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Enchanted Trinkets Complete--a hardcover book containing over 500 magic items for your D&D games!

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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Shemeska" data-source="post: 2813356" data-attributes="member: 11697">The chamber was small, barely large enough to contain a scrying pool and a number of portals leading to other, far-flung places across the astral. Though it had been crafted recently, and relatively few had given their lives to fuel its expansion as a pseudo-demiplane upon the Astral, illusions and warped space made it seem all the larger. Barely thirty feet wide, it resembled an open-air cupola at the summit of a tower, overlooking a vast evergreen forest eternally perched on the twilight cusp of dusk or dawn.It wasn’t home; it was far too normal for that. It had only the pretensions of comfort, and while some might marvel at the magical prowess displayed in its creation, it was never to be anything more than a temporary tool. It was a nexus point, a place used to go to other places but never truly feeling like any sort of home beyond the temporary. But yet, there she was.    The ‘Lady Brampandra’ sat perched in mid-air, feeling the illusory winds carry on them a hint of burning embers and death somewhere in the intangible realms always out of reach beyond the boundary of the tower’s expanse. It was comforting in a way, but she was more interested in the breeze passing through one of the portals. Through that sculpted hole in the fabric of the plane, the winds of the astral blew across her bare flesh, the tingle of thoughts bringing a shiver and a reminder of other places, if only so very distantly.    Her eyes opened for a moment and gazed through the portal, glancing at the bizarre, sprawling device that had been constructed by Ghyris Vast. The human was now rotting in Pitiless, insurance in the event that the device didn’t work or worked improperly. The motley collection of cylinders, capacitors, oddly shaped and enchanted coils, and the maze of wires that connected them… she understood the interrelation between them all, she knew how to built it again from scratch, but as much as it pained her to admit it, she didn’t have the closest notion as to why the device could do what it promised to. That troubled her of course, but she didn’t allow the thought pattern to unduly intrude upon her conscious mind as she traced her eyes across the device, nestled there in its chamber beyond the portal. Those errant worries, she tossed them to the side just as she had discarded her clothing when she’d retreated from her githyanki underlings to meditate.    She had just closed her eyes again when something in the chamber, in her, seemed to change. It was subtle, and only something that she would have been able to sense since it was something happening on the other side of the multiverse.    It was a touch, puissant and erotic, first upon her face, then tracing a line down her neck, her breasts, her stomach…    “The Divinity Leach is assembled.” She whispered, exhaling and shuddering at the lingering promise of violation. “It is nearly ready to test…”    She twitched, still hung in midair, feeling beautiful for several moments, briefly unaware and unreminded of the pool of her own blood that had slowly dripped from her flesh onto the floor below. Obedient and eager, she turned to face another of the portals as it flickered and opened.    The portal swirled with crimson and pitch, flooding the chamber with a tumult of screams that Pandemonium itself would have had difficulty matching. Within the open gate, the darkness seemed to smile, and a pair of eyes opened in the distance, looking across the planes at her.“I have something for you.”    The darkness crooned like a proud father to her. Its voice said nothing about the failure of her former servant, nor did it give comment on the punishment that she had delivered to the Ultroloth. The darkness was accepting, empowering, awesome and terrible.    “What is it you bring my love?” She whispered, feeling the other’s hand or telekinetic influence toy with her physical body.    “A tool. A servant.” He replied, the darkness sprouting the ivory flicker of grinning fangs. “A new creation for you to test, and one which has been tailored perfectly to the environment of the transitive planes.”    Her head tilted to the side in curiosity, her ears twitched and she waited for her gift subserviently to arrive. But rather than emerge through the portal, the creature flickered and phased into being directly in the center of the chamber.    “Examine it.” The darkness whispered through the portal. “You will find it malleable to your will, much more so than a true yugoloth. It has no free will of its own.”    She gazed up at the creature, the first of them, which hovered silently above her.    “This is what you have been toiling with of late?” She asked.    “Among other things.” Her master answered. “What was seemingly lost on the prior two Oinoloths is the fact that the spawning pools beneath Khin-Oin are like a potter’s wheel or a silversmith’s workshop, not simply a collection of molds and the raw material to fill them with. They are places to create and design, to shape as needed, but the status quo was apparently sufficient for eons.”    She examined the beast as its maker mentally snarled in disdain and creative arrogance.    It was huge, suspended there in the twilight, fully twice the size of a mature Nycaloth, though a translucent Nycaloth starved and stretched till its limbs were painfully thin and elongated. It seemed delicate, almost frail in a way, its frame almost skeletally thin. But in that vague body plan was where the similarities to the first of the greater yugoloth castes ended, for the creature seemed more jellyfish than fiend.    Sprouting from the creatures back and sides, rippling through the air and trailing below it, touching, sniffing, tasting the ether, were nearly fifty tentacles or pseudopods. Tiny flickers of sickly light glittered through the tendrils and the rest of the creature like the lures of a predatory, deep ocean fish. The creature was created as something to swim the depths of the trackless sea, the shadow deep, or the silvery void with equal skill, obeying its masters without thought and without question.Had it been based on a Nycaloth though, it would have been a blind one, for the creature’s eye sockets were empty, with translucent bone and flesh stretched tight over the vacant sockets; vestigial orbits that had never been filled by the full sensory organs.    “How many?” She questioned as a drop of her own spittle rolled down her chin.    “Many.” The Oinoloth replied. “This is only the first to become mature. Others will follow for you to use as you see fit.”    But the creature was aware, incredibly so. Bereft of sight, the creature could feel it way through any darkness, drifting silent and hungry till it was ready to devour its prey. It was a tool that only needed to be given a task.    “These were created with you and your present task in mind.” The Ebon whispered. “Do with the Astraloths as you will, but testing them is secondary to other concerns.”    She had other questions, other words of praise, other things to beg for, but the portal closed abruptly before she could find the words to speak.    The contact severed, she slumped to the floor, sprawling naked on the marble, smearing involuntary patterns there in her own blood. Those few minutes of contact, brief as they were, even though they had been through the portal and not in person, they had been like a religious experience. She trembled, cold and exhausted, left in a mixture of awe and withdrawal as she scrambled up to her feet and gazed at the first of the creatures that had been gifted to her.    It was hideous. It was perfect.    And in hindsight, that was probably the feeling that its creator held regarding her.    “A replacement for prior slaves.” She said, glancing up at the newborn yugoloth construct. “Unlike others, you will serve without question, and hopefully you will suffice to finish what others failed to do.”    Pointedly, before instructing the Astraloth to its first task, she snarled and gazed down at the gemstone lying atop the pile of her discarded clothing that held the essence of Yethmil Kal’Suth.***    “Is it just me or has Skalliska been in a much better mood lately?” Florian asked as she sat at with Toras at one of the inn’s tables.    “Skalliska’s back?” Toras said. “I honestly haven’t noticed.”    “Well it’s a little hard to not notice Sigil’s most flamboyantly dressed kobold with a spring in her step.” Florian commented.    “You do have to grant her that.” Clueless said from over at the bar. “She does have a pretty good sense of style.”    “So do Bleaknicks.” The fighter replied.    “She said something about having found her faith again.” Clueless said. “Pretty much right after she got back from the Astral, she seemed rather intent on something.”“It’s a powerful thing. Faith that is.” Florian added. “Sounds like she found what she’d gone out there to find in the first place.”    “Hopefully it’ll give her a better sense to not be so impulsive.” Toras said. “I’m happy for her. Really, I am.”The fighter held up his finger. “But if I have to drag her soul back kicking and screaming when she gets disintegrated for the umpteenth time yet again, I’m leaving her drifting off wherever it is that well dressed kobolds with large hats go when they die.”    Florian shook her head at his impatience as he took a long, deliberate swig from his mug of ale.    “Where’s that?” Came a soft, fluting, draconic voice.    Toras looked up from his drink and into Amberblue’s draconic eyes, sparkling with curiosity and childlike innocence. Despite whatever the dragon had been through during his time in Carceri, which he had avoided speaking about, he’d regained almost all of his original nature, both as a faerie dragon and as a child.    Of course, since then, the young dragon had spent most of his time divided between Nisha and Clueless, the former for her carefree and chaotic nature, and the latter for his fey heritage.    “Here you go little guy.” Toras said, dodging the question, taking a bright and shiny apple out from the bag of holding at his waist.    Amberblue’s tail flicked happily and his wings fluttered in anticipation.    “For me?!” He chirped.    “Who else?” Toras said, putting the apple down on top of the table. “I picked it up for you today when I was in the Market Ward.”    The tiny dragon munched on the apple, wings still fluttering as the remainder of his body was wrapped around the piece of fruit.    “Everyone here is awesome!” Amberblue said between mouthfuls of apple. “Toras is super nice too. He even got me the type of apple I like best of all!”    Toras smiled with a warmth that would have seemed totally alien to anyone who had ever seen him in combat against a fiend.    “Don’t you agree?” Amberblue asked, looking down at seemingly no one in particular before taking another munch from the apple.    The table rocked back and forth.    “What the hell was that?” Florian asked, picking up her mug of ale and sliding her chair back.    “Oh, that was the table.” Amberblue stated matter-of-factly.    Toras glanced at the faerie dragon questioningly.    “The table?” He asked, looking down at the still slightly rocking piece of bar furniture.    Florian glanced under the table, looking for a foot, or maybe a Nisha that might have pushed the table to make it jostle back and forth. There wasn’t either of those things however, just the floor, a few bits of apple, and nothing else to explain it.    “What about the table?” Toras asked again.    “Oh.” The dragon said with a toothy, apple-decorated smile. “I animated it yesterday!”    “You what?” Florian asked.    “I made the table my friend.” Amberblue said, once more through a massive mouthful of red delicious. “Yesterday.”    “How?” Toras asked as the table rattled like a happy puppy.    “I dunno… I just did.” Amberblue said with a tiny shrug. “I just asked nicely, wishing I could…”    Florian held up a finger. “You can wish?”    “I guess so…” Came the innocent reply and another shrug from the dragon.    Florian and Toras were looking intently at one another. A little kid with wishes. Not exactly always safe.    “This is a good apple uncle Toras.” Amberblue said, flashing a wide grin as his wings glittered a few different shades of sparkling colors, reflecting his mood.    “Will you promise me that you won’t animate any more furniture?” Toras asked politely.    “Umm, ok!” Amberblue replied. “But I also made the hutch over on the other wall my friend too. About a day before I animated the table here.”    The table bounced slightly, and in seeming response, the hutch over by the back room rattled back with a clatter of silverware and napkin-rings.    “Breasts of Sharess…” Florian muttered. “Umm…”    “I like apples a lot.” Amberblue prattled on gleefully, completely and blissfully ignorant. “I like them by themselves. I like apple pie. I like apple tarts. And I even had a kamaerl… kamarel…caramel apple one time too! Apples are the most yummy things there is.”    Toras warily smiled and nodded.    “I wish I had a whole bunch more apples.” The dragon chirped even as his scaled tummy was starting to bulge.    “Oh sh*t…” Florian said, a moment before the wish took effect.    *CLATTER RUMBLE CRASH!*    In the space of a single, pregnant moment, the doors from the kitchen, Tristol’s lab, and the back room were flung open and a veritable tide of apples rushed in, flooding the common room in several feet of ripe, juicy apples of every color imaginable.    There was a chorus of startled cries from patrons, cooks, servers, and from the Portal Jammer’s owners as well, punctuated by a overjoyed, gleeful chirp of “Yay! Apples!”    “What the hell happened?! Clueless?! Nisha!?” Tristol exclaimed as he climbed out of his lab, scrambling over a snowdrift of fruit several feet high.    “We have apples.” Toras said, glancing over at Amberblue.    “I have lots of apples!” The dragon responded, fluttering over to land atop a particularly large Granny Smith.    Over at the bar, standing amid a pile of yellow and red apples, Clueless shook his head and gave an innocent expression. It hadn’t been him, not this time. At the same time, one of the regulars, a fairly heavy drinker, looked at his freshly drained shot glass and then at the room full of apples.    “This is good stuff.” He said. “I’ll have another shot if you don’t mind.”    “I think I may join you myself.” Clueless replied, gazing out at the hundreds of pounds of apples that filled the Portal Jammer.    Once they cleared the place of apples, or found something to do with them, they would need to do something about the Faerie Dragon and his wishes. They already had a Xaositect, they already had  a half-fey with heavy magic, they didn’t need a little kid with wishes running amuck as well.***    Several days passed, the inn was cleared of fruit, and relatively little of note transpired beyond a continued effort to ensure that Amberblue used his wishes early, and on something small and/or constructive. Business at the Inn was steady, Kiro and Skalliska were out and about on various errands, and Nisha was busy with the Faerie Dragon up on the roof, doing… something… and not answering any questions just as to what exactly she had up her sleeve. And of course, the Portal Jammer was still running a special on Apple Pie.    “Interesting.” Toras said, holding up a long, slim envelope as he walked up to where Florian, Tristol, Fyrehowl and Clueless were sitting. “We had some mail in the box.”    “Who for?” Florian asked. “And don’t tell me that it’s more cr*p from the Mephit.”    “No.” The fighter said, shaking his head. “Not the mephit. For one, the letter isn’t dripping and leaving a greasy residue on my hand. And two, it looks like actual professional level scribing and expensive paper.”    “So who is it for and who is it from?” Tristol asked.    “To the owners of the Portal Jammer.” Toras said, reading the elegant script upon the letter’s front. “It doesn’t have a sender listed on the front though.”    The fighter turned the letter over in his hand, looking for a name on the back. There was no name, but the glob of sealing wax he saw, and the symbol impressed upon it, a stylized S crowned by a thorny circlet, made it completely apparent who the sender was.    Toras frowned, gingerly placed the letter down on the table, and looked to Tristol.    “Please tell me that wasn’t cursed or otherwise ensorcelled?” He asked, shooting the letter a look of disdain. “Because if not, I’m going to go wash my hand after touching that.”    Tristol gave the letter a quick once over, and didn’t notice any overt dweomers. The ink itself did seem to contain a milk sparkle of latent magic, but no curses, symbols, or any of the other more popular spells that might entrap such a letter. No, the ‘loth hadn’t sent them a malign contingency via post, the ‘loth was simply being herself: vain, intrusive, flippant, and self-serving.    “The letter’s fine.” Tristol said.    “Did she put perfume on the letter?” Fyrehowl said, sniffing the air and looking at the envelope.“Yeah, smells like her.” Tristol replied. “Same perfume she had on last time she was here.”    “Oh don’t say that!” Toras said, shaking his hand a bit more vigorously. “I don’t ever want any part of me to smell like her!”    “You didn’t have to sleep with her...” Clueless thought to himself.    “So, care to see what she has to say?” Tristol asked, breaking the seal and taking out several sheets of overly expensive paper.    “No.” Florian answered. “But if we ignore her, it’ll only get worse…”    “Shave her?” Toras muttered to himself. “Hell with that, one of these days I’m putting her through a window.”    Tristol waited for the comments and bile to pass, and then recited the fiend’s ever so pleasant letter…***</blockquote>

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