers require a combined P.S. of 25 to pull free. After four melee rounds the daggers slide free on their own. |
The Cholohmu Shell Armaments
In the distant past amongst the annals of the Elf-Dwarf wars, kingdoms were conquered and lost, peoples were enslaved or risen to ultimate power, and the entire world was thrown into chaos. Vast quantities of material were required to fuel the engines of war for each embattled side, in arms and armaments amongst other endless necessities. So it was that the elves of the Old Kingdom turned to every available resource they could muster, reaped and torn asunder from the very earth itself. Known to the great nation were massive banks of a certain, peculiar shellfish which sparkled beneath the shallow waters off the southeastern coastlines of the continents. Numbering in many hundreds of thousands, then-current scholars and even magi made the Cholohmu (pronounced SHO-luh-MU; the harder accent upon the third syllable) the subject of sensitive study, suspecting that these reactive life-forms may perhaps have been quasi-intelligent, possibly even sentient. What little knowledge that eventually became lost in the aftermath, and worse yet never even discovered, was that indeed the Cholohmu were a race of psychic empaths, communicating through mental capacities at a limited function, even bearing a primitive quasi-culture, but self-aware nonetheless. What the elves committed to the Cholohmu was nothing less than total genocide. Commanding their learned ones to produce new sources of power and protection to fight against the hated Dwarves, those selfsame wizards and scientists who studied the harmless creatures regretfully revealed their knowledge of certain properties of the Cholohmu shells, which were nigh impervious to the battering of native predators and surf. And so it began that the Elves, and later the Dwarves and their enslaved peoples, begat massive wholescale harvesting of the helpless beings; the great shoals of shellfish were anihillated within a mere two years' time, the very last discovered at the vestiges of the shallow sea-shelf at the mid-range of the Eastern Territories, to the far-flung southwestern edges by what would become the Timiro kingdom. The Cholohmu were most often boiled alive in titanic cauldrons of heated water, to crack the shells, remove the worthless meat within (Cholohmu, according to old texts, were rather unpleasant to eat), and then fashioned into weapons and armor for the millions of soldiers employed by each opposing side. The finished products were often issued to low-level recruits, with finer, rarer pieces being awarded or ceremoniously presented to officers. Many of these artifacts have survived to present day, often being unearthed in some bumpkin farmer's field, or discovered in a forgotten tomb of high-ranking lost souls. Knowing this, Traveller, think twice before considering donning these vestments and artifacts of war. Reflect upon their history, and their origins bathed in sorrow and ignorance; and after doing so bear them with truth, and honor, and compassion, so that the sins of those who have come before you may be balanced by the works of your hands. |
A most peculiar and ... shall we say, specific armament crafted from the creamy shells of the Cholohmu. Just one month ago an entire cache was unearthed, overturned by the plow of a farmer in his grain field; the heavy blade caught upon an ancient rotting chest, which disintegrated upon impact, revealing these decidedly odd and undoubtedly masculine protective garb. Marked 'Caer'thith' in the same style of runic script as many other Cholohmu armaments, a single concave curved shell composes the piece, fashioned naturally into a deep cup to fit over the delicate necessities of one's groin. What strikes as strange are the number of wickedly sharp, thrusting spikes jutting out from the creamy, silver-spiraled base. A metal mesh chain creates a waist and a pair of securing bands over each buttock, presumably. Historians are speculating that these particular armaments belonged to a certain specialized unit of Dwarven warriors, heavy hand-to-hand combat specialists well versed in physical fighting. Called the Kavnir, they have been occasionally noted in ancient texts, and even a bas-relief carving has been seen at an abandoned ruin depicting these muscled, short-statured warriors with exaggerated spiked cups at their thighs. Perhaps the Kavnir used these as a nasty, frightening weapon while wrestling, to couge out tender flesh and destroy the eyes of their enemies? Who can say. Weight - 1 lb. A.R. - 16 S.D.C. - 75 Cost - since these things have been unearthed, scores of gladiators and quirky adventurers and warriors have been flocking to Northolme, where the Caer'thith were rapidly snapped up by enterprising Dwarven merchants and smiths who learned of the discovery, and swooped down before any other faction could obtain them. So far the Dwarves refuse any amount of coin, though rumor persists that they have let a few slip through for the outrageous price of fifty thousand gold. |
The meaning of the name of this particular piece of armor has been lost to antiquity, its proper title intact only through ancient runic inscriptions which can be found on each piece. It consists of a unique shielding mounted to encase the forearm, two sides covering top and bottom; below is a ridged, sharp underside good for providing a nasty blow to the enemy (damage 1D8+2); the overset is a scalloping shell with a flange quite broad at the elbow, tapering to the cuffed wrist. The emel is meant to be worn on the non-combative limb, as it interferes, due to its size and shape, with the usage of a weapon on the same arm. Weight - 3 lbs. A.R. - 16 S.D.C. - 110 Cost - conservatively, twenty-seven thousand gold has been asked in a few trading houses; though it is suspected the price quote is but a clever ruse to develop interest, and is in fact far higher. |
Carved from the spines of larger shells, each of these cuffs bears a single line of three to five wicked spikes across the natural arch of the shell. The thickness of the shell has been fashioned in such a manner as to form a set of thumbholds and a broad finger-grip which fits most humanoid figures. Once created for issue to front-line shock troops and special hand-to-hand combat units. Rare and weak availability, even where Cholohmu shells are found. Weight - 4 lbs. Damage - 2D6+3+P.S. bonuses; 20% chance of tearing/denting conventional leather or metal armor; when this occurs damage is doubled, to the S.D.C. of the armor only. S.D.C. - 80 Cost - twenty to thirty thousand gold has been quoted for these pieces previously; the cost is rising, due to collectors and renewed interest from such sundry groups as adventurers, the Red Brigade of Llorn, and Western Empire gladiators. |
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Damien unsheaths a flamberge of exceptional quality, weighing it in his hand. "The previous owner called this sword the 'Bladed Death.' Remarkably balanced, it was crafted by kobolds...you really have to admire their workmanship, whatever you may think of them. And sharp, too, let me show you." He picks up a leaf off the ground, holds it at eye level, lets it go, then performs rather small movements with the sword around it. It appears that you underestimated is value as a fighter as the leaf falls intact to the ground. However, as Damien carefully sheaths the weapon with the soft click of the hand guard meeting the scabbard, the leaf explodes into a cloud of green dust and dissipates. "This was once owned by the bandit warlord Ishmael the Invincible. He would gallop on his horse swinging this weapon over his head shouting, 'I am Ishmael the Invinible, all shall perish by my Bladed Death,' or, 'Fool, you cannot defeat Ishmael, that being me, for I am invincible with my Bladed Death.' So after I killed him, I took this blade for safekeeping." He sees the strange looks you are giving him. "What? I had to take it," he says defensively with a hurt look, "we can't have ruffians going around giving themselves silly names because of a sword." *note* The magical flamberge, weighing 7.5 lbs (3.4 kg), is of high quality kobold construction (+1 to Strike, +2 Parry, +3 Damage, and +1 Initiative). Magical Enchantments include Extra Damage (1D6), Indestructible, and Super Sharpness (+4 Damage/Lowers Crits by 2.) It deals 4D6 +7 damage before including additional Strength bonuses.
 Dagger of a Faithful Maiden
Despite his muscled physique, Damien lifts a small dagger as if it caused a great burden to him. "This blade was once the property of a lady of not merely great beauty, but also of great strength of character. She and a young noble of a rival family were in love, but both were unable to express their affection due to the blood feud of their respective clans. Seeing how they cannot be joined in life, they sought refuge in death. Taking this blade, she pierced herself through her heart, stabbing at the source of her suffering. It entered so neatly, I am told, that she felt no pain...or at least felt it no longer. The gentleman," he says through gritted teeth, clenching his fists, "if you can call him that, was too cowardly to follow suit, having unfulfilled duties as a soldier. He sought to join his beloved in death on many a battlefield, but could not find release." Suddenly, he clenches at his chest in spasm as if in great physical pain, but you realize that no bodily pain could cause such suffering. When he recovers, he tells you, "I wish to speak of this no more." *note* A magical dagger that inflicts 1D6+3 damage, it has the abilities of Indestructible and Eternally Sharp Blade (+3 to Damage.)
Damien pulls out a pocket-sized tome, which has a puncture through the center of it. "Inside this priceless volume is the practical wisdom of the ancient general Strategicus," he says, flipping to a random quote. "'In a situation where you are outnumbered, outpositioned, and outmaneuovered,'" he reads, turning to the next page, "'don't have a battle.' If more commanders had read this, a lot fewer soldiers would have suffered." He raises the book to his pectorals, pointing at the hole in the book. "You're probably wondering about this," he suggests. "An uncle of mine had the book tucked inside his shirt pocket when charging elven archers. An arrow, which would have pierced his heart otherwise, was stopped short by this tome. Right here," he pokes, emphasizing his point. "It's a pity though; he would have survived if not for the other twenty-seven arrows." *note* A convenient, palm-sized guide on staying alive, the book also offers an AR bonus of +4 in addition to other forms of armor for a maximum of AR: 18. The book also makes for good reading due to the down-to-earth wit of Strategicus.
"'Tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, some say," Damien says in agreement, "but why do so naked?" He lifts a much-adorned piece of armor plate. At one point, it must have been a masterpiece with its decorations, but through heavy use, the plate mail carries as many marks as its owner. "Unlike some allies, my comrade here has always stuck with me, regardless of the fortunes of war. Forgive the many scratches; I could have found a smithy to mend these for me, but my plate is quite capable of healing itself. Besides, I have enough respect for each of my opponents to keep these dents as momentoes of our battles. Do not be too complacent despite this armor's numerous good qualities; many a soldier's last words have been, 'You cannot defeat me while I wear my magical armaaargh.'" The light jest of the man's words do not quite reach his shadowed eyes. *note* Weighing 24 lbs, this highly decorated plate mail suit has AR: 18 and SDC: 360. The armor magically repairs itself at the rate of 10 SDC per hour. Enchantments include Armor Rating Enhancement, Lightweight, Magical SDC, and Regenerating SDC.
My personal thanks and gratitude to him for gracing the apothecary with his enlightening visions and work.
Return to the entrance of the apothecary proper.
Go back to the counter whereupon awaits the Lady.
To the east lies the curtained archway.
The northern door beckons with the promise of sunlight...
The dutch door remains half-opened and filled with tempting aromas...
The massive ironwood portal of the Lady's sanctum remains unlocked ...
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