Frost Longsword

The sword appears to all intents and purposes to be a normal longsword. Although you're not trained in martial practices, it feels well balanced. A simple blade with little decoration, however, it does feel strangely cold to the touch.

Bracers of Escape

Whilst the pair smiled at one another, Kireth breezed through the tapestries with the bracers, somehow cleaned and fresh, in his hands. Khalin's eyes widened, his gaze following the runes etched into the metal following the lines of a stylised dragon onto the metal.

Five Dragon Idols

There was nothing remarkable about the northern altar, but a small compartment at the bottom of the southern one sprang open easily when Kireth poked and prodded around it. Within appeared to be five small dragon figurines, sparkling in the light that reached them, about the size of a fist.

Eladrin Chain

The dwarf inspected the fine armour with an artisan's eye, checking its workmanship and potential effectiveness, as well as sizing up which of the two of them it might best fit. The mail was a little tight around the sides for the dwarf, obviously meant for someone a little thinner. It didn't appear to be fully finished, perhaps another prentice piece, but it was the construction that somehow worried the dwarf, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He had never seen anything like it — the delicacy and finesse of the chain links were incredible and way beyond any artisan he had ever encountered. There was something about the piece that he didn't like, though, something gnawing at the back of his mind as though the workmanship shouldn't be possible in this world. He set the mail back down on the table and shuddered visibly.

The smith turned the mail over and over in her arms and then walked over to the window shutters and flung them open. Night had drawn in and a baleful moon hung low in the sky — Caldring held up the mail to inspect it in the moonlight. From where the group was stood they could see all of the colours of the rainbow sparkling across the mail, even in the moonlight.

Caldring frowned, muttering to herself, as she crossed the room to her anvil, laying the mail down carefully. Before Tradden could stop her she picked up one of her larger hammers and slammed it down onto the mail with all her might! A single note issued, clear and true.

‘It's not perfect, by any means, but it is solid armour and will serve you well. There is something of this forge within it — please show it to the best smith in the Nentir Vale, and tell them of this forge. They will be able to see it in the metal and the reforging if they are worthy. When you return, and I hope you will, I will finish it. I promise.’

Rhythm Blade Shortsword

He stood up, ready to head back, noticing that there was a shortsword cast on the floor between the stone eyeball and the contraption, just out of reach of the corpse.

Well, it was a sword. That was for sure. Made of metal. A short one, not unlike Tradden's own. Quite sharp actually, so it had been maintained. There was dried tar on it, and bits of blood. Hard to tell exactly whose the blood was. The tar was a bit odd — it seemed to be the same as the tar all around the room.