1d30 Trinkets and Oddities for Adventurers of All Sizes

A trove of trinkets, an assortment of oddities, a bevy of baubles, a cache of curios. All ideas free to a good home—appropriate for an interesting additionial starting item, a peculiar prize stolen or won, rounding out a vendor's wares, or whatever other purpose one might see fit.

Mateusz Wiśniewski

1. A coin of the highest local denomination, with two heads.
2. A full-sized trombone, nonetheless able to fit into any pocket or container.
3. A frog, able to record and repeat messages up to one sentence in length; can only hold one at a time.
4. A jar, containing a very annoyed bat, refilled at any reputable swooprat breeder.
5. A double-ended flask—any liquid poured out one side comes out perfectly chilled, out the other scalding hot.
   
6. A pair of leather boots that make not a sound.
7. A dead snake, ~10 yards in length (works surprisingly well as a rope).
   
8. A startlingly convincing mask of the local mayor's (or other city official) face.
9. A taxidermy model of a small animal that probably doesn't exist.
10. A pair of dice enchanted to only ever land on 1 or 6.
11. A small hand drum that plays itself to match the beat of music around it.
12. A bottle of perfume that smells like its wearer's favourite scent, cranked up to 11.
13. A questionably authentic letter of authority from the local duke, painfully vague in what it permits.
14. A pocket mirror.
    
15. A music box, containing a famous hymn. Painfully loud.
16. A stolen satchel, bearing the official seal of the Courier's Guild.
17. A pack of gold-leaf playing cards, including jokers, blanks, and a double-back card.
18. A gold medal, its inscription long worn off.
19. A deeply heretical prayer book, proscribed in all lands of the Church.
20. An expensive locket, containing nothing but a daguerreotype of a frog.
21. An adjustable wrench, caked in rust.
22. A hat, always just a bit too large for any bearer.
23. A hot air balloon license, with the PC's name spelled slightly wrong.
24. A set of wind chimes that generate a small breeze when rung (warning label—"keep out of wind.")
25. A diary that writes about its owner's day by itself.
26. A clockwork mouse—makes noise, can travel ~10 yards before stopping, and must be wound before use.
    
27. An address book of folk-healers and local wise ones.
    
28. A wanted poster, depicting someone who looks just like you.
29. A pickled pinky finger, supposedly that of a famed saint.
30. A pair of glasses that don't improve the bearer's distance vision, but instead let them see regardless of conditions.

The Isle of Inishbradden

FIVE CENTURIES AGO, the Mists descended on Inishbradden for the first time; a cloak of ghostly grey, bathing the island in nightly luminescence. It appears each night in perfect time with the rising of the moon; few now dare enter its cold embrace, for fear of foul magic and the fae of folklore.

FIVE DECADES AGO, the current Countess of Ember ascended to the island's seat of power, her laws harsh and temper harsher. Never since has she appeared in public without her mask of iron, her work done only through ambassadors and intercessors.

FIVE YEARS AGO, ships stopped coming from the Mainland. Never a bustling trading post, the Isle is now cut off entirely from contact with the world beyond, with no sign of resupply from off the island in sight. No longer does the Crown seem to maintain any interest in keeping the Isle under its domain; not a single expedition from the island has returned since.

FIVE DAYS AGO, reports came from farms to the north of the mysterious disappearance of an entire village. Not a soul remains, animal or human—and the Countess's Guard are far from eager to investigate.

FIVE MINUTES AGO, you were roused from your slumber on the bare stone floor of your cell, and given an ultimatum: death, or freedom, in return for service rendered. The latter means trekking out into the Mist, to discover what really happened to that village

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image by me

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Each night on Inishbradden, every door on the Isle is bolted, every window firmly shuttered, people of every age safely indoors. With the moon comes the Mist, and with the mist creatures fit for no mortal eyes. Every family on the Isle claims heritage lasting centuries; as far as anyone remembers, the Countess's family has always ruled.

You are a prisoner. You violated the law of the land, and for it you pay the price; it seems that that price might well be greater than you ever imagined. You don't have a choice. You've got to do it, and pray to the Bladed Lord you'll make it through.

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Black Alchemist:
You worked outside the law, operating without license and with secrecy assured. One of your clients ratted you out; you've had plenty of time to think about who it was.
Start with: a roll of bandage fashioned from an old gaol uniform, a small pouch of salt, iron, and blessed ashes
Perk: with a minute's close inspection, you have a 4-in-6 chance of correctly identifying any plant or mysterious substance. with ten, it becomes 6-in-6.

Drunkard:
You spent more nights at the pub than you did at home. The Day Watch finally decided to drag you in for nuisancy after some particularly well-placed public urination.
Start with: a smuggled flask of whiskey, impossible to find on your person unless you allow it
Perk: you have advantage on Saves against ill effects from consuming food or drink

Arsonist:
From an early age, you had a special fondness for starting fires. The Brotherhood of the Hallowed Sword caught you behind one of their chapels; your time in the Guards' custody has been a breeze in comparison.
Start with: an all-weather fire-starter, a burning desire to take out your anger on your surroundings
Perk: with an hour of preparation and access to suitably flammable materials, you can fashion an explosive device with a fuse of however long you wish

Charlatan:
You made your living running confidence games on the Isle's up-and-coming elites, offering investments and trade opportunities that never made themselves manifest. You defrauded the wrong person, and you've spent the time since plotting how you might escape your confines.
Start with: a "friend" in any town you visit, a trustworthy smile
Perk: you can affect any accent or demeanour you so desire; proper imitation demands proper study

Pickpocket:
You survived on deft fingers and quick thinking, until one day you couldn't think quite quick enough. You were expecting a severed hand; mist-catching is almost preferable to you.
Start with: a short piece of metal, fashioned into a miniature blade, a token to remember a loved one by
Perk: you can hide from view on your person anything that would fit in your palm, and you  perform sleight of hand well enough to impress and distract any layperson for a moment

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FIVEs format shamelessly stolen from the pre-eminent Lexi of A Blasted, Crated Land.

a snippet from the city

An excerpt of in-world writing from the setting of the City Who Slumbers Not. The first post provides some useful context.

By Tyler Edlin

“Invisible cults are perhaps the greatest oddity of the Fair City's endless religious movements. While most churches have some purpose to their worship, some powerful being, some idol, they reject this most wholeheartedly, favouring instead a great "Unseen God". Supposedly all-knowing and all-powerful, they revere a deity with no proof of their existence (and yes, most often 'their'). They consider even worship of the City herself to be blasphemy, despite the obvious importance of the urban cults to a functioning society. All individual claims to divinity are rejected; their great leaders are only ever mere 'prophets', interpreting the whispered words of some higher being. Doctrines vary wildly from sect to sect and branch to branch, with different texts and different prophets deemed holy by each. A common thread is the purported existence of some coming saviour, a person to unite all these cults under one banner and bring them out of the shadowed fringes of society; the nature of this saviour is rarely ever agreed upon.

One would wonder how such beliefs persist, especially with their 'omnipotent' god's persistent failures to protect their worshippers from zealots of other stripes.”

 —Onn the Manny Religiones and Belieffes off the Grate City, Tapsfrord Howe, transcribed by Bernard Cowall

Quarter Hour of Writing Challenge: Tattoos

A branch, fallen
The soaring bird.
From dirt, plucked
The mighty bear.
On pyre, burnt
The roaring lion.
Its soot, gathered
The charging bull.
With water, mixed
The wise owl.
Our blade, sharpened
The hunting shark.
Blessed ink, stirred
The leaping hare.
Over skin, drawn
The canny fox.
New scars, made
The howling wolf.
Old tales, remembered.

*    *    *

“The Zarati practice what I regard as a most curious form of glyph-based magic—rather than seeking to inscribe script into objects, or even working it in the air as on Pharron, they choose to carve it into their very flesh, with the use of blades and ink. In contrast to the more outwardly-focused languages of Teragia or Aeregard, Zarati glyphs instead endow effects directly upon their bearer; the granting of new abilities and the enhancement of existing attributes most frequently. Their forms are flowing and spiralling, often working to cover much of the body in the case of those most accomplished. They insist on using only the plane's native ash-leaf to craft their ink, a tree regarded with great reverence in their faith. I have found it a challenge to obtain what little information I have on their Art; the nature of the forms and the associated rituals are matters of much secrecy among their communities.”

—An excerpt from Medarin the Magnificent's Compendium of the Planes, regarding the aetheric Art of the Zarati people of Keora'ana 

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As described by Library of Attnam.

d100 Food Found Foraging in the Bayou

oh to wander among the mangroves

The swamps and bayous of the Ontarachie are ancient—far older than New Alores, older still than any written record. The trees stood when people arrived, and they will stand long after people leave. Layer upon layer of decay and growth and renewal they lie, ever-flourishing on the corpse of the old. On these layers stand the villages of the fungus folk, the Archangel's cathedral, His Resplendent Majesty's great city; all the marvels of artifice made material by mundane hand. New Alores stands resplendent, yet beyond its borders lies something greater—something primal, something verdant. In the Ontarachie, everything is simply more—life abounds, teeming under every surface; its waterways and passages twist and turn, as gnarled and dense and crooked as the branches of any tree; there the lotus truly blooms.

1-10: Mundane mushrooms. On 10, truffles instead.

11-20: Onions. On 20, they're riddled with odd holes.
21-30: Thistles. On 30, they ooze a dark liquid.
31-40: Shrimp. On 40, they're bright blue.
41-50: Rabbit. On 50, it has wings.
51-60: Swooprat (bat). On 60, it bristles with spines.
61-70: Pitch-dark pecans. On 70, sickly-sweet walnuts instead.
71-75: Crawfish. Just crawfish.
76-80: Frog. On 80, it glows.
81-85: Small elk. On 85, it has a crab-like shell.
86-90: Catfish. On 90, it has horns.
91-95: Slugs or snails. On 95, they continue to squirm on the way down.
96-99: Wild pig. On 99, it's coated in spores.
100: Reroll. That, but giant.

An Eralou-related post. Expect more... eventually, perhaps.

13 Superstitions for Sci-Fi Space-Farers

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Sailors are notoriously superstitious; does it not stand to reason that the same would be true for those who sail the stars? Here's 13 folk beliefs among the travellers of wildspace, from the crews of the greatest star-galleons to the smallest dragonships, free to a good home.

1. Always take a leak before you launch.
2. Every ship should have a cat, and every crew should trust their cat.
3. Nep'Thulir, the Great Wurm Who Roams the Sea of Endless Stars.
4. The Gravitas, a famed ghost ship, forever damned to drift on the solar winds.
5. If you don't knock twice on your way out of the airlock, what comes back in won't be you.
6. Make sure any new ships are correctly blessed by a Priest of the Seventh Sun before their maiden voyage. 
7. No praying in the Warp, lest you attract a jump-beast.
8. The Void. A vast emptiness, devoid of a single star, meteor, or speck of dust. None pass through it.
9. Moon-madness; never stay too long in the orbit of a moon without a waystation. Nothing good awaits.
10. Always wake up the machine spirits through shanties, prayers, or music before you fly, lest your equipment fail.
11. Hold your breath while passing through a ship graveyard.
12. Never carry change in your right pocket.
13. Idle minds open the way for thought-feasters.