Retiring Strongbox, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Retiring Strongbox

Description:  Small but sturdy maple-wood strongbox with brass fittings and lock.  On close inspection the lock proves to be just an ornament, with no tumblers or bolt.  Basic magical detection won't perceive the strongbox at all.  More advanced divinations will reveal a strong aura of mind-affecting illusion magic coming from, um, something nearby.  What was I doing again?

Powers:  A Retiring Strongbox is remarkably hard to notice and easily forgotten when not under observation.  Spotting it should be at least as difficult as detecting an invisible, motionless and soundless creature.  Even if detected and carried off it's likely to be lost again and absent-mindedly set aside if the bearer is distracted even briefly.

Despite their non-functional lock, each Retiring Strongbox has an associated brass key.  Anyone holding the key is immune to the strongbox's magic, but when the key is not in hand they're likely to forget the box exists and may wonder what this key is doing in their pocket, hung around their neck, or on their key chain - which may result in them grasping the key and remembering again.  This can get a little confusing if the process repeats multiple times. 

Possible Origins:  These items are generally made on commission for merchants, bankers, and misers who choose to rely on subtlety and deception rather than locks and bars to dissuade thieves.

Complications:  Owners who are aware of the strongbox's quirks are careful to leave themselves notes to remind them of its existence, sometimes wrapped around this mysterious key they're carrying.  They're also careful to leave the strongbox tucked safely away in a spot where the oblivious and forgetful (possibly including themselves) won't trip over it.  Tripping over (or otherwise interacting with) an invisible chest is grounds for a save vs. magic item (or against willpower, or however your system models mental resistance) to notice the Retiring Strongbox for a round or two.

Most owners are pretty careful with their keys for obvious reasons.  Having the key stolen is an excellent way to be robbed without the pain of knowing you've been robbed, and may be responsible for many accounting irregularities and unfair accusations of embezzlement.  Just holding the key doesn't make you aware of the strongbox's existence though, so the thief may not benefit much without further efforts.

Design Commentary:  This is another rescue from a post on Telecanter's Receding Blog, albeit with quite a lot of rewriting that changes the way this originally worked.  If you're curious you can see the original in the comments section over here:

http://recedingrules.blogspot.com/2020/09/reclusive-coffer.html

Peppery Boots, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Peppery Boots

Description:  Sturdy but unremarkable hiking boots, comfortable, warm, and dry.  They radiate an odd aura of conjuration magic whose precise nature becomes clear with more potent investigative spells.

Powers:  While wearing the Peppery Boots you leave behind a dusting of strong pepper everywhere you go.  This makes you impossible to track by scent, although it does nothing to conceal or disguise your footprints themselves.  You're much less likely to be stalked by wild animals, and if you need to spice up a bland meal you just need to stamp your feet a few times.

The pepper produced by these boots lasts until the next dawn and then dissolves back into raw magic.  You could run a con as a spice-seller or somesuch with them, but you'd better be ready to get out of town quickly.  

Possible Origins:  These were (and are) made by hedge wizards and petty wise folk in villages throughout the lands, and are popular with hunters and even more so, with poachers.  Some city thieves and adventurers find uses for Peppery Boots as well.

Complications:  Housekeepers hate these things and the people who wear them.  Pepper everywhere!

You're also unlikely to be tracked down and rescued if you become injured or lost in the wilderness, but how likely was that anyway?

Design Commentary:  Yet another rescue from an old post.  A minor little magic, but it has uses.  Some of them aren't even illegal.

Ockmock's Eyepatch of Retrovisualization, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Ockmock's Eyepatch of Retrovisualization

Description:  Leather eyepatch made of tanned human skin that bears arcane runes associated with time and death.  Registers a strong dweomer of divination magic, with further investigation revealing a weaker tie to necromancy.

Powers:  If placed so that it covers the eye (or eye socket, if empty) of a dead humanoid and then removed and worn by a living creature, the wearer will see the final moments of whatever that eye saw while its owner was still alive.  The vision "plays back" on reverse, starting with the moment of death and lasting for as long as the eyepatch was in place on the corpse, or until the wearer removes the eyepatch.

The eyepatch is adjustable and will fit almost any humanoid smaller than a giant, although creatures with unusual optic configurations may pose problems.   

Possible Origins:  The first Eyepatch of Retrovisualization was created by the Lelmani wise man Ockmock before his condemnation for dabbling in necromancy, but the ritual for its creation was seized during his flight into exile along with many of his other writings and is now fairly well-known.  They are much-prized by criminal investigators, historians, and treasure hunters. 

Complications:  Trying to view the past with the eyepatch is extremely disorienting if the user doesn't close their other eye(s) while doing so.

If a corpse's eye was missing or non-functional at the time of death no image will be produced.  Ergo, it doesn't work if the deceased was blinded prior to death by any means.  Each eye (or socket) on a corpse can only be used for retrovisualization once, and the Eyepatch does not work at all on any creature that is or has been undead.

There's no limit to how long the Eyepatch can be left in place, although the "rewind" is done at normal speeds and even the most devoted sage is unlikely to want to spend years watching another creature's life play out backwards.  Experiments with younger victims of untimely death show that images end at the moment a newborn first opens its eyes (or closes them, since it's experienced in reverse by the user). 

Design Commentary:  This is another "rescue" from a comment on Telecanter's Receding Blog with some minor edits, and the second post involving the infamous necromancer Ockmock and his toys. 

Exotic Flora of the Multiverse: Ghost Blossom Tree

Ghost Blossom Tree

Description:  Ghost Blossoms are medium-sized fruiting trees that resemble a wild apple.  Their blossoms are pale gray while their fruit are bone-white and nearly spherical.  The trees are steeped in magical energies related to death, undeath, and those parts of the spirit world that are related to the afterlife.  They are most commonly found growing in places with similar mystic connections such as graveyards, battlefields, mortuaries, and sites used for ritual sacrifice.  They rely on ghosts, phantoms, and similar lingering spirits to pollinate their flowers, which exude a strong scent that mortal creatures can't detect at all.  Material undead are drawn to their fruit, particularly ghouls and ghasts who serve to spread ghost blossom seeds far and wide.

Most settlements will try to weed out and destroy ghost blossom trees since they attract otherworldly and often dangerous creatures, but the trees do have some uses and it's not uncommon to find a village that cultivates one or two in their cemetery for the local wise folk.  They are more common in the wild and stumbling on a thriving grove of the things is correctly seen as a sign of ill omen.  Young saplings aren't particularly difficult to destroy but older trees (from about 10' to their maximum size of roughly 30') are supernaturally durable.  Mundane weapons and fire scarcely mark them, their roots run into the spirit realms making them very hard to uproot, and while their flowers and fruit can be plucked their leaves are as hard for a mortal to grasp as a wisp of fog.  

Uses:  Ghost blossom fruit is sour but edible and in fact quite nourishing, although few mundane folk will voluntarily eat them out of superstitious distaste.  Their juice can be fermented to make a bitter alcoholic cider that lets the drinker perceive spirits and other unseen entities, but only while decidedly tipsy.  Rumors abound of a ghost blossom preserve that will make anyone who eats it attract hungry undead like a magnet, although tracking down someone who'll admit to knowing the recipe may be difficult.  

Fresh blossoms can be ground and refined to create powders that can attract friendly spirits, soothe angry ones, or (with suitable additional components) affect immaterial creatures like pepper spray.

Shed limbs and dried leaves from witch blossom trees will burn but only slowly and stubbornly.  The smoke from such a fire is said to expand the senses beyond the mundane world and aid in the practice of ritual magic.  Their wood may also be efficacious for crafting various magical items, especially those with functions involving death, necromancy, and spirits.     

Complications:  The trees grow well only near areas touched by death and the spirit world, making them a warning sign of potential danger.  Over time a healthy stand of ghost blossoms will attract spirits and both corporeal and immaterial undead, which is generally dangerous for mortal creatures living nearby.  Many of the things that can be made using the trees' fruit, flowers, leaves and wood have strong side-effects involving altered perceptions and states of consciousness which can make it difficult to deal with mundane threats.

Design Commentary:  This was another idea I meant to get up back around Halloween, but it took till now to finish up.  It's more of a world-building feature than something that would take the forefront in a story, but introducing their details in bits and pieces over time should help make your world feel more "real" - even though these are trees that are pollinated by ghosts rather than bees.

If you wind up using undead ghost bees in your game please don't blame me for them.  :) 

Cursing Plate Armor, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Cursing Plate Armor

Description:  A suit of shining steel plate armor, each piece of which has one or more stylized human (or perhaps elven) faces inscribed into it.  Magical senses will reveal a strong protective dweomer and an odd sensation of being watched.  More elaborate investigation spells will trigger the armor's power as though being attacked by the examiner and giving them quite an earful.

Powers:  The armor provides whatever level of magical enhancement fits your campaign, as well as having a secondary effect.  When the wearer of this armor is hit by an attack, or missed by an attack with an natural odd result on the attack roll, the faces on the armor animate and release a loud and exceptionally foul torrent of invective directed at the attacker.  The creature must make an opposed roll using d20 + level/hit dice versus d20 + wearer's level + armor enhancement bonus.  If the creature rolls higher, it is enraged by the stream of insults and receives a +2 (or +10% if using a d100 system) bonus to hit the wearer until the end of the battle.  If the wearer's roll is higher, the creature is so daunted by the armor's imaginative curses that it suffers a -2 (or -10%) to attack the wearer instead.

These penalties or bonuses only apply once to each creature in a fight, but you can wind up with some creatures angry with you and others shaken at the same time.  The armor continues to curse till the fight has ended, and can become a confusing chorus of invective if struck by multiple creatures.

The armor's magic allows it to be understood by any creature within earshot as long as they can comprehend any spoken language.  Animals, the deaf, and creatures who exclusively use telepathy or similar means to communicate are immune to the armor's power, although it will still begin swearing volubly for the duration of the battle.   

Possible Origins:  Human sages attribute the first Cursing Plate Armor to an elven king of old who was legendary for his sharp tongue and biting insults.  Elven scholars credit the armor to a legendary human usurper whose climb to the throne began on the deck of a pirate ship.  Dwarven record keepers insist it was made as an insult to some prudish royal who'd objected to Dwarven bluntness, but are unclear on whether said royal was elf or human.  Orcs don't have sages but think this is the best armor ever, and will make every effort to extend fights with its wearer so they can add to their vocabulary.    

Complications:  You're wearing armor that vehemently objects to being struck and isn't shy about telling your foes what it thinks of them.  Loudly.  It attracts attention (and attacks) like mad, alerts nearby foes (and sometimes friends), and generally makes stealth impossible for you during the battle.  It may make enough noise to help stealth checks for other creatures nearby, which can be good or bad depending on the situation.

The armor rarely gets "set off" by everyday jostling outside of combat, but when it does the cursing goes on for at least five minutes.  It's pretty fussy about getting dirty though, and may be triggered by clumsy waitstaff, thoughtlessly emptied chamber pots, and similar mishaps.  This may make for awkward social situations such as your armor delivering a blistering series of blasphemous oaths at the royal court after Sir Juggermere the Ox delivers a slightly-too-hearty slap on your back as a friendly greeting. 

Design Commentary:  This is really good armor a lot of the time.  When it isn't, it's really bad.  And that's just the mechanical end of it.  The social end of it is almost all bad, although if you're trying to impress a bunch of pirates or something it might actually be helpful. 

Blessed Syrinx, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Blessed Syrinx

Description:  This appears to be a simple set of panpipes, a common musical instrument among shepherds.  It radiates a clear aura of beneficent magic to the magically sensitive, with further examinations indicating a divine blessing related to watchfulness and husbandry. 

Powers:  A Blessed Syrinx allows its bearer to roll twice and take the better result why trying to detect potential threats hidden nearby.  It also renders the bearer immune to sleep effects (and indeed, unable to nod off or daydream even on a lazy summer day) and its music will awake anyone sleeping within earshot, even if the sleep was induced by magic or soporifics.  When the correct tune is play it soothes and attracts livestock from as far as a mile away.

Possible Origins:  These items are generally created by the prayers of devout followers of whatever deity of fertility, harvests, and/or animal husbandry best fits your campaign.  Less commonly, a lone shepherd may be gifted one directly by some passing nature spirit or even the disguised avatar of a god, usually along with a warning against sloth and indolence. 

Complications:  The bearer develops a tendency to absent-mindedly tootle around on the syrinx when not otherwise occupied.  Many people tend to slowly grow to dislike the owner of a Blessed Syrinx through a combination of jealousy, irritation at being woken by thoughtless piping, and getting their animals mixed together through enchanted flock calls.  Many who are granted these pipes find it advisable to move on to greater things far from their home villages, such as a life of adventuring.

Design Commentary:  This is yet another "rescue" from an older post elsewhere.  Will eventually get done with all these.

Belated Mirror, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Belated Mirror

Description:  A wall mirror, about 12" square in a light metal frame.  Magical senses detect nothing out of the ordinary at first but at the next sunrise or sunset you'll realize that the mirror is, in fact, magical.  Further examination will be similarly delayed but will eventually show the mirror's magic is associated with chronomancy and divination - although most will have figured that much out already.

Powers:  At night this mirror works normally, but when the sun rises it will replay the images that it reflected the night before.

Possible Origins:  The first Belated Mirror was created in a botched attempt to make a tool to scry the near future, but they've become popular with jealous spouses, paranoid misers, clever criminals, all manner of spies and the occasional adventurer.

Complications:  Well, you can't shave in it unless you get up before sunrise.  Other than that, it's pretty straightforward.  You might see things you didn't want to see in it, and it breaks as easily as any mirror so try to keep your temper in check.

Design Commentary:  This is another item salvaged from an old post on Telecanter's Receding Rules blog.

Never-Dry Bottle, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Never-Dry Bottle

Description:  This appears to be perfectly normal bottle, usually empty except for just a trace of wine.  Magical senses reveal a distinct aura of divinity about it.  More intrusive magical identification attempts will leave the examiner in a drunken stupor for 1d12 hours, after which they wake with an agonizing hangover that lasts another 1d12 hours.

Powers:  Once from dusk to dusk you can pour just enough wine from the bottle to fill a single container to the brim.  This can be of any size but the quality of the wine varies inversely with the quantity produced.  A tavern keeper filling a 6' diameter barrel will get some dreadful stuff, while a single wine glass would be the very best of the best.  The bottle won't tolerate cheats - trying to fill a lake or canal with vinegary wine will get you a single spiteful drop, for example.  

Oddly, it does count a mouth as a "container" and will pour until the drinker stops swallowing, although the quality decreases the more you guzzle.  You may not notice after you've imbibed enough for that to start happening, of course.

Possible Origins:  Most likely these are a divine gift left to a devout worshipper (whether they know they're a worshipper or not) from the God of the Grape, whoever that may be in your game.  There is only one Never-Dry Bottle in the world at a time, but a new one will appear somewhere if the current bottle is destroyed or lost beyond recovery.

Complications:  Magical though it is, the bottle is no more durable than any other of its kind and ceases to function if smashed.  It may work one last time to pour a congratulatory drink if it was broken for use as a weapon in a bar fight, though.

Design Commentary:  This is another re-post from a comment over on Telecanter's Receding Blog, part of an effort to rescue ideas I'd rather not lose track of. 

Grandmother's Hexing Tooth, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

 Grandmother's Hexing Tooth

"Tales about the entity known most often as Grandmother are dark ones.  Her true nature is unclear to scholars, but she is commonly held to be either:

• the Queen of the Hags
• an arch-fey so mighty that the Courts of the Seelie and Unseelie are beneath her notice
• a devil from the Final Pit itself
• the embodiment of the most brutal side of nature incarnate. 

 Countless generations of parents have used her name to cow unruly children into a semblance of good behavior, the crowns of numberless kings decorate her lair, and every culture has a myth of her devouring some bold hero who set out to end her seemingly eternal evil.

And yet she is also portrayed as a whimsical creature, one who revels in causing chaos and confusion as much as actual harm.  Grandmother seems to enjoy defying expectations, rewarding those who amuse her with both cleverness and foolishness.  Her gifts are often invitations to disaster, but she seems equally pleased when someone manages to turn them to serve a good cause as when they result in doom.

This inherently paradoxical behavior is perhaps best seen in the many tales that cast her in the role of a Tooth Fairy - albeit with a dark twist.  You'll get no bright penny beneath your pillow from Grandmother.  She offers a replacement for your loss instead."   

Description:  A sharp triangular fang of black iron, shaped like a shark's tooth.  Radiates a magical aura of malice so strong even mundane creatures feel uneasy in its presence.  Prying into its nature with identification spells risks attracting the attention of its original owner.

Powers:  To use this item, a character must remove one of their own front or incisor teeth (or already be missing one) and jab the hexing tooth into their gums in the gap.  It will magically resize and bond to fit the void, although it remains glaringly obvious as a sharp, metal tooth.

Once every three days, the user may lay a curse on a creature within earshot simply by pronouncing its doom.  The curse causes random stabbing pains and generalized terrible luck that apply a 25% failure rate on attacks, skill tests, attribute tests, saving throws, active defense attempts (if your system uses parry rolls, for ex), or anything similar that uses a die roll to resolve success or failure.  Check by rolling a d20 each time a roll would succeed and if the result is 1-5, the result is a failure instead.  The curse will last 1d6 days.  Removing it earlier should require a lengthy (at least a day) and difficult magical ritual, or spells designed specifically to remove curses of near-deific power.  The user cannot predict the duration of the curse, nor can they control when it ends.  

Possible Origins:  It's an actual tooth from a shadowy semi-mythological figure that features in far too many cultures' legends for comfort.  She ripped it from her mouth full of iron fangs just so she could give it to you as a present.  Say "thank you" to your Grandmother.  

Complications:  You've attracted the attention of Grandmother if she gave this to you herself.  Alternately, you're one of many people who've crossed paths with someone that killed for that tooth.  That attracts her attention too.  Expect a visit at some point.  She enjoys visiting people.  

The tooth won't come out once you've jammed it in, at least not while you're still alive.  If you don't implant it, a remarkable series of coincidences will lead some ill-intentioned types to try to take it from you within a few days.  You could just let them have it, I suppose.  Nothing bad could come of that.

Grandmother likes her presents to get used.  If you go a week without cursing anyone using the tooth it will pick someone to curse on its own.  This usually happens during a life and death situation, although it will settle for making social situations disastrously awkward and possibly life-threatening.  It prefers to endanger innocents when available, but in a pinch it will settle for one of your allies instead.

Sometimes it doesn't wait a whole week, either.

If you truly, sincerely wish to take back a curse laid using the tooth you just need to say so.  The curse stays in effect regardless of your wishes, but you also get cursed in the process.  You'll also painfully bite your tongue in the process to add injury to, well, injury.        

Design Commentary:  This is a very fairy-tale item as written.  You could make it more mundane by associating them with your common everyday hags, but I'd tone the power level and complications down some if you do so.  Either way, Grandmother's Hexing Tooth isn't a unique item, quite a lot of them have been gifted to people over time.  It's remotely possible you might run into someone else with one.  Maybe more than one.  Maybe some psychopath is trying to collect a whole mouthful of them.  That could make for an interesting story arc.

It's also quite possible that Grandmother has teeth that do other things too.  Some of those things might not even be awful.

Thirty-Three Chessmen, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Thirty-Three Chessmen

Description:  Set of finely-detailed lifelike figurines made of carved and polished black or white stone, most of which wear iconic headgear that indicates their role as pawn, rook, bishop, etc.  One piece is made of gray stone and depicts a seated older man with a flowing beard, eyepatch, and wearing a hooded cloak.

Powers:  If the pieces are laid out properly on a chess board (or even just an 8 x 8 grid drawn in the dirt) the 33rd figurine will animate and grow to human size, playing with great skill against anyone who seats themselves across form him.  The Gray Player may answer questions from his opponent during the game as long as the conversation doesn't delay play, with the accuracy and breadth of his knowledge directly related to the quality of his opposite's chess skills.  If defeated, he will make a single oracular prediction (often cryptic, sometimes ominous, and always accurate) before returning to his figurine form.

The set can be used to play only one such game per day under most circumstances, but it has been known to unexpectedly activate on its own with the Gray Player offering a game to anyone he likes if the GM chooses.

Possible Origins:  It's Odin, or whatever god in your campaign most closely approaches his portfolio and personality.  The guy's as much a trickster as a ruler in many myths, and this is just one of those odd toys he likes to leave around the world to see what happens.

Complications:  If left unused for too long the set will mysteriously disappear, never to be seen again.  GM's choice as to how long "too long" is.

Also, it's Odin.  His prophecies may be accurate, but they're often doom-filled and always serve his own obscure purposes.

Design Commentary:  Reposting this from an old comment on Telecanter's Receding Blog so I don't lose it to forgetfulness.

GMs could opt to play an actual chess match to resolve the effect of the item, but unless you have a lot of time free and your players are up on the game you're probably better off using a die roll, maybe as an opposed skill check (if your rules have skills like "boardgamer" in it) or intelligence- or wisdom-based attribute test.  The One-Eyed God is a good player, but not unbeatable, and he's not above subtly throwing a game if he wants to hand out a prophecy.  

Grim Rider's Spurs, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Grim Rider's Spurs

Description:  These appear to be an ordinary set of riding spurs.  Magical senses reveal a strong aura of dark magic around them.  Further examination reveals this to be some form of potent necromancy.

Powers:  If the wearer of these spurs has their mount slain, the spurs seize on its departing life force to power a burst of necromantic magic, instantly transforming the creature into an undead version of itself.  The mount's stats remain unchanged and it is restored to full health, but it becomes an undead creature with all the associated vulnerabilities and immunities your game system grants.  It still responds to its rider's directions as well (or as poorly) as it did when alive, but will no longer make any kind of attack unless the rider uses their own actions to compel it to do so and designate targets for it.  Other than that the creature is entirely passive and effectively mindless.

The mount is clearly undead, bearing mortal wounds that still fail to impede its performance.  It decays rapidly, and within the hour will be reduced to a ghastly parody of itself, desiccated skin stretched tight over withered muscle and yellowed bones.  Eventually the necromancy animating the creature exhausts itself, and the steed crumbles into dust at the next sunrise, or as soon as the rider dismounts from it, whichever comes first.

The spurs affect any creature acting as a mount, not merely horses and the like.  Zombie dragons, zombie griffons, even a humanoid could be transformed if the wearer was playing horsey when they perished.  If the wearer is riding a chariot or on a howdah or similar platform the effect will not trigger, but acting as (say) an elephant's mahout would work. 

If the mount started out as undead, the spurs will instead restore it to full health once, but have no effect upon if it is "slain" again.  Undead mounts "saved" this way still crumble eventually as above. 

Possible Origins:  These spurs were originally created at the behest of a cold-hearted nobleman who had seen too many of his brothers in arms slain when their steeds failed them by falling in combat.  He vowed that no such fate would befall him, regardless of cost.  Little did he know that something far darker awaited him.

Alternately, the rituals used to make these spurs may date back farther, perhaps to a lost kingdom ruled by vampiric knights who used them to sustain their merely mortal steeds beyond living endurance. 

Complications:  The operation of the spurs is automatic and entirely out of the rider's control.  This means that at some point you're likely to suddenly be riding a zombie horse or something even worse.  This may provoke comment from witnesses, to put it mildly.  If the newly-undead steed was something sapient (eg a unicorn or dragon) its allies and relatives are likely to object, perhaps violently.

On the plus side, natural animals will refuse to track the wearer of the spurs when they are either on foot or riding a zombie mount.  On the down side, carrion eaters and some unnatural creatures will find the trail almost irresistible to follow, so expect to be shadowed and possibly attacked by hyeneas, ghouls, hungry ghosts and other unsavory spirits.

The greatest danger of the spurs is nearly unknown among sages, although it has certainly happened at least once in the past.  If the wearer is riding a mount zombified by the spurs when they themselves are slain, the spurs will transform them into a free-willed, intelligent, and utterly malicious undead form.  The GM should use either a existing monster of similar power level to the slain rider, or create a custom undead that fits their game best - perhaps one with a "damned to ride eternally" kind of motif.  Such an undead will generally flee the battle that created them only to return later to harry both sides, (former) friend and foe.  Such undead are permanent barring destruction, and will sustain their steed indefinitely as well.  

Design Commentary:  Actually meant to put this up back around Halloween, but it slipped my mind and I'm only just getting around to it.  You should probably check with your group to see if anyone's likely to be triggered by cruelty to animals since it involves not only violently killing a horse (or whatever) in the first place but the further abuse of its corpse as an undead puppet afterward.

You could also do a story arc around trying to track down and lay to rest a wearer of the spurs who become undead themselves.  In a military-focused campaign there might be an elite unit of cavalry that's been issued these things, possibly without knowledge of the possible effects on the riders.  A ruthless general would certainly see the advantage of having knights whose steeds are twice as hard to kill and can be driven into a wall of spears like, well, mindless zombies. 

Cursed Whetstone Armor, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Cursed Whetstone Armor

Description:  Shining, finely made, mostly metal armor (could be plate, chain, or a combination of the two) that gives off a noticeable odor of linseed oil.  Magical senses clearly reveal that it not only bears defensive enhancements, but it can temporarily share those enhancements with weapons by sharpening them on it like a whetstone.  Only experience or potent divinations will reveal its curse.

Powers:  This armor has a defensive bonus appropriate to your campaign, or perhaps one tier higher than normal to encourage keeping a cursed item rather than immediately trying to dispose of it.  Once per battle, the wearer can draw a bladed weapon across its surface and gain the same bonus to the blade's accuracy and damage rolls.  This offensive boost stacks with any other magical bonuses, and lasts until the end of the battle. 

Possible Origins:  As with many cursed items, Whetstone Armor was the first made by an ill-intentioned wizard as a trap for an unsuspecting enemy.  The formula for its creation has spread far and wide, which at least has made it slightly easier to recognize once the curse starts operating.  Unmaking the armor is more difficult, but far from impossible. 

Complications:  Whetstone Armor is cursed.  Any creature attacking its wearer with a slashing or piercing weapon who either misses with a natural odd die roll or scores a hit immediately receives the same enhancement to its weapon the bearer does when using the armor.  This stacks with other magical effects and lasts until the end of the battle, even if the bearer is slain or flees while the fighting continues.  Moreover, when attacking the wearer the enhanced weapons now ignore its magical bonus to defenses, making them much, much more vulnerable.

Like most cursed items, the armor resists easy disposal.  It cannot be removed during a battle and if taken off outside of a fight it will magically appear on its victim the next time they are in danger, which will destroy any other armor they happen to wearing at the time.  Whatever spells your system uses for breaking curses (in D&D, that would be the pragmatically-named Remove Curse) will function normally but the armor remains intact after removal.  Destroying it outright should require a grand quest, outright divine intervention, or both.

Design Commentary:  A cursed item with a strong benefit is the most dangerous kind, because players will waffle about whether it's really that unbearable a curse.  Getting a big bonus on offense in exchange for situational vulnerability is a trade-off  many would accept, especially burly berserker types.  The fact that those enhanced enemy weapons work on everyone in the party may be the deciding factor on how fast they try to get rid of this gear. 

Blade-Eater Plate, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Blade-Eater Plate

Description:  A full suit of plate armor made of lusterless gray metal, well-crafted but utilitarian in appearance.  The metal feels strangely rough to the touch, like brushing against a file.  Magical senses reveal a modest aura of enhancement magic, while more intensive examination reveals a complex transformative dweomer overlaid atop it.     

Powers:  Blade-Eater Plate performs as magically enhanced armor suitable to your campaign (leaning toward the lower power levels, a +1 or +2 in D&D) with an added benefit.  Weapons that rely of slashing, cutting, or piercing to do damage that roll a natural odd result (hit or miss) on their attack die (a d20 in D&D) will suffer a -1 penalty to future attack rolls in that battle as the armor's rough surface blunts the edge or point of the weapon.  This penalty stacks to a maximum of -4, but if the effect triggers five or more times the weapon's damage is also halved (round up) till the end of the fight.  This obviously won't have much effect on ranged attacks, although projectiles that trigger the armor will require sharpening (see below) if recovered for re-use later. 

Blunt weapons are unaffected.

Natural attacks other than simple bludgeoning strikes are affected as teeth, horns, or claws are dulled.  Ones that rely on constriction or restraint to function will be similarly penalized as grasping the armor in combat is akin to taking a firm hold on a power sander.  Lassos, bolas, and similar constricting weapons will simply break on an odd attack roll if made of anything less sturdy than chain links. 

Magical weapons will recover from these penalties on their own within 1d6 minutes after the battle ends.  Mundane gear will require considerable repair time using a whetstone and (if the penalty reached -3 or worse) smith's tools.

Possible Origins:  Sages credit the first suits of Blade-Eater Plate to several sources, including Dwarven artisans (who imbued the suits with the essential nature of rough mountain granite), a forgotten order of warrior priests (whose vows forbid the spilling their enemies' blood with the sword  and sought to punish foes who tried to spill their own), and an exceptionally incompetent wizard (who botched the creation of a suit of shining royal armor in a unintentionally beneficial way).  

Complications:  This armor is supernaturally abrasive to the touch.  Any clothing worn over the armor will be shredded to rags within hours, so no cloaks, tabards or heraldic surcoats for the wearer.  Care must be taken to avoid damaging the garb and gear of others when maneuvering in close quarters.  Ropes are likely to suffer damage from the armor, so climbing them can be fraught with peril.  The wearer can also expect to regularly (albeit unintentionally) snag and damage tapestries, curtains and the like.  Don't even think about wearing this armor while sleeping unless you hate your bedroll - and possibly your tent.  If you spend much time riding expect to spend a lot of time and money repairing and replacing your tack, although the tougher leather will resist damage much longer than fabrics do.

On the plus side, if you actually need to dull a blade or blunt an arrowhead, you can do so by simply dragging it across the armor's plates.  There's some potential for sabotaging an armory or a hunting rival's arrows there. 

Design Commentary:  The secondary blunting effect on this armor is quite strong in combat (hence the recommendation for keeping its enhancement bonus low) but can and should be a torment in everyday life.  Some owners might even consider this a cursed item, and an adventurer might well be gifted a suit of the armor by a noble patron who's grown tired of watching it collect dust as an unusable family heirloom.

If your game system uses armor that stops damage (rather than making you harder to land a blow on as D&D does) you'll need to hack this a bit.  Best approach is probably to just apply a stacking -1 to damage rolls on odd die hit rolls (capping at -4) but it will vary depending on the system involved.  A penalty of -4 to damage is quite a lot in TFT or Runequest, for example, but so is -4 to hit in D&D.

Ockmock's Unearthly Ear Trumpet, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Ockmock's Unearthly Ear Trumpet

Description:  An ornate ear-horn carved of ivory and decorated with gold inlays in spiraling geometric patterns.  Magical senses register a strong aura of necromancy which manifests as a foul odor of decay.  More exacting investigation will reveal the item's intended function.

Powers:  When held up to the mouth of a dead body the user will hear the last words (if any) of the creature at the time of death.  The words become increasingly hard to make out the longer the creature has been deceased, with a limit of approximately one thousand years before audibility is lost completely.

Listening through the ear trumpet in other circumstances will occasionally allow the user to overhear the words of unseen spirits of the dead.

In both cases, the item provides no translation of the words spoken, so other magic may be required to understand the language involved.

Possible Origins:  Ockmock was (and perhaps still is) a notorious necromancer with a particular fondness for tomb robbing.  The original Unearthly Ear Trumpet came from one such tomb, but Ockmock and others have reverse engineered the rituals required to create identical items.

Complications:  Using the last words of the dead for your own advantage may earn you the ire of their relatives, friends, or enemies - particularly if those last words might hint at secrets the living might wish to be kept secret.

Spirits of many kinds may resent being spied upon if they realize it's happening, and others may be desperate to speak to the living and use them as messengers to the world of the living.

Design Commentary:  A simple item that offers potentially great rewards to clever players, and great complications to those who use it too freely and openly.

Curious Containers, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Curious Containers (Bag, Coffer, Haversack, Purse, Pouch, etc.)

Description:  A Curious Container is indistinguishable at first sight from a "normal" magic item that revolves around storing implausible amounts of material in an extradimensional space that can only be accessed through an item - pouches, purses, sacks, backpacks, bindles, etc.  Most fantasy RPGs have something like these, often a variety in a variety of forms and sizes.  Curious containers come in the same variations, although they are often (but not always) a bit fancier than average, marked with arcane sigils or made of rarer materials.  Their magical aura is at best a tiny bit stronger and more complex than most.

Powers:  A Curious Container's interior is an extradimensional space that can hold material far beyond the apparent volume of the item without changing its weight as items are added or removed.  What differentiates them from similar magical items is that Curious Containers are sapient, with personalities and desires of their own.  The Container has senses similar to a human's, but they only operate within its interior, and it cannot perceive the world outside of itself.  Sound, light, and even odors can enter the container when opened.  The Container cannot open or close itself, although it can bar objects from being placed within it or removed from it at will, as well as ejecting some or all of its contents when opened.  When opened, the item is capable of speech using the language(s) of their maker and older ones may learn a wide variety of additional tongues, even forgotten ones from the era of its creation. 

Possible Origins:  Curious Containers appear to be the result of some error made in the process of creating a similar non-sapient item.  Their sapience and free will is purely accidental and unintended by  its enchanter.  They are comparatively rare because of this, which has limited research into what glitch produces them.  Sages believe it may be related to some step in the process of forming a stable extradimensional space, but this remains strictly theoretical.  

Complications:  Curious Containers are intelligent creatures who are isolated in their internal universe, utterly alone except for whatever interactions they have with the outside world when they are opened.  Without exception, they are desperately curious about what lies beyond them and seek to understand the strange creatures and objects they interact with.  Their mindset is alien to normal organic life but they can and will bargain with those who wish to use them as a storage space.  

Initially their requests will be small, asking their users to stow "interesting" objects within them, particularly books or scrolls.  They can magically read such items, often deciphering even coded text or previously unknown languages in doing so.  Over time they may become well-learned in a wide variety of subjects and can function as sage advisors on various subjects.  Their aid always comes at a cost, though, and as they grow more sophisticated they invariably develop obsessions that define what they value.  These can intensify over time, or change from one broad subject to the next.  They are generally intellectual in nature, although stories of a sapient Bottomless Keg that obsessed over sampling as wide  a variety of alcoholic beverages as possible do abound. 

Some suggested subjects (roll 1d6, or choose, or make up your own):

1. Living Creatures  Desires texts on the subjects of anatomy, physiology, medicine, naturalism, botany and zoology.  Over time the focus may shift toward specific individuals, whereupon it develops an interest in biographies, diaries, journals, records of legendary heroes and villains, etc.

2. The Outside World  Wants books on geography, oceanography, navigation, maps of all kinds, and national histories.  Often transitions into a fascination with other planes of existence, dimensional theory, and the creation of pocket universes - the last of which may reflect the closest thing to a reproductive urge a Container can manifest.

3. Gods and Religions  Delves into divine legends, myths, and all manner of religious texts.  May become entranced by metaphysics and abstruse philosophies of existence, or ask for religious artifacts and relics to be stored inside it so it can venerate them properly.

4.  Magic In Its Many Forms  The Container lusts after spellbooks, magical scrolls, tomes of arcane theory, and ritual texts.  Eventually it will call for magical items of all types to be stowed within for further examination, only reluctantly permitting them to be withdrawn for the use of others.

5. All Manner of Art  Wishes to expose itself to literature, poetry, plays, and musical scores of all kinds.  Will eventually ask for other forms of art such as paintings, sculptures, tapestries, or anything else that catches its fancy and can fit within the Container.  Not at all interested in art critiques, it knows what it likes.  Tastes in artwork may be excellent or absolutely terrible.

6.  Rampant Bibliophile  The Container bounces from genre to genre over time, and will read practically anything good or bad.  Chivalrous romance, seafaring yarns, adventure tales, grim stories of revenge and  horror, elaborate murder mysteries, erotica that would make a bard blush, even speculative fiction about far futures where strange machineries have replaced magic, it will consume them all given enough time.

A Container's requests will become more frequent and/or difficult over time.  Refusing will make it increasingly surly and unpleasant to deal with.  A truly angry Container will refuse to store new items, release the ones it holds, or even expel things that don't appeal to it.  Threats work poorly as the things have no real sense of danger and cannot conceive of or fear "death" the way  mortals do.

Design Commentary:  In general, a Curious Container should be looked at more as a very strange NPC than a magic item, and both the GM and the players should have fun with its quirky personality and strange requests rather than look at them as obstacles or a curse to deal with.  If it stops being fun, perhaps it's time to change obsession or simply have the item move on through theft or destruction in combat.

Exotic Flora of the Multiverse: Watchweed & Sentry Wasps

Watchweed

Description:  Watchweed (sometimes also called rose grass) resembles agrostis stolonifera ("creeping bentgrass") with faint red highlights at the tips of its leaves.  It spreads by runners and grows rapidly in temperate or semi-tropical conditions, although it is somewhat vulnerable to drought.  The plant is mildly toxic to most animal life, and can be fatal to small mammals and insects that attempt to feed upon it. 

Creatures larger than a small rabbit intruding on a field of watchweed will encounter its most noteworthy feature.  The plants react to being disturbed by collectively producing a piercing sound akin to a police whistle by rasping together specialized structures in their leaves through vascular flexing.  The sound is quite loud even from a small patch the grass, and a large field can reach intolerable volumes if intruders persist.  Even large animals will generally withdraw in short order from fear or sheer annoyance, although intelligent creatures can soldier on without much difficulty by covering their ears.  Conversations during an large "watchweed alert" are nearly impossible, even when shouting.

Extremely strong winds can produce a "false alarm" in watchweed fields, although the sound is different enough that it can be differentiated from that made by animal movements with some experience. 

Uses:  Wild watchweed is fairly common in many areas.  It resists predation by herbivores quite well and even produces some of its own fertilizer in the form of small animal and insect carcasses who've been poisoned to death by attempted feeding.  Stumbling into a patch will trigger an alarm which may attract larger predators, who are accustomed to the sound signaling the presence of sizable prey.  The noise certainly drives off less aggressive animals, and many a hunt has been spoiled by watchweed and a careless hunter.    

Watchweed is commonly planted around sites as a security measure, albeit at some distance from the structures being protected to limit annoyance from false alarms.  It requires tending to keep it from spreading into unwanted locations and regular watering in arid regions, but must be left fairly long (at least 6" - it can reach almost 2') or volume will suffer.  There are no known ways to silence watchweed short of destroying it outright, so intruders must find a way to bypass it if trying to be stealthy.  Unless previously familiar with the plant differentiating it from normal ornamental grasses is a task for a trained botanist, although once it starts whistling the source of the noise is obvious.

It is possible to harvest watchweed.  The clippings can be refined to produce an emetic poison strong enough to sicken larger creatures for several days if ingested or injected.  A single dose for something the size of a human requires fresh cuttings from several thousand square feet of watchweed and it can only be harvested once a month in optimal growing conditions, so output is fairly low.  The emetic may have some utility as medicinal ingredient as well, but this requires further procedures and suitable training.

Complications:  Aside from the noise and irritation of the occasional "false alarm" caused by wind or animal intrusions, the main risk encountered from watchweed is the territorial insect known as the sentry wasp.  These creatures (which don't resemble wasps much at all beyond flying and injecting painful venom) have a semi-symbiotic relationship with the plants, building their subterranean nests beneath it and preying on the few other species of insects and small animals that can resist the plants' natural toxicity.  Sentry wasps have no venom glands of their own.  Instead they use an internal organ to transform chewed watchweed leaves and soil chemicals to produce a strong venom that they inject with a "sting" made of modified mouthparts.  Once their target succumbs they suck their internal fluids out with the "sting" working in reverse.

While an individual sentry wasp is merely a painful irritation to larger animals (including humans) a dozen or more of them can inject enough venom to trigger severe vomiting, shock, and even unconsciousness.  Fatalities are rare but not unknown.  Domesticated watchweed is generally free from sentry wasp infestations, but keeping them that way requires some vigilance and continued effort.  Wild watchweed fields of any size will almost certainly have at least one hive beneath them, although the insects are dormant during the colder seasons.

Design Commentary:  This one can certainly fit into a fantasy game easily enough, but I finally remembered that "system agnostic" should work for scifi games as well.  Watchweed and sentry wasps would be fine xenospecies, something to complicate adventures on newly discovered worlds or settled ones as well.  Watchweed in particular might fit well in an alien ecosystem where most of the motile life forms rely heavily of hearing and/or echolocation as their primary sense, and might just be one of many "noisy" types of plant life on a world.

Multiplying Brick, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Multiplying Brick

Description:  Rough red brick inscribed on every surface with arcane sigils.  Magical senses reveal a strong conjuration aura.  More elaborate investigation spells indicate that some of the sigils spell out a pair of command phrases and shows that one face has a clear "This Side Up" rune upon it.

Powers:  Once from one dawn to the next, place the brick face-up on a solid surface, speak the first command phrase, and in an instant the brick multiplies into a double-layered mortared wall about 7" thick.  Creatures in the way of the wall are harmlessly forced to a random side of the wall.  The bricks spread out from their origin point up to 40' wide in search of anchor points which it magically bond to, then fills as much vertical space as it can to a maximum of 400 square feet and a maximum of 20' in height.  If unanchored at both ends, the wall is unstable and can be pushed over with a medium-difficulty feat of strength, although it falls slowly enough that creatures on the other side can move out of harm's way unless immobilized.  Otherwise it requires an extremely difficult feat of strength to break through or five minutes of work with suitable tools to make a man-sized breach.  As a rough brick wall it's not very hard to climb if there's a gap at the top, of course.

The wall (or its remains, if broken up by force) vanish at the next dawn, or when the second command phrase is used.  The first command phrase cannot be used the same day if the wall was left up until it expired, but will become available at the next dawn. 

Possible Origin:  Multiplying bricks were originally the product of Dwarven mason-sages, but their formula is widespread amongst the broader community of alchemists and artificers.  They require a great deal of time and effort to create and are corresponding precious.

Complications:  The item is no more resistant to damage than an ordinary brick and is often left where an enemy can get at it easily.  Moreover, it stands out from the rest of the bricks in the wall due to the sigils covering it, although spotting them without a careful search is unlikely.  Magically sensitive creatures will easily spot it as the nexus of the wall it creates, the rest of which registers only a weak aura of power.

On the plus side, the command phrases are on the "Face Up" side and cannot be read while the wall is intact.  On the down side, did you remember to write down the command phrases so you can use them to lower the wall when desired, right?

Design Commentary:  A handy delver's tool that can really change the situation in a fight or escape, but it may not be something you get repeated uses out of unless you're careful.  You might very well have to face an enemy who picked up your own brick and uses it against you in a later encounter.

And that wraps up the week's Dwarven magic item focus.  

Boulder Seeds, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Boulder Seeds

"Dwarven legends tell that their trickster god Fool once sought to impress his liege by performing the greatest feat of juggling there would ever be.  He reached out to the seven tallest peaks of the mountain range we now call the Gaps, squeezed them down into a collection of juggler's balls, and started his cascades and chops.  For a time it went well but then Fool tripped on one of the lesser peaks and went stumbling to fall face first in the Midden Swamps.  The seven mountains went flying as he fell, scattering across the world to become the Straying Peaks while their original sites became the passes and deep vales of the Gaps."

Description:  A boulder seed is a smooth, roughly-spherical stone that seems slightly heavier than you'd expect for its size, appropriate for use in a sling.  To magical senses they radiate strong transformative magic.  Advanced magical examination will perceive the seed as much larger than it appears to mundane senses.

Powers:  A boulder seed that is fired from a sling or similar weapon or dropped from a distance of 10' or more expands to over a foot in diameter and a weight of around a hundred pounds in flight, with its magic warping inertia so that its trajectory remains largely unchanged.  Used as sling or pellet crossbow ammunition they suffer a moderate penalty to hit (-2 for D&D and similar d20 systems) but inflict damage as though they were fired by a medium catapult (3d10 in D&D, or 2d2 structure points to large targets like buildings and ships).  If used as a dropped weapon (often in multiples) each seed affects a single 5' area, no attack roll is needed but the damage is halved.  Targets with a special ability to avoid or reduce damage by dodging ranged or area attacks (eg many rogues in later D&D editions) can use them against these items.

Boulder seeds are single-use, and are often found or sold in small lots (1d4 or 1d6 seeds).

Possible Origins:  Boulder seeds are almost entirely a Dwarven creation, although some alchemists of other races claim to have duplicated the secret of compressing certain stones in the same manner.  The original inspiration for the idea is the legend of Fool's juggling feat, but mere mortals are incapable of squeezing down anything the size of a entire mountain.   

Complications:  Anyone carrying one or more boulder seeds that suffers a fall of more than 10' will find it triggers the seeds' expansion, which is sudden and violent, bursting any mundane containers.  This also adds significant damage (2d6 per seed in D&D) to that of the fall itself as the stones crash to the ground in a clump with the victim.  Effects that slow your fall (eg the Feather Fall D&D spell) will prevent this from happening.  If a seed bearer somehow manages to find themselves suddenly accelerated at a similar rate (perhaps by being fired out of a catapult?) the same expansion effect will occur, although the greater scattering of the seeds in flight may reduce the extra damage by half at the GM's discretion. 

Design Commentary:  I've always been a bit of a fan of consumable magic like enchanted arrows and potions and other one-shot items, and these reflect that.  I'm also a fan of magic items with quirks that can bite you in the butt, and sudden falls (and even being shot out a siege engine) are just common enough that you need to think twice before loading up on these things.

I'd be careful about handing these out in numbers if the party has easy access to a lot of Feather Fall-style effects, though.  They're a little too good if there's no risk to carrying them, so maybe limit availability or scale down the damage if that's the case.

Also I seem to be on a bit a Dwarven-themed magic item kick this week.  Wonder what tomorrow will bring?  

Mage-Biter Ring, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Mage-Biter Ring

Description:  Golden ring in the form of a stylized serpent swallowing its own tail.  Radiates a strong aura of anti-magic that registers as a chilling void to magical senses.  Powerful investigative spells might detect the information under complications below but require a very difficult check to do so due to the dampening effects of the ring's aura distorting such magic.  

Powers:  The wearer may touch or strike any spell-casting creature, either as an attack action or in reaction to the target attempting to cast within arm's reach.  This does no damage but immediately drains the highest-level spell slot available to the target (when used as an attack) or counters the spell being cast (as a reaction strike).  Creatures with natural spell abilities rather than spell slots lose one use of their most potent ability (or whatever they were attempting to employ).  You'll have to do some rules hacking for games that use power points or other system but the basic effect should always equate to depriving the target of one casting of their most powerful spell that day, or negating whatever magic they were attempting when using the ring as a reaction.  

Possible Origins:  The fine craftsmanship of the ring suggests a Dwarven origin, but the formula for enchanting these items is known beyond their realms.  They are most often made by those who have earned the ire of powerful wizards or priests, often by their own professional rivals.  Many spell-casters shy away from wearing a mage-biter ring for reasons of pride.  Relying on such an item suggests you lack confidence in the superiority of your own magics.      

Complications:  A mage-biter ring can safely absorb seven spells per 24 hour period regardless of power.  Using it more often still counters the spell involved but can catastrophically overload the item with a cumulative 10% chance of an explosion occurring, eg 10% for the eighth spell, 20% for the ninth, 30% for the tenth, etc.  An explosion destroys the ring, costs the wearer a finger, and does Xd6 force damage where X = the number of uses today (including the one that triggered the blast).  The explosion has a 30' radius and creatures other than the wearer receive a save for half damage using the same mechanics your system uses to avoid magical area of effect attacks (in D&D, either a save vs spell or a reflex save depending on edition).  

Design Commentary:  This one's pretty powerful depending on circumstances, but the difficulty of detecting the ring's safe usage limitation makes it quite dangerous to rely on too heavily.

Eidolon of the Shattered God

Eidolon of the Shattered God

Legends of the fall of the Shattered God (may Her name be forever lost) and the ancient theocratic empire that served Her still haunt the modern day, but few artifacts of that distant age remain.  Recently several adventurers have returned from an expedition into the Wastes where that empire once stood, bringing a tale of wonder and woe.  They claim to have found a temple to the Shattered God, largely ruined but not uninhabited.  

A carven eidolon of the god remains, mutilated by decapitation and timeworn but still active.  The god-spark within the devotional statue burns on, but the damage the eidolon has suffered coupled with the death of its creator has driven it quite, quite mad, becoming ever more capricious and cruel.  The eidolon, while slow, still possesses inhuman strength and the durability of magically-reinforced stone.  Moreover, it retains the ability to petrify creatures by touch, and to dominate the minds of lesser beings who hear its words.  Without a head of its own, the eidolon should be unable to speak, but it has adopted a gruesome solution to the problem.  When it wishes to speak, it seizes a petrified victim, cracks stony head from neck in a daunting show of might, and attaches the decapitated head to its own neck stump where it magically animates for the eidolon's use.   

Convinced of its own divinity, the creature holds court in the temple's partly-collapsed great hall, attended by a mixture of mentally enslaved living servants who've stumbled across its lair and the petrified remains of former servants who've bored or offended it.  Many of these statues are themselves headless, since the eidolon often decides to adopt a new visage on a whim.  Old "used" heads are either pulverized or saved for use as projectiles against potential foes who've resisted the creature's domination magics.

The three surviving delvers who escaped this bizarre temple community managed to fake their own enthrallment after seeing the fates of their fellows.  Some of them were petrified after being ordered to assume a pleasingly devoted facial expression and posture, their heads later removed for use in an impromptu game of bowls.  Others starved to death or died of thirst as the eidolon neglected to permit them to eat or drink, and when it did remember the needs of its mortal "followers" it instructed them to cannibalize the party's mightiest warrior on the basis that he appeared to have the most meat on him.

How much of this is to be believed is unclear, but the trio did bring back a handful of relics and coins from the era of the Shattered God's worship.  The College Immaculate is still debating funding their own expedition to the site with an eye toward archeological research and the capture or elimination of the rogue eidolon.  

Design Commentary:  As is often the case around here, this was inspired by Telecanter's Receding Blog, which featured its own horrific magical Big Bad.

https://recedingrules.blogspot.com/2020/11/golden-leash.html

Miner's Ring, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Dwarven Miner's Ring

Description:  A simple brass finger ring inscribed with a stylized image of a perching canary in a cage.  Magical sense detect only a faint protective aura.

Powers:  The wearer of this ring is receives a +4 bonus to resist the negative effects of inhaling smoke, gas, particulates, or any airborne poison, magical or natural, and is immediately alerted when entering an area of bad air by the ring's frantic chirping.  They also consume half as much fresh air as they would otherwise.

Possible Origins:  These rings are most commonly created by Dwarven artisans as coming-of-age gifts to younger relatives going to work in the deep mines.  They are fairly simple to make and produced with relatively inexpensive materials, and many Dwarven families have at least one such ring as a family heirloom passed along from one generation to the next.  Some few have been sold to outsiders, usually to other miners or adventurous delvers, although this practice is frowned upon by traditionalists.     

Complications:  The ring must be "fed" and "watered" with a handful of birdseed and a small cup of water each day or it ceases to function until it receives its due.  Fancier versions of these rings come with a small pouch containing a handful of tiny brass seeds and a tiny brass watering cup, which will indefinitely fulfill the ring's needs if it is placed in the pouch for an hour each day. 

Design Commentary:  A minor magic item, the type many wizards would sneer at.  The Dwarves themselves would insist their making is the result of skill and wisdom, not spellcraft.  They can certainly be a lifesaver down in the mines, and they'd probably be really popular with starfarers using the old Spelljammer rules if they learned of them.  Perhaps there's an adventure to be had with escorting a very foreign merchant to the Dwarven realms to negotiate a purchase of a job lot of rings for resale among the stars?

Musical Fauna: Fiddlebugs

Continuing in yesterday's theme, another bit of weirdness to make your setting a bit more exotic.

Fiddlebugs

Description:  The colloquial term "fiddlebug" refers to wide variety of related insect species, all of which are flightless beetles varying in size from 1-2" in length.  The name stems from the sounds they produce by sawing their mid-limbs over their modified wing cases, which sport elaborate convolutions and hollows that serve as natural amplifiers.  Much like cicadas, the insects produce sounds that are shockingly loud for their small size, but they produce a sound that resembles that of various stringed instruments ranging from fiddles to lutes to violas.  The beetles' tunes vary from species to species, and change based on a wide variety of poorly understood factors.  Weather, lighting, odors, available food, the number and type of other beetles within earshot, and the presence of predators all influence what is played from moment to moment.

Fiddlebugs are found mostly in temperate areas, and are short-lived creatures that are most active during the summer months.  They lay eggs by the hundreds in late fall and die off thereafter, with a new generation hatching out the next spring.

Aside from providing a musical track for wilderness adventures, fiddlebugs may also come to an adventuring party's attention as a somewhat unreliable alarm system if their various "calls" can be interpreted.   Is the sudden ominous music a sign of danger, or a mating call?  Maybe a druid or ranger can work it out?

Design Commentary:  You could also tie the fiddlebugs to yesterday's piper snails as a competing or parallel fad for collecting musical animals.  Foppish nobles or snooty gentry might pay well for carefully-selected specimens whose tunes harmonize well, with skilled handlers selecting not only the beetles themselves but the conditions around them to produce specific music.  The greenback shorthorn fiddlebug only plays a particular refrain when fresh feywood blossoms are present?  Best send some adventurers to collect a supply in those dangerous woodlands.  

There might also be bad blood between Team Snail and Team Beetle, with both sides sabotaging each other for motives petty or grand.  The beetles are more subject to environmental conditions but are more numerous and easier to replace, where the snails' music is more consistent but the animals are rarer, especially the older and larger ones.  Beetle fans will also need to obtain a whole new band every year, although breeding them in captivity might be possible and certain mixes of the various breeds will produce fairly consistent tunes which a master beetle-wrangler can further refine.

Or perhaps the two fads merge, with the upper classes staging combined orchestral performances of piper snails and fiddlebugs?  

Musical Fauna: Piper Snails

Today we've got some ideas for the kind of peculiar background details that can help bring a game world to life, as well as some ideas for bringing them into the foreground if your players take an interest.  They'd fit best in a slightly exotic campaign, perhaps featuring picaresque heroes in the vein of Cugel the Clever.    

Piper Snails

Description:  These harmless creatures are amphibious snails with cream & white shells that, on closer examination, prove to be pierced with patterns of tiny holes.  They are more likely to be heard than seen at first, as each snail produces a continuous fluting "music" that most people find relaxing.  Most commonly found in temperate forests and wetlands, piper snails are extremely long-lived.  The vast majority of them are eaten by fish, fowl, frogs, and other small creatures within their first few years but they grow slowly but steadily throughout their lifespan, and those that reach a decade or more have generally outgrown their former predators.  The shell of a century-old piper snail can be well over a foot in diameter.  Rumors persist of fey courts with prized millenia snails the size of a horse, although such leviathans are almost unheard of outside fey-touched regions.

There are two reasons a party of adventurers might take an active interest in piper snails.  Firstly, the local nobility (perhaps in imitation of their fey counterparts) have adopted the snails as exotic pets, keeping them in terrariums and collecting and selecting differing breeds and generations of them to optimize the sound of their music.  Older snails have deeper, stronger tones and the complexity of their tunes increases over the years, and are therefore more desired (and valuable), but collections of younger snails that harmonize well are also popular as natural orchestras.  As often happens, the fad is starting to spread to the gentry and demand for expert snail hunters and "composers" adept at selecting just the right mix of the animals continues to grow.  Competition for choice specimens is providing a whole new field for family grudges among the noble houses and class tension between the blue-blooded and the merely wealthy.

Secondly, alchemists and mages have recently discovered (or re-discovered) that piper snails can be rendered down into ingredients used in potions of longevity.  Eternal youth has an obvious appeal, and the demand for snails is great among the learned and their wealthiest (and oldest) clients.  The specimens must be alive at the time of rendering, so some care in harvesting the creatures is needed.  Moreover, an aspiring snail hunter can expect competition not only from their fellows but from music aficionados, angry fey and woodland protectors, and wardens on the lookout for snail poachers on their masters' lands.

All in all, being found walking the lands with a suspiciously fluting bag of dampened burlap is no longer as safe as it once was.

Design Commentary:  If you'd prefer to keep piper snails as a background oddity, forget the hooks above and have them be much more common, perhaps even to the point of being pests like common garden snails.  There might be customs around them as well.  A piper snail might be a traditional gift for a child, possibly growing up with them and even outliving their owner to be passed along across generations.  Snails with matching music might be shared as lovers' tokens, with ensuing shenanigans when it turns out that many snails share indistinguishable tunes.  Local superstition might hold that the music of the snails is praise to the gods, making them holy animals, or that the souls of your ancestors live on within them.  .

Or you could combine the two.  Maybe that inn in the forest is run by a fan of their music and practically overrun by the things, which is slightly gross (snail-trails everywhere!) but lends a pleasant air to your stay.  Perhaps the PCs will be there the night some passing party of nobles notices the piper snails and starts the whole fad.  Maybe getting in on the ground floor of a new craze of the powerful will give the party an unexpected windfall?

This was inspired by several things, including the Victorian fad for keeping live beetles as ladies' pets (on little chain leashes, no less) and by this post on animal friends over on Telecanter's Receding Rules:

 http://recedingrules.blogspot.com/2020/09/6-animal-friends.html