Created to repay a friend who lost a limb, Artimegens created a way for them to use a glove to replace it.  In a very short time, this has changed from a single piece to a boon to everyone who has lost a limb.  It has become a common enchantment in all grimoires. Atimegens has become a mage for The Annuals, with a named enchantment.

While magic if full of odd associations, some are quite "pun-ish". By accident or on purpose, slips of the tongue are there.

"Okay, I didn't like Thanger", I thought, "He was a punta of epic proportions, but nobody deserved to die like that." These thoughts were crowding out the screaming in the back of my head that we were all still in danger if we did not move.

I saw Peeth kneel down besides the biggest chunk of remains, where the heart was. He reached in under his leathers and pulled out a piece of jade on a simple chain. He placed it on the remains reverently. It was fitting, Thanger died stepping in to protect Peeth.

"He needs this more than I do. Maybe it will keep him out of The Hells."

These specially made candles are favorites of wives, lovers, and mothers who see their loved ones off to battle or to trade in far away lands.

We were quite the motley band, even for adventuresome sorts. Yet being in a party can bring even the oddest people close. Let me tell you a story.

We were on the road to Maltrell and had been for a week. Tempers were short. We had been thrown together by various guilds, temples, and noble houses, and few of us wanted to be here. We had not come to know each other at this point, let alone trust each other. I personally was thinking about breaking my contract. Then I saw it.

Sitting on a log by the side of the quick camp we had for a break were our two of our oddest members. Ton was a bald holy man of the Ancient Dragon Temple. His ways were odd and nobody truly understood him. He was the only man who could act like a servant, yet still have an imperious superior than thou attitude. Sitting with him was good old Darren. Darren was his opposite. He was a cat folk, and very city, very Parisian, if you know what I mean. He was a total dandy, with tons of clothes, foppish snobby attitude, and pretenses to nobility, honor, and station beyond his station. Gods know, I miss that cat.

Anyways, the two were sitting together, had been for a bit I guess. They seemed to be hitting it off, smiling and talking. I could not see what those two could have in common, the most austere and the most...umm worldly.. of our party. When I came up to ask, "What was so funny"? They both leaned back and showed me their feet, wiggling their toes, though they were wearing something shoe-ish. When I looked at them perplexed like, they both burst into genuine laughter. Darren made some comment about only they wore the finest footwear. There was some joke that I did not know. It annoyed me at the time, but to be honest... it was that laughter that held us together. It showed that even though we did come from different places and had different positions, we had things in common - even if they be shoes- and could be as one. One by one, we came to know each other and realized that, as a party, we could complete our mission.

The Sergeant did not have to clear his throat. He could just begin - at full volume - and instantly quiet the room of recruits. "The Remote Gun Platform. You worms would know it as a Tankbot. Is your best friend on the battlefield next to the guy sitting beside you. You will come to love this thing for its functionality, its ability to see the enemy, and for its ability to be blown up instead of you. "

Peter saw it in the shadows. It began like a emerald sparkler. The sparkler begain to move around in a circle. Slowly at first, but with increasing speed. Then gold and silver light began to spin around with the green. Soon the spinning lights cooled. They became metallic, yet still gently glowing in the gloom. Inside the ring, static - like the static on an analog tv - appeared. The first of what he would call Grinches appeared.

PADD is an acronym for Personal Access Display Device, a hand-held computer interface. This is a science fiction "common item", found in a variety of milieus.

Developed in a number of places any number of times, MoonInk has been applied in any number of ways.

The Nine Coyns are Items of Destiny. Created long ago as tools of resolution, echos of the primal set have been found in other realms... places that need resolution of great threats to the Way.

The lines are drawn.

The final coyn is tossed.

Let the great karmic conflict BEGIN!

You have what?! On your equipment list? For real?

LLorryn of Rydlin crafted charms and magic items over his lifetime. All are known for his trademark, the ringing sound caused by the magic flowing through them. While bards have granted fame to his thirteen Singing blades, among warriors and weaponsmiths, he is best known for his "singing knives".

LLorryn of Rydlin crafted thirteen of the famed Singing Blades, as well as numerous other charms and magic items. All are known for his trademark, the ringing sound caused by the magic flowing through them. The Swords are his best known body of work.

"So it is old," I said.

"Older than you know," The White Beard murmered.

"I have never seen a blade of this type," I said swinging it experimentally.

"It is a Middle Blade. They are made not in these times, but in Albinion Era after the fall of the Empire, made, they were," The Wise One said.

"It is truly old then, almost as old as you..."

The White Beard just sighed.

I saw him pull that odd piece out once more, using it to fiddled with the lock. He open the big fold, and flipped out one long thin piece. He pulled a single piece out from a slide and fiddled in the lock. He stopped, smirked, and flipping out a small thin scraping tool he began to probe the area around the lock. 'Trapped,' he said.

The tradition of Battle Sashes is only a century or two old. It started in Celedor by the River, but it has been adopted in every part of the WestLands. Given the presence of blood, spirit and honor, it was only a matter of time until magic became involved.

These are the traditional honor weapons of the legendary Blades of the Golden Sun. It is with these weapons that they defended the Imperial Realm from the Taint of Shadow. Or so some say.

He was frantically pointing towards the glowing mountain. 'We need to cast The Spell!', Bothar screamed!

I held up the scroll we all had risked our lives to get. 'Nobody can cast this spell without a prepared mystic space and ritual equipment. It would be suicide,' I said. 'Not even him,' I jerked my thumb towards the Magi who smiled slyly.

Silently, he unstrapped that bolt of cloth he had been carrying since I had known him. He unfurled it, tamped it down, with small spikes, pulled a small apothecary chest out, placed and lit four candles on the cloth, drew some lines with some handy chalk, unpacked his remaining tools, then he held his hand out expectantly for the scroll. It took a fraction of a candle mark.

'Solomontic Rug,' he said quietly. 'The key to mastery is knowing and having the right tools, be they physical, mental, or magical, and having them ready when you need them.'

The passenger said, 'It sounds like your wind chime is broken, or at least out of tune.' The first mate just smiled. 'That chime is music to a sailor's ears, it is,' he said. 'We will have smooth sailing this day.'

It was a fine harness and reins. The leather was soft and well tooled. The bit was so shiney one thought it could be silver. It looked like no bit and bridle that he had ever seen. Yet, it seemed familiar, like he had heard stories about this before.