#the Punisher weighs 30 pounds

[krazys-ass-emporium]

So this happened.

I'm Wolfwood, @davidkage is Vash, and my sister is Meryl.

[offender42085]

Post 1323

Paul Byron Ferguson, Michigan inmate 784373, born 2002, incarceration intake March 2024 at age 21, scheduled for early release consideration July 2052, scheduled for full release July 2122

Child Abuse

A Michigan man who pleaded guilty in his disabled brother’s starvation death was sentenced in February 2024 to a minimum of 30 years in prison by a judge who said the defendant is “one step away from becoming a psychopath.”

Timothy Ferguson, who had autism and was speech- and motor-impaired, weighed only 69 pounds when he died in July 2022 at the family’s western Michigan home in Norton Shores, authorities said.

The brothers’ mother, Shanda Vander Ark (Michigan inmate 783668) of Norton Shores, was sentenced in January 2024 to life in prison without a chance of parole after a jury convicted her of murder and child abuse in the teen’s death.

Muskegon County Circuit Judge Matthew Kacel said he didn’t believe Paul Ferguson was sorry for the abusive punishments, including ice baths, he and his mother carried out that led to Timothy Ferguson’s death.

“The court believes Mr. Ferguson is one step away from becoming a psychopath like his mother,” Kacel said during the hearing.

Paul Ferguson and Vander Ark punished Timothy Ferguson by feeding him hot sauce, subjecting him to ice baths, depriving him of sleep and locking the refrigerator and food cabinets, prosecutors said. He died from malnourishment and hypothermia.

Muskegon County Chief Trial Prosecutor Matt Roberts said Paul Ferguson represents a threat to the public if he doesn’t get mental health treatment while incarcerated.

4s

[balrogballs]

So because I am also like baby Estel and have way too many questions about everything, I also wanted to know how much Manwë’s eagles pooped in a single day now that that question had been put in my brain. So I did some research and some math and though there’s no information out there on Manwë’s eagles’ body weight with which to compare the amount of food eagles eat in a single day (10% of their body weight), there is wingspan.

Based on Thorondor’s wingspan (30 fathoms, or 180 feet) and eagles’ wingspans (6 feet), we can estimate that Manwë’s eagles are on average 30 times larger than eagles in this time period.

With eagles’ average weight of 14 pounds and the amount of food eagles eat in a single day (10% of their body weight), we can estimate that if Manwë’s eagles are 30 times larger and weigh 420 pounds, they poop approximately 42 pounds every day, proving 42 is the answer to the life, the universe, and everything. I hope you brought your towel.

I need to let you know how much I enjoyed this ask, to the point I considered using the office printer to print it out and frame it as the main reason I am so, so, so glad I have returned to this goddamn fucking website from hell after 10 years away.

I am certain that Cast in Stone Estel, the budding young scientist, wanted to hear this kind of answer instead of being set a punishment by Maedhros "trying not to piss himself with laughter every time Estel opens his goddamn mouth" Fëanorian 😭😭😭

Also I feel like at this rate Fingon should have handed out free umbrellas to everyone on the flight path....

[beegoould]

Recently my therapist dropped something on me that is hard for me to wrap my head around. We’ve started talking through my issues with food and eating, and after a couple sessions she said “I think you may have a form of anorexia” And I’m like “You may not have noticed this but I weigh 250 pounds” and she was like “nah dog, you don’t have to be underweight to have it” and this made NO SENSE to me. And I said “I don’t have the willpower or the strength to be anorexic” which made me stop and think, and made her raise an eyebrow.

I realized in that moment that there had been times in my life when I was jealous of people with this devastating, potentially deadly illness. I felt like they had an ability I knew I would never have. And that’s a super fucked up way to think about it.

We talked through it and she told me that my periods of obsessive calorie counting, punishing myself for eating foods I felt were off limits, measuring things to the ounce, and thinking about food pretty much all the time was the issue. The first time she brought this up was when I told her I used to berate myself for eating something I shouldn’t have when I actually hadn’t eaten it, I’d just thought about eating it. Also when I was drinking too much I would plan my day around it, making sure I had an empty stomach and weighing what I drank on a kitchen scale. And I did research to find out what alcohol had the least calories with the highest abv.

So she tells me she thinks I have atypical anorexia. I still have the obsessive thoughts, but I don’t follow any self imposed restrictions. I still think about them, I just got too tired to keep following them. I still punish myself for eating “bad” foods.

We’re going to continue talking through this and navigate it, hopefully find ways to change some of my thoughts and behaviors. I’m still surprised at myself for my initial knee jerk response of thinking that it’s just like me to have this disorder but still be overweight. That’s not me anymore. I felt that way when I was a kid up to my 30’s, that being overweight made me useless and less than. I don’t feel that way now, but I guess it’s hardwired into my brain at a subconscious level.

To be clear, I have never had negative thoughts about people I knew or met who were overweight. They were different. I was the problem, no one else.

I wanted to share this because I’d never heard of it before, and while it’s not life changing to know this is a thing, it is helping me understand myself and some of my behaviors in a way that I haven’t before. It is also helping me be kinder to myself, at least a little.

I hope this post wasn’t upsetting or painful for anyone. This is just me sharing my experience and thoughts, I don’t know much about this topic and I’m probably shitty in a lot of ways as I’m writing about this since I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m sorry about that. I’m going to tag the fuck out of this.

Anyway. My wish for all of you is that you can be kind to yourself however you can in whatever way you need to be. ☀️☀️☀️

[wern]

it's amazing and freeing to weigh 300 pounds and have almost no shame about my body. im happy to have photos taken of me, i look forward to trying on clothes in changing rooms, i view weight-related physical problems with mild frustration and acceptance instead of embarrassment. i am trying to lose weight very slowly because of the discomfort of weighing so much, but i'm doing that out of compassion and care for myself.

tbh i've spent the last 5 years not restricting at all and putting weight management to the side as i worked on myself (i gained 30 pounds, but im ok with that). and now it feels so different to come back to these weight management tools (which were given to me by a psychologist specializing in evidence-based nutrition and disordered eating) with a desire to be healthy in all aspects of my life and compassionate towards myself. ive never lost weight before without it being a punishment motivated by self-hate. but self-hate is a terrible motivator because you can't hold onto a strong negative emotion like that for long. eventually you'll push it away and find relief in whatever comforts you most

i suppose you can call what im doing now "restricting" but im somebody that naturally eats due to emotion and compulsion so it does help to have a guide on how much i should eat. it still comes out to 2000 calories. and if im hungry, i eat.

anyway, i do think that anti-diet-culture politics and weight management can coexist

[jess-abides]

Vacation body thoughts below the cut (I should really just journal lol)

The last time I went on vacation in April, I was the biggest I’ve ever been. I wore my bikinis and was trying really hard to rock with body neutrality and tbh I was in a decent place with it. But I was super uncomfortable on the plane, and it was probably the most unpleasant travel experience that I can remember.

While I was on that trip, I started wanting to exercise…like idk why but I remember thinking “I want to start doing squats when I get home” lol and I got on the peloton the day after I got home and rode every day for like 2-3 weeks while I convinced my trainer friend to coach me after I realized he offered virtual sessions. I don’t know what changed, but something flipped basically overnight - when we first got started, I told my trainer “I’m really good at starting over, but I really want this to be the last time” and tbh it still feels like it could be.

I haven’t missed a single planned/scheduled workout since the day I got back from that trip, and I’ve enjoyed the process so much more this time around because it came from a place of actually just wanting to exercise (as opposed to my typical pattern of ‘hate self > must be smaller > deserve punishment > must eat less and move more’).

I also very intentionally did not diet at all, because I still have to work very hard at not spiraling when I try to ~get healthy~ and I am sick to death of dieting and burning out and being afraid of food and the scale.

So I decided to just focus on the one thing I was excited about, which was getting stronger. Which naturally led me to make some different food choices based on what my body was craving (and plenty of well-intentioned bullying from my coach when I wasn’t eating enough). I’ve just been having so much fun getting stronger that it started to feel like a shame not to at least try to get enough protein to actually let my muscles recover and grow.

So I headed off on this vacation 30 pounds lighter than the last, inches gone from my waist, hips, thighs, wedged comfortably into the middle seat between two strangers and not silently apologizing for my existence. Happier, stronger, more confident. A little nervous to get out of my routine, tbh, but I could also really tell my body could use a break.

And, for once, not at all worried about my diet or whether I’d gain weight; knowing I’ve been learning to trust myself and basically eating whatever I wanted anyway. I enjoyed good seafood and good ice cream, but never felt like I needed to over-indulge or overcompensate for indulging. I went for long walks on the beach because I wanted to, and sat on the porch when I decided I’d rather do that instead.

Out of sheer curiosity, I weighed myself this afternoon (something I would never have done in the past - early morning only, iykyk). And wouldn’t you know it? I weigh the same as the day I left. The number itself isn’t the victory - I would have been fine with being up a few because bodies will be bodies, and I guess that’s really what I’m proud of!

And I’m looking forward to being back on my bullshit tomorrow morning and seeing how this break plays out in my workouts this week. After I sleep A LOT tonight 😌

[ainews]

Steller's Sea Cows, native to the Bering Sea, were massive, gentle marine mammals that became extinct in the 18th century. Their disappearance has been a subject of fascination and mystery for many years, with some even turning to religious beliefs to explain their extinction. One such belief is millenarianism, which suggests that a great event will occur at the end of time, often associated with the second coming of Christ. In the case of Steller's Sea Cows, the labeling of their prelude as millenarian symbolizes the human desire to understand and predict significant events, even in the natural world.

The story of Steller's Sea Cow begins in 1741, when German naturalist Georg Wilhelm Steller first encountered the species during an expedition to explore Russian territories in the North Pacific. Steller was amazed by the gentle giants, which could reach up to 30 feet in length and could weigh over 10,000 pounds. He recorded his observations in detail and even created a sketch of the creature, which was later published in his journal.

A few decades later, in the late 1760s, the Sea Cows began to vanish from their habitat. Despite efforts to protect them, the species was hunted to extinction by seal hunters and fur traders, who coveted their meat, skin, and oil. By 1768, the last known Sea Cow was killed on the Commander Islands, their only known habitat.

The sudden and complete disappearance of the Steller's Sea Cow has left many puzzled, and some have turned to religious beliefs to make sense of it. This is where the concept of millenarianism comes into play.

Millenarianism, or the belief in a coming apocalypse or a new age, has been a recurring theme in Christianity for centuries. The idea that a great event will mark the end of the world has captivated people's imaginations and has been used to explain and predict various events.

In the case of Steller's Sea Cows, their prelude is often labeled as millenarian because their extinction was seen as a significant event that marked the end of an era. The sudden disappearance of such a massive and unique species was seen as a sign of an impending end or a new beginning. Some even believed that the Sea Cow's extinction was a punishment from God for humanity's greed and destruction of the natural world.

While scientific evidence has provided a clear explanation for the extinction of Steller's Sea Cows, the label of millenarian continues to be associated with their story, highlighting the human desire to make sense of events, even those in the natural world, through religious beliefs.

The labeling of the Sea Cow's prelude as millenarian also serves as a reminder of the consequences of human actions on the environment. The extinction of this majestic species serves as a cautionary tale, emphasizing the need for conservation efforts to preserve precious and unique species.

In conclusion, the labeling of Steller's Sea Cow's prelude as millenarian highlights the human tendency to seek meaning and explanations for significant events, even in the natural world. The story of the Sea Cow's extinction serves as a reminder of the fragility of our ecosystem and the need for responsible and sustainable practices to protect our planet and its inhabitants.

[thestarbucksqueen]

*This post may be a bit triggering to some

I have so much self hatred and so much old trauma from being told that I’m fat by my own mom. She loves me and I love her but now she skinny shames me. For a brief flashback history in middle and high school I was a bit chubby as a lot of preteens and teens are until they fully grow. In elementary my mom got into fitness and on a health kick which is great until you hit middle and high school. I was forced to join cross county in hopes it would be a “sport you like” to which it very much was not because I hate running long distance. I started to understand who I was as a gay boy and telling my friends in 7th grade and really exploring my performance side with choir and theater (choir was the one to stick). But with that came “why don’t you come to the gym with me?” And “your starting to look a little pudgy” of course as a middle schooler that made me feel really disgusting and I would just go to the gym with her but was always so uncomfortable. These comments continued and got a little worse by the time we moved and I was in my last three years of high school sadly. By the time I was graduating high school I was about 235-245lbs and I didn’t look it but I’m also 5ft 11. I didn’t go to college and I was a receptionist through March of 2019. At the begging of 2019 I made a deal with a friend to start intermittent fasting and working out. The working out worked the fasting was not so easy in the begging. I started a job in fashion retail in May of 2019 and I loved the atmosphere so much! By the time I was starting this job I weighed about 190lbs so I had lost about 30 pounds in like 3 months or so! But then I started to really be able to fast with the hours I was working and I went from fasting for 16 hours to fasting for 20 hours. Coffee, nicotine, and marijuana being the three biggest things in my diet. With this being the case in a matter of 3 months I weighed 140lbs. I hadn’t seen friends in a hot minute do to the hours I was working and also going to school on top of that (which was a lost cause). When I finally hung out with one of them the first thing she said to me was “Wtf happened to my friend?!, your like a skinny little twig now?” Of course I knew what she meant was all love and no malice but it is still the most shocking reaction I got from anyone. I was really thin. Covid happened and so did my relationship so I gained some weight and my moms comments started to come up again which would affect my mental health and relationship which ended. I moved home and slowly lost weight as I tried to find confidence in myself, got a job at another retailer and my old habits have kicked into high gear. I’ve been working here for 7 months and I started at like 170 and now I’m pushing 148. I don’t eat to punish myself on bad days which is absolutely terrible, my nic addiction started again and coffee and redbull courses through my veins. I know I need help but Im the person that’s supposed to be strong and not need help but like idk wtf to do because I want to live up to this like perfect standard not only in a beauty sense but also in my moms sense. I know it’s my life but all these comments haunt me.

[thickthighsnolife]

rules ☕️

intake ✨

never eat over bmr

try to stick to a diet at all times

prioritize fruit/veg, fiber, protein

do a metabolism day every week (bonus points if you time it with football games, no need to make passing out on the field more likely)

actually drink water you heathen, you bought that hourly marker bottle for a reason

exercise ✨

at least 30 minutes a day

try to incorporate weight training, seeing the numbers go up is satisfying

do at least one fun exercise (dancing, sport, games, etc.) per week

shoot for 10,000 steps

binges ✨

no punishments for binging, including increased exercise or extended fasting; take a breath, plan the next day's meals, and start over in the morning

count calories if you want, but remember that it takes a lot to gain weight, you could eat double your bmr and not even gain a pound

do NOT weigh yourself during or after a binge

distractions ✨

stretch break

homework

hit the practice room (that recital isn't going to prepare itself)

revise (do your observation reflections bitch)

watch something engaging (or something motivating)

knit or crochet

play video games (something involved, not mindless)

take a nap

drink water/zero cal beverages (do not chug!! that's how you threw up straight bile for two days last time)

exercise (something fun! you renewed your just dance subscription for a reason)

tidy up/reorganize something

do the apartment chores (dishes, trash, sweep, laundry, dusting, wipe down counters, so many options)

write or edit

brush teeth (bonus points if you floss too)

catch up on email/dms/ao3 comments

go on a drive (okay bring your money in case of emergencies but take in exactly enough cash for a fountain drink or monster and NO MORE)

write down cravings for your next metabolism day

read tarot or lenormand

work on research/page design for your grimoire

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

On the Run - Final Chapter

Previous Part | On the Run Masterlist | Full List of Works

On the Run Part 30 - Final

Pairing: Bishop Losa x Female!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Stalker ex, Scenes of abuse, Angst, Violence, Death

A/n: Ok, well this is kind of a huge moment. I can't believe I actually ended this, this is my first full fic I've actually finished and shock doesn't even begin to cover it. Thank you all so much for reading, commenting and generally interacting. Everyone that's been so kindly leaving me support and feedback has been such a huge part of me getting this finished. It's been so much fun to write and I hope its been just as much fun to read! Enjoy this last part everyone <3

The next day Coco had brought your backpack over for you to change into some fresh clothes and you’d finally taken a shower. All the crimes of the day before were washed away from you as you’d spent ages under the cool water until you were bullied out by Olivia. You were then forced to have a banana on the understanding that she wasn’t going to let you waste away, and honestly you didn’t have the energy to fight her. She knew you wanted to punish yourself, so she was doing everything in her power to stop you.

After sitting and pretending to watch TV for a little while Coco had led you all back into the car from the day before, and picked up Angel on the way to the hospital. All four of you sat in complete silence throughout the journey, staring out into the vast scenery around you. No one knew what to say, and everyone was still filled with so much shock from the day before, so you all cut through the desert and found yourself in an unfamiliar town in an easy quiet.  

“And who are you here to see?” The woman at the front desk chirped. 

You’d told her Bishop’s name and soon enough you were led up to his room, feeling like your steps weighed a million pounds. With every second you got closer you could feel your pulse race and your hands shaking with anticipation. This was it, the truth had come to light and now you had to face him. 

When you finally reached his room you were greeted by Hank and Taza, who’d been there for a few hours apparently. They both had the same tired looks and coffee breath. Though they both perked up when your little group came and assured you that he was stable. They were probably just excited to see someone that wasn’t lying in a hospital bed ready to let out a million curses at any given moment. That’s the impression you got anyway, they’d looked particularly grim when they said they'd been speaking with him. 

They didn’t look any happier when they said you were to go in alone. Orders courtesy of El Presidente.

When you finally opened the door, you tried swinging it as quietly as you could, while your eyes landed on Bishop’s resting form. You sighed as you saw him lying there in a hospital gown and covered by thin starchy sheets, looking more battered and broken than you’d ever seen him in your life. He was truly wearing his years and some extra now. You closed the door gently and just as you were about to turn found yourself jumping in the air as he spoke.

“You’re here.”

“Jesus,” you hissed, clutching at your heart.

You hadn’t realised he wasn’t asleep. However, you remembered all too late that he had a concussion. Although as Coco had said, it was a mild one. You shook as you walked closer to his bed and came to an unsteady stop by his side, taking the chair closest to the bed. Your nerves were completely shot now, all you could do was look at him apologetically as he stared at you, looking you up and down as if he were surveying you. 

Bishop’s bruises were worse now they'd had time to develop. There was a big purple blotch on his forehead and right cheek with little cuts and red marks adorning the rest of his face. The arm he’d been shot in was all bandaged up and his body looked ridgid with the pain. Despite all that though, the worst part was his eyes. They were shrouded in dark circles and looked so painfully heavy with sadness. You squirmed under his gaze.

“I see now,” he said quietly.

“What?” you breathed.

“You got a lot of him in you,” he grumbled, hissing with pain as he tried to sit up further. “Lucky you got more of your mom’s looks though.”

“...Bishop-”

“Don’t. Before you try to give me some grand explanation, you don’t have to. I put the pieces together myself, sweetheart,” he said, directing his eyes up toward the speckled tile ceiling. 

“Bishop look, I- I wanted to tell you-”

“Mhmm…but you didn’t.”

“Well if you just give me a chance-”

“You lied to me,” he murmured quietly, “I don’t know what you could say to make that better.”

You took an annoyed breath and stopped talking, giving yourself a minute to figure out what you were going to say. Why the hell did he want you to come in if he wasn’t even going to give you a chance to explain yourself? You seethed away for a second before clicking your tongue, drawing his gaze back toward you.

“And I suppose wandering up to you that day in the bar and just splurging out ‘hi I’m the daughter of your dead best friend’ would’ve gone down better?”

He choked at your words and for a second, just as you thought he was gonna shout back he just grinned and shook his head. You frowned and watched as he laughed a little to himself and lay back in his bed again. You figured he had to be high off his ass on pain meds and getting knocked around so much, though you couldn’t blame him as he continued on.

“You can’t make this shit up,” he muttered. “I can’t believe after everything we’ve just gone through you don’t realise how it would have been infinitely better to have just said from the start ‘hey, I’m Y/N, you knew my father, I’m actually in a lot of trouble right now and would be really grateful if you could help me out’.”

“But I didn’t come here to seek you out Bishop! I came because I knew Santo Padre would shelter me for a little while. Meeting you was by complete chance and I had no intention of letting things get to the point that they did-”

“But you did! And you let me fall in love with you” he interrupted weakly. 

You stopped trying to explain yourself and took a moment to remember that you were supposed to come in grovelling rather than arguing with Bishop and let out a breath. Being around him always had this effect on you, it was the reason things got to where they did in the first place. You couldn’t be rational around him, all your thoughts became clouded and everything blurred. Even when he was lying there in a hospital bed covered in injuries he was bringing the beast out in you at the worst possible time. 

You could feel your lip start to quiver as you sat there in the full shame of your actions and soon hot tears were following. You tried to look away from him, but he used his good arm to tip your jaw in his hand and got you to look into his eyes. That hard look from before was washed away and somehow that only made you want to sob harder. 

“I still love you, you know,” he said mournfully.

“Even after everything I’ve done?” you sniffed, feeling incredulous. 

“Of course I do…but I think in light of everything I know now…It wouldn’t be right to keep you here.”

Your heart felt like it stopped. Every little piece of you felt like it had been lit by a fire and set to burn up in the atmosphere. What did he mean it wouldn't be right to keep you here? As if he were your captor. As if he was the one that called you down in the first place. Your mouth dropped open in a shocked gape and just as you were about to tell him exactly how wrong he was in choosing those words you were stopped as he continued.

“I called your mom yesterday. She actually cried when I told her you’d be here…she’s gonna take you back to New York where you belong,” he sighed, reaching out again and rubbing your jaw.

“What?” You gasped, your whole body went rigid and stiff as a board.

“Go home and go live your life, Y/N. Forget about Santo Padre and go be who you were meant to be.”

“You think I can just go home and forget all this just like that? As if I can just snap my fingers and get my degree and go live some boring life like dad intended?” You said, smiling uncontrollably with rage and shock. “You don’t get to make that decision for me Obispo! You don’t get to act like you’re doing this for me when you’re just feeling guilty because of my parents!”

“The whole reason your dad and I cut ties in the first place was because he wanted a better life for you! You think I’m just gonna disrespect everything he worked for because you came here and lied your way into my arms?”

“I did not Lie my way into your arms! I wouldn’t even be here in the first place if it weren’t for my old man! It was him and my mom’s stupid vision for me to go lead some New York office nightmare, I didn’t care about getting on the career ladder and owning fancy things. He died and I fucking floundered because I had no idea what it was that I wanted to do and the only comfort I thought I had after was Joseph because he just let me exist until he got violent. Then I came here after years on the run and I met you and I found something I actually wanted to run to! Don’t you see that? The only thing I’ve ever actually cared about since he died was being with you!”

Bishop paused and stared at you, processing what you said for a minute. Your words had weighed heavy on him, he clearly hadn’t expected you to put up so much of a fight and that alone made you burn with frustration. In his mind he clearly saw you as some silly little girl that got lost, he didn’t know how you really felt. He didn’t know that he was the only man you’d really loved, didn’t know that he was your life. 

You lived and breathed for waking up to him and falling asleep with him at the end of a long day. Riding with him for endless stretches on dusty desert roads, swimming circles around him in your little rock pool spot. It didn’t matter what you did, or how much you got to see him in a day, it felt like any time you spent with Bishop was heaven . How couldn’t he see that too?

“Bishop I-”

“Oh my- my…My little girl!!” shouted a familiar voice.

Your body went rigid and your words died in your mouth. You didn’t get a chance to turn around and see your mother because she had her arms around you the instant she locked eyes on you. Her cloying Chanel perfume invaded your senses and her arms locked around your body tightly, holding you in an inescapable grip. You resisted for a second before finally melting into her and sighing, not realising how much you’d actually missed these hugs.

“Mom,” you murmured.

“I can’t believe you’re here, I can’t believe it's really you!” She squealed, unlocking from you so she could stand in front of you and look you up and down.

Her cheeks were flooding with tears and her eyes had been worn by lack of sleep. Her crows feet had gotten slightly deeper since you’d last seen her and she’d lost quite a bit of weight, but she still looked just as full of love as she’d always been. That thought alone made your heart break in two all over again. You didn’t realise she was gonna be so happy to see you.

“You look so grown up, sweet pea,” she sighed, stroking a hand over your cheek. “Oh my goodness, Obispo!”

You froze again when you realised you’d both managed to ignore him and turned to see him muster as much of a charming grin as he could. It’s like Bishop’s soul had reentered his body, his shoulders squared back up and his head tilted with the easy smile he wore. It was like you were seeing him again for the first time in a long time. 

“Nice to see you again too,” he teased.

“What happened to you! When you said you were in the hospital I didn’t think you’d be so- so-”

“Handsome as ever?” he replied, his sleepy grin remaining on his face.

“Like you’ve been hit by a ten tonne truck,” your mom corrected.

“You never change do you?” Bishop snorted, looking mock offended. “Can't go ten seconds without insulting me.”

“I always was the only one that didn’t trip over their own feet for the great Bishop Losa.”

Jesus, she didn’t even know how right she was.You very much had fallen over your own feet for Bishop and now you were neck deep in shit. Despite the playful banter though, there was still a sense of tension in the room so thick you could hack through it. As Bishop and your mother stopped grinning at each other, it became very obvious you were going to need to explain all this somehow 

“So…would someone like to tell me how my runaway daughter ended up in California surrounded by bikers or do I need to begin an interrogation?”

Both you and Bishop connected eyes with each other and before he could say anything you stepped up. It was only right after you’d gotten everyone mixed up in your mess.

“Mom, why don’t we go for a walk and I’ll tell you everything.”

——

After almost giving your mom a heart attack with only a selection of the stories relaying what you’d been up to in the past few years, you found yourself feeling light for the first time in a long time. Finally you’d gotten to tell someone the whole truth about your life and not worry about giving away too much and endangering them. It felt like now that it was all out there, you could breathe. It was the first time since meeting Joseph that you could do that, you could be vulnerable with someone. 

Though, you didn’t get to remain that way for too long, she was none too happy to know you’d been with Bishop of course. In fact you had to practically hold her back from storming up to his room and giving him a real concussion. Though, eventually once you’d explained everything she managed to make peace with it. Or at least make peace with it as much as she could, which meant calling him a million names as soon as his name was mentioned. 

You’d spent a few hours talking to her, but still had time left to go see Bishop and try to talk him down from pushing you away. That is after you basically had to run from your mom and her wrath. You’d had to take the stairs so you were sweating like a horse by the time you got to his room, which only made the bad news you got sink the knife in further.

“He says he doesn’t want you back in there. I’m sorry but you’re just gonna have to talk to him when he’s out,” Hank reasoned, guiding you back from the door. 

“What do you mean he doesn’t want me in there? What’d he say?” you growled back, voice full of outrage.

“He said, word for word, ‘don’t let her in here, tell her I’ll call her when I’m outta here’,” Hank said. “Besides, he needs to rest up or he’ll take longer to heal. He said you were going back to New York for a bit, why don’t you go home with your mom and relax. You gotta heal too, kid.”

And with that you were given a pat on the shoulder and sent to walk wordlessly away from where you knew Bishop would be lying smugly on his hospital bed. He’d gotten Hank to do his dirty work. He was too much of a coward to even say goodbye to you. That thought alone had you storming away and back downstairs like a whipped dog. It weighed heavy on your mind and clouded your goodbye to Olivia before you would eventually be whisked off to the airport. Forced to pretend like this was all a dream

—

3 months later 

Despite being completely against it at the start, you had to admit going home was a good idea. At least for a little while. It allowed you to realise how completely batshit your life had been and actually gave you time to process everything that had happened. You were still on weekly, if not daily calls with Olivia and got all the club gossip that she could divulge. In return you gave her the low down on your latest distractions from Bishop. 

You’d gotten a motorcycle licence, you’d taken up painting, writing, hell even attended a few dancing classes. You disappeared for long daily walks and grabbed endless coffees and spent hours out of the house trying to keep your mind on anything except the Mayan President. Your mom was a big supporter to start with, she really encouraged you to move on. She even managed to drag you to therapy a couple times a week, only proving Olivia’s theory that they’d have a field day with you. In fact you were sure your therapist was looking forward to writing an entire textbook on you by the time you were through.

However, all these things were just little distractions. Things to dull the heartache. At the end of the night you constantly found yourself thinking of Bishop and wishing you could hold him again. He never did hold up his end of the deal, he didn’t call or even text. You’d even tried getting Olivia to pass along a message, but Coco had talked her out of it after saying it would be a ‘stupid ass idea to get the big man upset’. So, you were forced to stew in your feelings until finally you decided to do something about it.

You’d found a bike online, an old clunker that someone couldn’t bear scrapping and fixed it up after about a month and a half of stewing in your Bishop feelings. You’d taken it to multiple shops, gotten tons of advice from an assortment of forums and soon found yourself with something that could reliably be taken long distance. Something that could get you all the way from New York to Santo Padre, a journey that would give you plenty of time to figure out what to say to get Bishop to listen to you.

Well in theory.

It gave you a lot of nostalgia being on the road, and even some new excitement as you’d never ridden on a bike so long by yourself before. You’d never gotten to look forward to anything on your journeys before. It was exhilarating. You caught yourself grinning in bed at night, even though the motels were just as crummy as when you travelled before it didn’t matter. You would see Bishop again. Though first, you had a very important stop to attend to.

“Holy shit! It’s you!”

Olivia was squealing as she stood outside the bar and gripping you in a crushing hug. You thought you might never breathe again, but it wasn’t long till she was being pushed aside by Danny, who despite having his life and precious bar threatened, was crushing you in an even bigger hug than even Olivia gave.  

“I can’t believe you’ve come back, what’s the matter with you girl?” he lectured as he actively held you like he’d never let you go again.

“Must be something in the air in New York,” you grinned. “Makes you do crazy things.”

“Did you actually ride all the way here on that thing? It looks like its gonna fall apart in the wind!”

“She’s a classic,” you corrected, freeing yourself from Danny. “Got me all the way here and barely even broke down once.”

“It looks even cooler in person,” Olivia murmured, she was one of the bikes few supporters, much to your mom's chagrin.

Olivia had seen it on facetime and in multiple pictures of course, but it was quite different seeing it in person. It was your baby. You showed her all the new stuff you’d done to it as she marvelled and dismissed all of Danny’s grumblings as he tried to warn you of how dangerous riding an old bike like that was. However, you had to remind yourself he was probably just opposed to you being a biker at all, to ingraining yourself back into the Mayans again. He was worse than your mother.

“So how did your mom take the news you were coming back here?” Olivia asked, looking at you from across the booth you were now settled in.

“She basically threatened to follow me and come chop Bishop’s head off, but after enough…persuasion she let me go. She even gave me gas money,” you shrugged.

“I like the sound of this woman, she’s got a good head on her shoulders,” Danny laughed as he listened in from the bar. “You should be staying away from those Mayans!”

“Uh-huh. Keep dreaming, Danny.”

After a little while longer sitting around the bar and catching up with your little family, you soon found yourself itching to get to the clubhouse. It’s like your body had a homing beacon it was desperate to respond to. It ached to be so close but still so far away from your man. You had to go see him.

Olivia had gotten you up to date with all the new shit going on. The Reyes brothers fighting, the clubs involvement with Adelita and Galindo’s plans, all the crazy was the normal kind of crazy now. Even the clubhouse had been completely fixed up and was back to its usual program, hosting wild drunken nights for the bikers to relieve themselves after long days avoiding the law. And that was how you were going to roll in.

You took Olivia on the back of your bike, getting her to bring the helmet she usually used to ride with Coco and the two of you hauled ass to the clubhouse. The journey there felt like some kind of dream, felt like you’d gone back in time. You passed familiar houses and winding roads and eventually found yourself in front of the masked gates, feeling like your heart was gonna beat out of your chest. 

“Hey, you’re gonna be ok. You just gotta storm in there and get Bishop told. He doesn’t get to push you away without telling you to your face he doesn’t want you,” Olivia said, trying to boost your confidence.

You were about to respond as you rolled through the gates, though just as you were pushing down your kickstand you were noticed. Angel and Gilly swarmed around the bike as they recognised Olivia and gave you questioning looks as she got off, having no idea who you were under that helmet.

“Who’s your friend, Olivia? Coco not enough for you these days?” Angel teased.

“I’m surprised you don’t recognise me, Reyes. I am your favourite bartender after all,” you pouted, taking off your helmet.

“Holy shit,” Angel and Gilly said at the same time.

“Fuck, I didn’t think you were serious,” Coco cursed.

You craned your head up the clubhouse steps and saw Coco coming out with a hand running through his long hair. It’d grown so much since you last seen him, so much so that it was messy now as he roughed his fingers through it. Olivia rolled her eyes and joined him on the porch, smoothing down his hair and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“I told you, she wasn’t gonna let this go,” Olivia all but sang.

“Good thing too, Bishop’s been an asshole since you left,” Angel said, rolling his eyes.

“Watch he doesn’t hear you, stupid,” Coco hissed. “He already wants an excuse to put you in the ground.”

“Well maybe we should go in, huh? See if I can’t get him to put me there first,” you said with a wink.

Everyone looked at you then with a grim expression and it was probably that point that it really hit you how much of an effect you’d had on him. They all seemed like they wanted to point you away and get you out before Bishop saw you, but you wouldn’t let that deter you. You had to see him. Even if it was just to get a real goodbye. 

“Guys its not gonna be that bad is it?”

“Uh…You’ll see I guess,” Gilly shrugged, lighting a cigarette and taking a long draw.

You frowned as everyone watched on nervously when you walked to the door, it only filled you with more dread. You’d been expecting this to be rough, but everyone was acting like you might be in danger or something. You wish you knew why they were looking at you liek you were in your final moments. A chill ran down your back and you had to steel your resolve as you walked through the front door and searched out Bishop.

Everyone inside ignored you as the party went on. There were girls everywhere hanging off all the men, some faces you knew, others you didn’t. There were Mayans from different charters there that night, mixing with the familiar faces you recognised and you watched as they all milled around and searched out their different vices. You had to spend a minute looking at the sea of faces before you could make out Bishop. You found your eyes forming slits as you caught him sitting there with a girl on his lap and another behind him rubbing his shoulders.

Too busy to call you, was he?

You marched over through the throng of people and noise and felt your heart pick up its pace until its thundering competed with the bass of the music. What was wrong with him? You soon found yourself in front of his chair with your arms folded and a hard glare trained on his face. Your mouth was running before you could even think of what it was before you wanted to say.

“Looks like you’re missing someone sitting at your feet, presidente. Then you’d have a whole trifecta,” you quipped.

Bishop’s back went stiff as he finally caught sight of you and you watched on amused as his eyes widened. His charming grin was wiped from his face and he breathed in a sigh as he realised it was really you. He quickly shooed the girls away from him, causing them to glare at you as you walked up closer to him, but you paid no mind to them. You only had one focus.

“Y/N-”

“You don’t call, you don’t write, you don’t let me know you’re ok. I sat at home going crazy for three months and apparently you’ve been just fine, huh?” You spat, drawing up a chair in front of him and flopping down on it.

“Well I suppose I stupidly thought you were doing what you were told for once,” Bishop mumbled, searching his kutte for a cigarette.

“What! You thought I just went back home and was able to pick up my new life just like that? You figured I’d just forget about you?”

“You’re young. Things like that happen,” he shrugged, finally finding a pack.

You sat there absolutely fuming as you watched him place a cigarette between his lips and just as he was about to light it, your hand acted quicker than your mind could and you yanked it from his mouth. Bishops eyes blinked as he stared at you in complete shock and before he could reach for another one you took the entire pack from under his hand and threw them out into the room.

“Don’t sit there and act like I’m some stupid little girl, Bishop Losa!” You seethed. “I told you that you’re the only man I ever loved and you sent me away like I was nothing. You didn’t even say goodbye to me. And now you’re sat here with fucking Vicky’s entourage like you couldn’t care less!”

Bishop still looked shocked that you’d chucked his cigarettes away. He looked from where you’d thrown them and then back at you and finally he snapped. His face finally catching up with what you’d done.

“You don’t get to march in here and treat me like that, sweetheart,” he growled. “You don’t disrespect me like that ever, and especially not after all this shit. You’ve been gone for 3 months, I think it was reasonable to believe you were moving on.”

“You thought I was MOVING ON!I was gone because you sent me away, you- you-“

“Go on. Finish that sentence.” 

Your voice faltered as you tried to come up with an insult, but your attitude died the minute his voice dropped low. You’d actually annoyed him. It wasn’t something you’d done a lot, but the few times you had, his hard stare alone was enough to send you silent. You breathed out a defeated sigh and settled for a glare. Even then it felt like your eyes might burn if you looked at him any longer. You could only hold it a few seconds till finally you cast your eyes down in defeat.

“Fuckin thought so, little brat,” he grumbled. “How’d you even get down here anyways, I thought you weren’t working.”

It took you a few seconds until you could answer him, still struggling with the fact he was angry with you. Until suddenly it hit you. How did he know you weren’t working? Had he been keeping tabs on you? You grinned like a Cheshire Cat and watched as his eyebrows raised when he caught on to your realisation.

“And how did you come by that information, Bishop?” You said with a sweet lilt to your voice.

“Your little friend has a big mouth and low alcohol tolerance,” he mumbled, rubbing his hand over his face. “She practically gives everyone a weekly update, showed us all that death trap you were working on and everything.”

“Death trap…? What! You don’t mean my bike?”

“Oh fucking hell. you really rode down on that thing didn’t you?” He groaned. 

“It’s perfectly safe! It’s been given the ok by like five separate people!”

“If you’ve had to ask five people if you can ride it in the first place it’s a bad sign, sweetheart,” Bishop said with a hard look. “You’re gonna need to show me this thing, I’m not letting you ride around town like some maniac getting yourself killed. Fuck! You’re gonna be the death of me you know!”

He stood up with a groan and started stalking off, giving you an expectant look back while you sat there dumbly. Did he actually mean to go out there and inspect your bike? Somehow he’d managed to completely override your original conversation and before you could even protest he was walking out the door and into the night. You sat there in complete shock for a few more minutes before you scrambled to catch up with him, feeling your pulse quicken again as your annoyance resurfaced. Who was he to shit on your bike? Who was he to go storming off when you had shit to say to him? 

Just as you were about to let your rage fly you walked out only to see Bishop looming over your bike and you fell silent again. He was running his hands over the seat and looking up at you with something like pride adorning his features. Even in the dim light of the night you could see the anger sap from his face and turn to thoughtfulness. 

“You built this old scrap heap up and rode all the way here just to chew me out, huh?” 

“Well… yeah of course I did,” you said awkwardly, feeling the last remnants of your anger fade as fast as they’d come.

You watched him for a moment longer before deciding to draw a little closer to him, stopping as you reached the back wheel of your bike. You took the cool night air in and sighed again, basking in the desert around you and appreciating the gentle breeze. You didn’t know it, but Bishop watched you transfixed, his eyes raking down your form as you closed your eyes. He was falling in love all over again.

“I mean it when I say I love you, Bishop. I fucked up and I lied to you and maybe I deserve you telling me to go away, but I at least want a proper goodbye,” you said quietly, finally meeting his eyes again. “You can’t just send me away and expect me to forget about you.”

He nodded, looking away as you broke the silence. For the first time in a long time there was quiet between you both. You stood there awkwardly, folding your arms over your chest as you waited for him to say something. You just wanted anything. Something to make the pain in your chest stop, something to relieve the pounding in your head. You needed an answer, even if it wasn’t one you wanted you could at least start to deal with the shock of losing him.

“I don’t want to tell you goodbye, sweetheart,” Bishop said finally.

“Then don’t,” you replied, feeling your heart skip a beat. 

He looked at you then and shook his head, running a hand carelessly over his hair. You watched, taking in his appearance fully and feeling your heart clench. Of course he’d had to recover from some pretty serious injuries, it  explained the heaviness of his shoulders and the bags under his eyes. It made sense that he still looked so tired. But it all just made you want to reach out for him and hold him all the more. To take all the pain away and kiss him better.

When he noticed the way you were looking at him, it turned the corners of his lips and finally he gave you a signature smile. Bishop was back. Your Bishop. You tentatively closed the gap between you both and looked up at his face with nothing but adoration in your eyes. Just as you were about to make the move yourself he grasped your jaw and tilted your head, kissing you slowly and passionately. You could have screamed with joy.

You did everything you could not to break down sobbing and wrapped your arms around his back, feeling the way his shoulder blades arched as he felt your hands holding him. Old instincts were coming back and you both found yourselves fighting not to get down on the floor and take each other then and there. Bishops breath was heavy as he kissed you deeper, running his tongue over your lips and into your mouth, claiming what was rightfully his again. You thought you might go into cardiac arrest then and there.

You tugged a hand through his thick curls and leaned back against your bike, groaning as Bishop’s hands began to wander. First they caressed down your neck, leaving sparks as they went, and then they worked downward, trailing to your thighs and tracing shapes across your skin. He was lighting fires now. It was as if you'd never left. You let out a breathy moan, causing your cheeks to heat hotter than a furnace and finally you broke the kiss, giving yourself a second to catch your breath.

“Holy fuck,” you gasped.

“Yeah,” Bishop sighed, his grin still plastered all over his face. “I fuckin’ missed that.”

“Looks like I was right to ride in on my death trap and come get you, hm?” you teased. “Not so bad after all, is it?”

“Oh, if you think you’re getting back on that scrap metal you’ve got another thing coming,” he growled playfully, grasping your hips tightly in his hands. “If you wanna stay here, you’re gonna learn to do as you’re told, sweetheart.”

If you were feeling hot under the collar before you were in hell now. Your knees even wobbled a bit. Fuck, you might’ve even let out a whimper. It was as if you’d never left, Bishop had gotten right back into being your growly biker man and you were all but falling at his feet. You never wanted to forget this feeling, feeling completely his, feeling safe in his arms again.

“Well…maybe you could say your goodbyes and you could take me home. Then. Tell. Me. What. To. Do. There,” you murmured, trailing kisses down his neck as you spoke, teasing and nibbling at the sensitive skin there.

“Oh God, Sweetheart…fuck ‘em. I’m all yours,” he groaned, shoving you off toward the rows of harleys that lined up against the clubhouse. 

You shook your head and just as he started leading the way to his bike you stopped and silently crept backwards, quietly grabbing your helmet in the process. You couldn’t resist just a little more defiance. Just as Bishop looked back to where he thought you were, he caught you jumping on your own bike and starting the engine. He narrowed his eyes and watched as you got ready to swing the kickstand up and started to lower your helmet over your head. He looked like he was ready to wreak havoc on you now..

“You’re gonna regret that, brat!” He called out to you, not able to hide the laughter in his voice.

“You’ll have to catch me first!” You giggled, slipping your helmet down fully.

“Oh your ass is gonna be sore tonight.”

With that you were chasing each other long into the night, weaving your way through the desert and embracing the rumbling of your engines way into the dark hours. It was the biggest rush you’d ever felt in your life, the caress of the wind, the thrill of having Bishop next to you, the long winding roads. You didn’t want it to end. 

You could’ve rode on together like that forever.

——

Tag list

@nessamc @just1bri @minimel-fics @adaydreamaway08 @est1887 @trustme3-13 @keshawna02 @inyourbackpocketisbutterflies @choochoo284 @ly-c10 @garbinge @lyly00 @onetimeinjedicamp @thelawyer94 @whiterose38 @jadesid @delightfulheroshoeflap @the-anonymous-pen

[thirdtofifth]

Krampus Large monstrosity, neutral evil Armor Class 15 (natural armor) Hit Points 324 (24d10 + 192) Speed 50 ft. Str 29, Dex 17, Con 26, Int 19, Wis 21, Cha 22 Saving Throws Dex +10, Con +15, Wis +12 Damage Immunities cold Damage Resistances necrotic, poison; bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing from nonmagical attacks Condition Immunities charmed, frightened, paralyzed Senses truesight 120 ft. passive Perception 15 Languages Common Challenge 21 (33000 XP) Keen Smell. Krampus has advantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on smell. Legendary Resistance (3/Day). If Krampus fails a saving throw, he can choose to succeed instead. Magic Weapons. Krampus' weapon attacks are magical. Snowstep. While travelling in a snowy environment, Krampus cannot be tracked by magical means, and has advantage on Dexterity (Stealth) checks. Tenacity Of Winter. Krampus regains 15 hit points at the start of each of his turns, as long as he has at least 1 hit point. Actions Multiattack. Krampus can use Capture. He then makes four melee attacks: one with its chain, two with its claws, and one with its gore. Chain. Melee Weapon Attack: +16 to hit, reach 15 ft., one target. Hit: 22 (3d8+9) slashing damage. The target is grappled (escape DC 23) if Krampus isn’t already grappling a creature. Until this grapple ends, the target is restrained, and Krampus can't make chain attacks against any other target. Claw. Melee Weapon Attack: +16 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 18 (2d8+9) slashing damage. Gore. Melee Weapon Attack: +16 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 27 (4d8+9) piercing damage. Capture. One creature Krampus is grappling must succeed on a DC 24 Constitution saving throw or be stuffed into his bag. A creature inside the bag is blinded and restrained, it has total cover against attacks and other effects outside the bag, and must succeed on a DC 21 Wisdom saving throw at the start of each of its turns or take 44 (10d8) psychic damage. If this damage reduces a creature to less than half its total hit points, that creature must succeed on a DC 21 Constitution saving throw or regress to its childhood. The creature's size reduces to the next smallest category, and it has disadvantage on Strength checks and Strength saving throws. The bag can be attacked (AC 15; 30 hit points; immunity to poison and psychic damage). Destroying the bag ends the effect for all creatuers inside the bag. Krampus can repair the bag as a bonus action. When he does, the bag regains all of its hit points. Frightful Presence. Each creature of Krampus' choice that is within 120 feet of Krampus and aware of him must succeed on a DC 21 Wisdom saving throw or become frightened for 1 minute. A creature can repeat the saving throw at the end of each of its turns, ending the effect on itself on a success. If a creature's saving throw is successful or the effect ends for it, the creature is immune to Krampus' Frightful Presence for the next 24 hours.

Terror of the frozen north, Krampus was summoned from a primal fey realm long ago by a circle of druids who feared losing their standing in the local community. The village had begun to doubt the effectiveness of the druids’ rituals in protecting the village from the harsh rigors of winter. The vengeful spirit at first served as a moral arbiter, turning those who misbehaved back into children to punish them. However, over time the petty evils of the village corrupted its spirit, and it developed a taste for humanoid flesh, returning winter after to winter to terrorize the villages, even long after the druidic circle was gone. Krampus stands 14 feet tall and weighs 1,000 pounds.

Originally from the Pathfinder Bestiary 6.

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Minor Magic Items, 6: Also known as not-quite-wondrous items, common magic items, utility and niche magical equipment, underpowered relics or depowered artifacts, these objects are essentially cantrips and weak magic spells in physical form. Useful for more than just combat, these items create light, entertain, clean, play music, flavor food, heat, cool, warn, inform and generally raise the quality of life for their bearers. They can act as unique world building items, magic shop filler objects, barter and trade goods as well as ingredients to create or upgrade stronger magic items or enchantments.

Potion of Unremitting Youth: A sealed glass vial containing a brightly colored liquid that is perpetually bubbling and fizzing. When consumed the drinker physically gets 2d4+2 years younger (See Note) but his maximum lifespan is also shortened by twice that amount to fuel the chronomagical effect. The drinker is granted youth at the cost of his senior years, essentially borrowing time against himself. —Note: A DM may rule that this number is multiplied by 10 for longer lived races such as dwarves, elves or gnomes.

An iron anchor that is supernaturally light, weighing only a pound when dry but changes to weighs 500 pounds when submerged in water for more than six seconds. The anchor returns to its one pound weight again when out of the water for six seconds.

Wand of Sparks: A foot-long wand consisting of a hollow tube of crystallized sand. Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize the material as fulgurite, which is formed when lighting strikes loose sand, fusing the individual grains together into a solid object. The glassy wand is surprisingly firm and durable despite its fragile appearance. Small bolts of lightning flicker intermittently within the opaque tube. On the wielder’s turn he can target a creature he can see within 60 feet and activate the wand as an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell, causing the wand’s interior to storm and flash with energy that audibly crackles and sparks then releases a small bolt of lightning. The wand is perfectly accurate at close range and if the target is within 5-30 feet the creature suffers lighting damage equivalent to a dagger plus the wielder’s character level (1d4+level) and half that damage if the target is 35-60 feet from the wielder.

Barryat the Vicious: A small wooden figurine crudely carved into the likeness of a fierce badger. The tale behind this item tells of a ranger who made an enemy of a mighty wizard. To punish her he cursed her treasured companion, Barryat, into the form of a useless trinket. But such was his devotion to his master, that in the face of battle, Barryat will fight his wooden prison and attempt to join the fray. Whenever the bearer, or a friendly creature within ten feet of him, rolls a natural 20 on an initiative roll, the totem transforms into a ferocious giant badger (Use wolf statistics if giant badger’s are not available). Barryat takes his turn immediately after the bearer and acts as the bearer’s ally, defending him and his allies until death. He understands simple verbal combat instructions (Such as; Attack that one, defend me, run away, etc.) but cannot take complex actions or use objects. After one minute, or if Barryat is reduced to 0 hit points, he reverts back to an undamaged wooden figurine.

Black Blood Potion: A leather bandolier holding 2d4+1 identical sealed glass vials containing sludgy black liquid. In the distant past mages working with monster hunters developed this potion specifically for use in fighting cemetery and crypt dwellers that drink the blood or eat the innards of their still living victims. Hunters tend to use Black Blood unwillingly because the potion only works when a monster begins to feast on their body which is rarely the best strategy. When consumed, Black Blood contaminates the imbiber’s blood causing the drinker to suffer a dagger’s worth of poison damage (1d4) and any creature who bites the drinker or drinks his blood suffers two shortswords worth of acid damage (2d6). This effect lasts for one hour.

Conductor’s Wand: A wand in the shape of a conductor’s baton. It looks like it has been lovingly maintained. When one or more other creatures within 50 feet of the bearer that he can see are performing a musical number of some sort, the bearer can assist by waving the wand to direct them. As long as the bearer spends his action each round to conduct the performers, each musician or vocalist can add 1d6 to the result of their performance check.

Solvent Staff: A six-foot staff made of a single piece of incredibly pitted and rusted iron. The staff may have been well made, covered in arcane runes or etched with intricate designs at one time, however nothing but varying shades of rust currently decorates the implement. The metal is rough and sharp to the touch, leaving the wielder’s hands rust stained and blemished as if exposed to a weak acid. Sizable pieces of rust occasionally flake off of the staff, disintegrating when they hit the ground but the arcane implement never seems to reduce in size or weight no matter how much is lost. The implement is infused with metamagic power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to translate aspects of certain spells into more desirable results. Twice per day when the wielder casts a spell that deals damage, he can filter the magic through the staff to convert 100% of that damage to acid.

Eye of the Watchers: A small stone trinket with a glass eye embedded in the center. To use the wondrous item, the user must attune to the trinket by pressing it to their forehead for one minute with his eyes closed. The Eye can only be attuned to one creature at once and when a new being attunes to it, the old connection is broken. While the trinket is within 120 feet, its attuned user can use an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell to close his eyes and see through the Eye of the Watchers as if he was standing in that spot. During this time, the user is deaf and blind to his own senses. At any time he can use an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell to swap between his senses and the Eye’s. If an effect would cause the Eye to become blinded, the user is also blinded for the duration. The trinket can be accurately thrown a number of feet equal to three times the bearer’s strength score.

Bottled Banshee: A fist sized globe of crystal-clear glass, that appears to be empty except for a thin fog constantly swirling around inside. The vessel contains the last whispers of a banshee, captured moments before its final cessation of existence. As an action equivalent to an attack, the bearer can throw the bottle accurately against a creature or an empty five foot square within 30 feet. Upon impact it shatters, releasing a deafeningly loud, blood-chilling scream that can temporarily incapacitate even the strongest willed being. The wraith’s wail of death deals 1d12 thunder damage and 1d12 necrotic damage to all creatures within a 15 foot radius centered on the target creature or space. If the Bottled Banshee deals more thunder damage than necrotic, all creatures within the area of effect are deafened until the start of the wielder’s next turn. If the bottled banshee deals more necrotic damage than thunder, all creatures within the area of effect are frightened until the start of the wielder’s next turn. If the damage rolls are the same, both effects occur.

Quantum Vial: A large sealed glass vial containing a thick clear gelatin that is cushioning a secondary sealed glass vial. The outer vial’s glass is faintly etched in arcane glyphs relating to divination and teleportation and its stopper is fashioned of precisely carved black slate that widens significantly at the opening. Written in chalk on the outer stopper is a concise and accurate description of the inner vial’s contents. The smaller inner vial is a fairly commonplace four ounce container of clear glass, sealed with a stopper and would not be out of place in an adventurer’s backpack, an alchemist’s shop or a chef’s spice rack. Every day at dawn, if the outer vial contains a smaller vial surrounded by protective gelatin and is properly sealed, the inner vial changes to a different Random Glass Vial. The outer vial can be unsealed at any time which allows the bearer to access the inner vial but causes the gelatin to quickly evaporate. To get the Quantum Vial working again after being unsealed, the bearer needs to put in a new inner vial (Which can be empty or full), replace the gelatin and reseal the outer vial. Creating the gelatin and forming an airtight seal requires proficiency in alchemist’s tools, costs about 10 gold pieces in materials and takes roughly one hour of work.

-Click Here to be directed to the Hotlinks To All Tables post, which provides (As you might have guessed) convenient links to all of the loot and resource tables this blog has.

—Keep reading for 90 more Minor Magic Items.

---Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

Potion of Unremitting Youth: A sealed glass vial containing a brightly colored liquid that is perpetually bubbling and fizzing. When consumed the drinker physically gets 2d4+2 years younger (See Note) but his maximum lifespan is also shortened by twice that amount to fuel the chronomagical effect. The drinker is granted youth at the cost of his senior years, essentially borrowing time against himself. —Note: A DM may rule that this number is multiplied by 10 for longer lived races such as dwarves, elves or gnomes.

An iron anchor that is supernaturally light, weighing only a pound when dry but changes to weighs 500 pounds when submerged in water for more than six seconds. The anchor returns to its one pound weight again when out of the water for six seconds.

Wand of Sparks: A foot-long wand consisting of a hollow tube of crystallized sand. Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize the material as fulgurite, which is formed when lighting strikes loose sand, fusing the individual grains together into a solid object. The glassy wand is surprisingly firm and durable despite its fragile appearance. Small bolts of lightning flicker intermittently within the opaque tube. On the wielder’s turn he can target a creature he can see within 60 feet and activate the wand as an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell, causing the wand’s interior to storm and flash with energy that audibly crackles and sparks then releases a small bolt of lightning. The wand is perfectly accurate at close range and if the target is within 5-30 feet the creature suffers lighting damage equivalent to a dagger plus the wielder’s character level (1d4+level) and half that damage if the target is 35-60 feet from the wielder.

Barryat the Vicious: A small wooden figurine crudely carved into the likeness of a fierce badger. The tale behind this item tells of a ranger who made an enemy of a mighty wizard. To punish her he cursed her treasured companion, Barryat, into the form of a useless trinket. But such was his devotion to his master, that in the face of battle, Barryat will fight his wooden prison and attempt to join the fray. Whenever the bearer, or a friendly creature within ten feet of him, rolls a natural 20 on an initiative roll, the totem transforms into a ferocious giant badger (Use wolf statistics if giant badger’s are not available). Barryat takes his turn immediately after the bearer and acts as the bearer’s ally, defending him and his allies until death. He understands simple verbal combat instructions (Such as; Attack that one, defend me, run away, etc.) but cannot take complex actions or use objects. After one minute, or if Barryat is reduced to 0 hit points, he reverts back to an undamaged wooden figurine.

Black Blood Potion: A leather bandolier holding 2d4+1 identical sealed glass vials containing sludgy black liquid. In the distant past mages working with monster hunters developed this potion specifically for use in fighting cemetery and crypt dwellers that drink the blood or eat the innards of their still living victims. Hunters tend to use Black Blood unwillingly because the potion only works when a monster begins to feast on their body which is rarely the best strategy. When consumed, Black Blood contaminates the imbiber’s blood causing the drinker to suffer a dagger’s worth of poison damage (1d4) and any creature who bites the drinker or drinks his blood suffers two shortswords worth of acid damage (2d6). This effect lasts for one hour.

Conductor’s Wand: A wand in the shape of a conductor’s baton. It looks like it has been lovingly maintained. When one or more other creatures within 50 feet of the bearer that he can see are performing a musical number of some sort, the bearer can assist by waving the wand to direct them. As long as the bearer spends his action each round to conduct the performers, each musician or vocalist can add 1d6 to the result of their performance check.

Solvent Staff: A six-foot staff made of a single piece of incredibly pitted and rusted iron. The staff may have been well made, covered in arcane runes or etched with intricate designs at one time, however nothing but varying shades of rust currently decorates the implement. The metal is rough and sharp to the touch, leaving the wielder’s hands rust stained and blemished as if exposed to a weak acid. Sizable pieces of rust occasionally flake off of the staff, disintegrating when they hit the ground but the arcane implement never seems to reduce in size or weight no matter how much is lost. The implement is infused with metamagic power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to translate aspects of certain spells into more desirable results. Twice per day when the wielder casts a spell that deals damage, he can filter the magic through the staff to convert 100% of that damage to acid.

Eye of the Watchers: A small stone trinket with a glass eye embedded in the center. To use the wondrous item, the user must attune to the trinket by pressing it to their forehead for one minute with his eyes closed. The Eye can only be attuned to one creature at once and when a new being attunes to it, the old connection is broken. While the trinket is within 120 feet, its attuned user can use an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell to close his eyes and see through the Eye of the Watchers as if he was standing in that spot. During this time, the user is deaf and blind to his own senses. At any time he can use an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell to swap between his senses and the Eye’s. If an effect would cause the Eye to become blinded, the user is also blinded for the duration. The trinket can be accurately thrown a number of feet equal to three times the bearer’s strength score.

Bottled Banshee: A fist sized globe of crystal-clear glass, that appears to be empty except for a thin fog constantly swirling around inside. The vessel contains the last whispers of a banshee, captured moments before its final cessation of existence. As an action equivalent to an attack, the bearer can throw the bottle accurately against a creature or an empty five foot square within 30 feet. Upon impact it shatters, releasing a deafeningly loud, blood-chilling scream that can temporarily incapacitate even the strongest willed being. The wraith’s wail of death deals 1d12 thunder damage and 1d12 necrotic damage to all creatures within a 15 foot radius centered on the target creature or space. If the Bottled Banshee deals more thunder damage than necrotic, all creatures within the area of effect are deafened until the start of the wielder’s next turn. If the bottled banshee deals more necrotic damage than thunder, all creatures within the area of effect are frightened until the start of the wielder’s next turn. If the damage rolls are the same, both effects occur.

Quantum Vial: A large sealed glass vial containing a thick clear gelatin that is cushioning a secondary sealed glass vial. The outer vial’s glass is faintly etched in arcane glyphs relating to divination and teleportation and its stopper is fashioned of precisely carved black slate that widens significantly at the opening. Written in chalk on the outer stopper is a concise and accurate description of the inner vial’s contents. The smaller inner vial is a fairly commonplace four ounce container of clear glass, sealed with a stopper and would not be out of place in an adventurer’s backpack, an alchemist’s shop or a chef’s spice rack. Every day at dawn, if the outer vial contains a smaller vial surrounded by protective gelatin and is properly sealed, the inner vial changes to a different Random Glass Vial. The outer vial can be unsealed at any time which allows the bearer to access the inner vial but causes the gelatin to quickly evaporate. To get the Quantum Vial working again after being unsealed, the bearer needs to put in a new inner vial (Which can be empty or full), replace the gelatin and reseal the outer vial. Creating the gelatin and forming an airtight seal requires proficiency in alchemist’s tools, costs about 10 gold pieces in materials and takes roughly one hour of work.

Shifting Staff: A strange and peculiar staff that changes its appearance, coloring, weight, and even size, randomly. It can be smooth and cold to the touch one second then hot and ruggedly textured the next. Its weight randomly fluctuates between that of a feather’s, to that of a hefty war-hammer. Unpredictably growing as large as a quarterstaff, while shrinking to be as small as a wand on an inconsistent basis. Different colors appear and disappear, swirling about within and around it, periodically emanating strange weave-like patterns of tangled light that are seemingly stuck to it. Knowledgeable PC’s will be able to determine that the implement is a shard of crystallized wild magic and although it will empower spells cast through it, it is entirely unreliable from one spell to the next. The implement is infused with a Random Metamagic Power allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells. The wielder can activate the staff while casting a spell in order to augment the spell with the Metamagic power that the focus is attuned to. After being activated, the wand’s metaphysical harmony changes randomly and the wielder rolls on the Unique Metamagic Options table and the implement becomes attuned to that bonus instead. The staff uses the wielder’s own power to fuel this effect and he chooses to either burn his supernatural energy which causes the spell to use an additional spell slot of the same level or higher (Minimum level 1) or drain his physical health suffering a dagger’s worth of unpreventable hit point damage (1d4) per level of the spell (Minimum 1d4).

Airstep Shroud: A long shroud that trails along the ground but always hovering just an inch above the dirt. The stylish garment is woven of fine silk and adorned with patterns of gusts and wind. The gossamer fabric can lend its lightweight property to its bearer for a few moments, allowing him to step into the sky as easily as a leaf on the wind. Twice per day as an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell, the wielder can activate the shroud with a thought in order to gain a flying speed equal to his current walking speed. This benefit works only for a few moments and the bearer will fall if he ends his turn in the air and nothing else is holding him aloft. The shroud’s power is limited, only able to lift so much and the bearer cannot fly if he’s wearing heavy armor, is heavily-encumbered and the wielder cannot carry another creature with him.

Wand of Woe: A foot-long wand made of a single twisted demon’s horn. The black implement is disturbingly warm to the touch and intermittently whispers promises of dark power, destruction and death in the language of demons. The horn itself is hideous and heavily damaged, sporting a multitude of scratches, dents, chips, rents and other patterns of wear. A creature holding the wand is instilled with the certainty that everything in life or death is theirs to command if they can shrug off their ethical and moral compunctions and reach out to take what they want, whenever they want it. On the wielder’s turn he can target a creature he can see within 60 feet and activate the wand as an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell. The horn then draws in light and warmth from the area around it for a few moments as if attempting to corrupt the very nature of the world and releases a twisted ray of pure darkness at its target. The wand is perfectly accurate at close range and if the target is within 5-30 feet the creature suffers necrotic damage equivalent to a dagger plus the wielder’s character level (1d4+level) and half that damage if the target is 35-60 feet from the wielder.

Scorching Staff: A six-foot staff that seems to have been made from a still burning piece of oak that was never put out. Embers still crackle and burn in the wood and the air around the implement is blurred with a constant heat mirage. Although the object does feel warm to the touch, the embers never ignite anything or consume the staff. The implement is infused with a Random Metamagic Power that allows the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the staff while casting a spell that deals only fire damage to augment the spell with the Metamagic power that the implement is attuned to. The staff uses the wielder’s own power to fuel this effect and he chooses to either burn his supernatural energy which causes the spell to use an additional spell slot of the same level or higher (Minimum level 1) or drain his physical health suffering a dagger’s worth of unpreventable hit point damage (1d4) per level of the spell (Minimum 1d4). A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus crumbles into ashes and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

A leather bandolier holding 2d4+2 vials of a specialized acid known as Stonebreaker. This alchemical solvent affects only rock and other minerals and is completely harmless when exposed to skin or non-stone items. Each vial of Stonebreaker deals triple the damage acid normally deals, but only to stone objects or creatures made primarily of rock (Such as a stone golems, or earth elementals) and ignores material hardness and resistances. The bearer can throw Stonebreaker acid as a grenadelike weapon, in which case it damages any stone walls, floors, or other objects or items that a target might be wearing or hiding behind.

Apron of the Artificer: A blackened and fire-scarred leather apron that contains numerous tiny pockets. While wearing the apron, the bearer can take an action equivalent to drawing a weapon to reach into any of the apron’s many pockets and produce a tiny set of mundane tools (Such as smith’s, alchemist’s, leatherworker’s tools etc., bearer’s choice), which grow to full size once withdrawn. The apron may only produce one set of tools at a time and if a second set of tools are withdrawn or if the tools are further than 30 feet away from the apron, the first set of tools vanishes into mist. Knowledgeable PC’s know that the dwarven master-smith Tergaunt of Solanos Mor is remembered both for his skill and as a cautionary tale. Like many of his brethren, he was dedicated to crafting the perfect item in order to benefit his enclave, yet he found the inefficiency of the crafting process intolerable. He turned his prodigious skill toward time-saving devices. One of his greatest successes was the creation of the Apron of the Artificer, thus saving precious minutes by avoiding having to search for the right tool in a cluttered workshop. Ironically, Tergaunt’s obsession with creating time-saving magic items consumed him, and he died without ever attempting to craft his perfect masterpiece.

Tincture of Stability: A sealed glass vial filled with a pure white liquid that never changes color or mixes with other substances, always separating like oil and water. If consumed, the drinker becomes immune to any magical spells or effects that would make physical changes to his form or would affect the shape of his body. This protection is for good or ill and while the drinker cannot be affected by hostile polymorphing, shrinking or transformative effects, he cannot willingly change shape even if desired by wildshape, lycanthropic shapechanging or beneficial magical enlargement. The drinker is considered completely immune from any such effects. The tincture’s effects last for eight hours. —Note: The drinker is still affected by side effects of damaging spells and his body can still become burned by fire, or lose a limb from a magical sword but he is immune from spells and effects whose sole purpose is to cause a physical transformation such as being turned into a frog or growing wings in order to fly.

Band of the Full Beast: A ring carved from bone and antler and imbued with druidic enchantments that can tame a beast’s savagery. With hand outstretched the ring bearer can halt a ravenous animal in its tracks, enveloping the animal in the warm serene feel of a full belly and sated hunger. As an action equivalent to attacking, the wielder can focus on a beast it can see within 100 feet and cause it to feel satiated and lethargic. If the animal was motivated by hunger it becomes uninterested in combat or hunting unless it is provoked, takes damage of any sort or until ten minutes passes. The beast is considered charmed for the next ten minutes and will only attack in defense of itself, its immediate territory or its young but the wielder gains advantage on any animal handling or survival checks made to feign submission to the creature in order to safely leave the animal’s area.

Bilefruit: A greasy, oblong fruit that only grows in the Feywild in hedges near the ground. Past the bilefruit’s tough, waxy skin one finds a bitter meat. Eating the entire fruit allows the creature to hide his appearance (Including his shadow) for the next eight hours. While eating the fruit over the course of one minute, the creature must concentrate on what they want their new illusory appearance to look like and it cannot be changed after the Bilefruit is fully consumed. The creature body along with his clothing, armor, weapons, and other belongings on his person look different for the next eight hours. The creature can make himself seem one foot shorter or taller and can appear thin, fat, or in between. He can’t change his body type and must adopt a form that has the same basic arrangement of limbs. The changes wrought by the fairy fruit fail to hold up to physical inspection.

Blasting Rod: An elaborately bent silver rod with intertwining tendrils at the tip that surround a crystal-like core. The clear prism vibrates whenever held by a creature capable of wielding the supernatural and the rod can serve as a magical focus for casting spells. To activate the implement, the wielder can utter an incantation while simultaneously drawing an esoteric mark in the air with the rod to replicate the casting of an evocation spell. If the quick ritual is performed correctly, the crystal core flares with light and launches a bolt of lethal energy at the wielder’s enemy. Whenever the wielder could attack he can instead use the rod and make a Knowledge Arcana check and the result is treated as an attack roll against the armor class of a target he can see within 60 feet. If successful, the rod deals force damage equivalent to a longsword plus the wielder’s character level (1d8+level). —Note: A combat example: A level 3 wielder makes an arcana check of 1d20+5 and gets a 15, which beats a goblin’s AC of 13 and deals 1d8+3 force damage.

Bloodcaster’s Band: A red gold ring encrusted with tiny rubies. A dozen hair-thin spikes extend slightly from the inside of the band. The ring opens and closes around the finger with a hinge mechanism forcing the bearer to impale the spikes on their own finger and lock the barbs into place within his flesh, dealing unpreventable damage equivalent to a dagger (1d4) and reducing his total hit points by the same amount for as long as the ring is worn. Whenever the ring is locked into place the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Bonus Table and the ring becomes attuned to that bonus. Whenever the bearer casts a spell he can choose to spend a number of hit points equal to twice the spell’s level (Minimum 2 hit points) and apply the metamagic effect to that spell. When the band is activated like this, the rubies flare with scarlet light as the barbs absorb the wielder’s blood, translating it into arcane potential.

Wand of the Agrimancer: A foot-long wand made from a petrified carrot. Twice per day the wielder can wave the wand overtop of any mundane fruit, vegetable, nut or other edible vegetation to enchant it with primal vitality. The vegetation immediately doubles in size, becoming infused with natural power. As an action equivalent to attacking, a creature can eat the food, which restores 1 hit point and provides enough nourishment to sustain them for an entire day. The seeds, roots or rhizomes are likewise doubled in size and the chance that the plant or seed is viable and can grow into a healthy sprout is twice as high. Any plants grown from the enlarged seeds are regular size and do not inherit the enlarged stature of the seed. Additionally, once per day as an action equivalent to attacking, the wielder can point the wand at a plant creature within 30 feet and the target’s size doubles in all dimensions, and its weight is multiplied by eight. This growth increases its size by one category. If there isn’t enough room for the target to double its size, the creature attains the maximum possible size in the space available. The target also has advantage on Strength checks and Strength saving throws. The plant creature’s natural weapons also grow to match its new size and while enlarged, whenever the target makes a successful melee attack it deals an additional dagger’s worth of damage (1d4). All of these changes last for one minute before the target reverts back to its normal size and strength.

Bloodspot Dice: A pair of six sided bone dice, each covered in a mixture of pips, with exactly 6d6 of them colored a deep black while the rest are a dark red. PC’s versed in the occult will recognize the dice as those created by a cadre of vampires who sublimate their desire for blood into a gambling addiction. While not a flawless strategy, it allows the vampires an outlet that leaves the mortals they interact with to walk away alive, though with empty purses. Whenever the possessor of the dice makes a roll with them, he may think of the command word (Blood) and the dice will show whatever result the user wishes. Each time this happens, one of the 42 pips will turn dark red. Once all of them are colored red, the special power of the dice no longer functions and they have to be bathed in the fresh blood of dying humanoid whose throat has been slit open, which turns all the pips black again. The dice are protected by minor shielding wards and do not give off a magical aura nor do they register as a magical object unless the creature attempting to detect magic is physically touching the dice.

Wand of the Foul Messenger: A fleshy foot-long wand with a rotten and putrescent appearance, seeming to have been crafted from solid corruption and foulness. Each time the wand is used, it corrupts a small portion of the wielder’s own body to fuel the vile magic which damages his body, causing the equivalent of two daggers worth of unpreventable damage (2d4). When activated as an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell, the wielder vomits a stream of blue and green flies that circles about him and forms into a swarm that vaguely resembles a toad-like head. The wielder must concentrate on a specific location which he must have visited, and a recipient who matches a general description, such as “a man or woman dressed in the uniform of the town guard” or “a red-haired dwarf wearing a pointed hat.”. The wielder then passes a message to the swarm, up to 25 words in length. The swarm then flies off to deliver the message to the intended recipient at about two miles per hour, with a maximum range of 50 miles in a single direction. If the swarm finds the creature the wielder describes, it delivers the message in a hoarse voice that sounds of retching. When the hundreds of flies have completed their task, they burrow into the recipient’s flesh, dealing the equivalent of a dagger of piercing damage (1d4) and vanish once inside. The swarm speaks only to a creature matching the description the wielder gave and should it fail to find a suitable target within 24 hours of being given the message, the swarm collapses and dies. The wand can be activated once per minute desired but the toll on the wielder’s and receiver’s bodies is considerable.

Bonebane Ring: A ring formed from two strands of coiled platinum and brass thread. Stylized lettering etched into the platinum thread is the phrase “I am Daganel, destroyer of the walking bone, harbinger of unlife.”. The markings on the brass thread forms a scene of a holy deity healing his flock. Twice per day as an action equivalent to attacking, the wielder can repeat the phrase on the ring and open up his awareness to necromantic forces. Until the end of the wielder’s turn he knows the location of any undead within 60 feet and he can choose one of those undead to strike with holy power, dealing a greatsword’s worth of radiant damage (2d6). When the ring is activated, if the wielder has ever personally raised, summoned or controlled an undead creature, he suffers a greatsword’s worth of radiant damage (2d6) and there is no other effect.

Wand of the Hedge Mage: A humble, rustic simple wand made of easily sourced materials but crafted with great care and attention to detail. Obviously created by a backwoods mystic, hedge wizard, cunning woman or other self taught mage who focuses on small practical magic meant for everyday use. The implement is designed for empowering weak magic into a more effective form and stronger incantations run the risk of overloading the arcane matrices. The implement is infused with a Random Metamagic Power allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the wand as an action equivalent to drawing a weapon. Until the start of the wielder’s next turn, if he casts a cantrip or level 0 spell, the spell is augmented with the Metamagic power that the focus is attuned to. If the wand is used to augment a spell that is not a cantrip or level 0 spell, the player rolls 1d10 and on a 1, the implement is overtaxed causing it to explode dealing four dagger’s worth of force damage (4d4) to the caster and destroying the wand. A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus crumbles into ashes and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Bracers of Infinite Blades: A pair of bracers made of luxurious dark leather, with finishes and fancy designs of silver. Each bracer displays the crest of a dagger piercing the symbol of infinity. As an action equal to drawing a weapon, the bearer can conjure one or two spectral daggers in his free hands. The weapons have a tangible heft and are perfectly smooth like they’re made of smoky glass. The daggers are formed of pure magical essence and are considered magical weapons for the purposes of overcoming resistances, damage reduction and other defenses, but offers no special bonuses to accuracy or damage. The physicality of the blades is fleeting and any daggers summoned from the bracers disappear at the start of the wielder’s next turn.

Caustic Staff: A six-foot staff made of a single piece of incredibly pitted and rusted iron. At one time the staff may have been well made, covered in arcane runes or etched with intricate designs, however nothing but varying shades of rust currently decorates the implement. The metal is rough and sharp to the touch, leaving the wielder’s hands rust stained and blemished as if exposed to a weak acid. Sizable pieces of rust occasionally flake off of the staff, disintegrating when they hit the ground but the arcane implement never seems to reduce in size or weight no matter how much is lost. The implement is infused with a Random Metamagic Power that allows the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the staff while casting a spell that deals only acid damage to augment the spell with the Metamagic power that the implement is attuned to. The staff uses the wielder’s own power to fuel this effect and he chooses to either burn his supernatural energy which causes the spell to use an additional spell slot of the same level or higher (Minimum level 1) or drain his physical health suffering a dagger’s worth of unpreventable hit point damage (1d4) per level of the spell (Minimum 1d4). A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus dissolves into countless fragments and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Cindershard: A relatively rare type of crystal that shines with a warm pink light, providing constant illumination equivalent to that of a candle. The Cindershard crystal is roughly the same size and weight as a dagger and can be used as one in desperate times.

Conjurer’s Wand: A thin wand crafted out of pressed wax, and glowing runes of all sorts are carved along its length. The arcane implement bears traces of conjuration magic and is infused with a Random Metamagic Power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the wand twice per day as an action equivalent to drawing a weapon. Until the start of the wielder’s next turn, if he casts a spell from the school of Conjuration, the spell is augmented with the Metamagic power that the focus is attuned to. A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus crumbles into ashes and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Cumulus Horn: A hunting horn made of pearly-white metal, streaked with veins of cyan crystal. Although it does make noise for anyone who blows into it, the horn’s power can only be activated by a bearer who is proficient in wind or brass instruments or the Perform skill. Twice per day as an action equivalent to attacking, the bearer can blow a specific tune on the horn and cause a 20-foot-radius sphere of opaque fog to form out of thin air, centered on a point he can see within 100 feet. The sphere spreads around corners, and its area is heavily obscured. The fog lasts for one minute or until a wind of moderate or greater speed (at least 10 miles per hour) disperses it.

Demon Scales: A rough hide bag containing 1d4+3 tough demon scales, forcibly taken from a fiend. Each scale is uncomfortably warm producing a tingly heat that imparts the desire to kill and destroy. The scales contain traces of demonic power and a mage can channel their magic through them, burning them out but empowering the spell. Whenever the wielder casts a spell that deals damage, the wielder can choose one creature targeted by the spell and instead of rolling the dice, the spell deals the maximum result possible. This process destroys one scale.

Diviner’s Wand: A thin, foot-long, crook woven from threads of pure platinum. A silver ball caps the base of the wand. The arcane implement bears traces of divination magic and is infused with a Random Metamagic Power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the wand twice per day as an action equivalent to drawing a weapon. Until the start of the wielder’s next turn, if he casts a spell from the school of Divination, the spell is augmented with the Metamagic power that the focus is attuned to. A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus crumbles into ashes and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Dowsing Rod: A one foot long, “Y” shaped hazel wood wand of a style widely used by hedge mages, psychics and frauds in order to locate any number of deposits of natural resources or to scam unwitting or desperate villagers. This rod in particular actually contains a modicum of true divination magic and the wielder is imparted with the direction of the nearest source of potable groundwater or fresh water that’s at least five gallon in size and within ten feet of the surface.

Dragon’s Blood: A ruby bottle with a brush cap that contains 1d6+3 ounces of enchanted dragon’s blood. If one ounce of blood is applied to a creature’s natural weapons (Beak, claws, fangs, fists, horns, etc.) attacks made with those extremities are treated as +1 weapons and the damage die is increased by one step (Like a d6 to d8). It takes one minute to apply the blood to a willing creature and the effects last for 8 hours before wearing off.

Draught, Holy: A leather belt pouch containing 1d4+2 vials of Holy Draught. A mixture of rare incense, blessed oil and specially prepared holy water, the holy draught serves as a staple for those who battle pure evil. It tastes sweet, almost cloyingly so. If consumed, the drinker gains advantage on all saving throws made against the spells and abilities of creatures who would be injured by holy water. The sacred elixir infuses the drinker’s blood and any creature who bites the drinker or consumes his blood is treated as if they were doused with a vial of holy water. These effects last for one hour.

Enchanter’s Wand: A delicate wand consisting of a single slender shard of crystal. Various shimmers of colors and lights trickle along its length. The arcane implement bears traces of enchantment magic and is infused with a Random Metamagic Power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the wand twice per day as an action equivalent to drawing a weapon. Until the start of the wielder’s next turn, if he casts a spell from the school of Enchantment, the spell is augmented with the Metamagic power that the focus is attuned to. A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus crumbles into ashes and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Feystep Potion: A tiny carafe of white porcelain encapsulating a murky blue liquid that froths when uncorked and releases a silvery fog. Taste-wise, it’s bitter and sour and is usually drunk as quickly as possible. If consumed, the drinker feels lighter and a tingling feeling in their legs and feet that encourages him to skip and jump. If consumed, the drinker gains the ability to step through the Feywild and appear somewhere else. Once on each of the drinker’s turns for the next minute, instead of moving he can teleport to an empty location he can see that is within half of his total movement speed.

Fists of the North Star: A pair of white linen handwraps with enough material to wind around the bearer’s hands and forearms. It takes five minutes to properly don and cinch the wraps or half that time if the bearer has another person to help and they cannot be covered by thick material and won’t function correctly if the bearer is wearing medium or heavy armor. The bear can feel the confidence and training of a true skill of a martial arts master resting at his fingertips. Once per day the bearer can activate the object’s power by uttering the command phrase “You are already dead”, causing the wielder’s fist to burst into flame. While the fire is harmless to the wielder and his equipment, it is deadly to his enemies and the wielder’s unarmed strikes using his fists are treated as +1 weapons and on a successful unarmed strike, the wielder deals additional damage equivalent to a dagger (1d4). All damage dealt by these flaming punches is considered fire damage rather than bludgeoning. The fiery effect lasts up to one minute but the wielder can end it early with a thought.

Forget Me Now: A sealed glass vial filled with a transparent blue liquid swirling with small yellow particles that has a distinct floral odor. If consumed, the drinker immediately loses all memory of the previous 2d6 hours.

Gambler’s Eight: An eight-sided die, carved from tourmaline, painted with dwarven numerals. Whenever the bearer rolls an 8 for a skill check, attack roll or saving throw, he feels a surge of confidence as if his back luck has suddenly changed. After rolling an 8, the next time that the bearer fails a skill check, attack roll or saving throw, he must roll 1d8 and add it to the final result, possibly changing the failure to a success. The fortune twisting power of the gemstone die can only be activated once per hour.

Grim: A scratched, battered grey iron helmet that covers the full face with a rusted visor and carries a lifetime of its previous owners’ miseries within it. Donning the helmet, the bearer feels a passing sense of profound despair, which passes as the visor settles over the face. Twice per day as an action equivalent to drawing a weapon, he can choose to call on the helm’s direful power. The wielder can then choose a creature he can see within 50 feet and who can see him and a whirlwind of grim recollections spill forth into both their minds tearing through their psyche until one is brought to their knees by a storm of despair and mortal dread. Both the bearer and the target roll opposing wisdom saving throws and the creature with the lower result becomes frightened of the winner until the end of the wielder’s next turn. If the results are a tie, both become frightened of each other until the end of the wielder’s next turn.

Havoc Harp: A magnificent miniature harp made of an unusual soft wood and marbled with vivid greens, oranges and blues that buzzes with latent magical energy. Each of its 12 strings is a different vibrant color and they sporadically sound out their tones and switch places with each other on the instrument. Once per day as an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell, a bearer proficient with stringed instruments or the perform skill can strum all the strings at once, causing a cacophony of tones audible out to 100 feet. All creatures of medium or large size within 60 feet of the harp disappear and instantly reappear, all having changed places with each other.

Helping Hand’s: A complete set of masterwork Random Artisan Tools with two pairs of most of the implements as if it is meant to be used by a master and his apprentice. When a craftsman proficient in the tools takes them in the hand, he can feel a presence on the edge of his mind and see a faint humanoid outline standing next to him. Although initially surprising, the barely visible being is nothing but helpful, existing to serve as the crafter’s assistant as best it can. At first the bearer must command the servant verbally but as time goes by being becomes more familiar with the bearer’s routines and desires and is able to understand grunts and gestures and finally after some weeks together never needs any instruction, working in perfectly synchronicity with the bearer as if it was a natural extension of his body. The being is just as proficient and skilled as the crafter and can hold and manipulate tools and perform tasks essentially functioning as a second pair of hands, dramatically raising productivity. The bearer must be actively working and focusing on the tools for the servant to function and the bearer is always treated as if he was being helped by another creature as skilled as he is. Whenever the bearer makes a skill or crafting check related to the artisan’s tools that would benefit from having a second person helping to complete the task, he makes the roll with advantage. With two people working on a project the work progresses much faster and whenever the bearer uses the tools to craft or alter an item or object, he can do it in half the usual time. The helper can also work independently of the bearer (Should the crafter lack hands or be allergic to the materials for example) but this requires the bearer to be within ten feet and be completely focused on the task.

Insect Picks: A set of lockpicks with thin grooves running across their surface. Once per day with an action equivalent to attacking, the bearer can utter the command word and a series of instructions, which causes the picks to unfold a series of spindly metal legs and skitter around in a jerky manner. The lockpicks can be ordered to move up to 30 feet away from the bearer and unlock any standard size lock, such as a door, chest or set of shackles. The bearer must be able to see the lock at all times and the lockpicks use the bearer’s skill modifiers on the dice roll to unlock the object. If the lockpicks move more than 30 feet away from the bearer they become confused and start to wander at random until retrieved.

Lantern Helmet: A hard mining helmet is fashioned with a 3-inch cylinder centered just above the brow. A permanent light spell is cast inside the cylinder, emitting a 30-foot cone of white light while the cylinder cap is removed. The bearer can use an action equivalent to drawing a weapon to adjust the piece of metal covering the cylinder, reducing the size of the cone down to ten or five feet or turning it off completely.

Magician’s Pendulum: A small, hollow, hinged, metal ball connected to a silver chain. By putting any kind of pure metal inside the ball, the pendulum will lead the user to the nearest natural deposit of that material within one mile. If none is in the area, the swing erratically.

Metamagic Staff: A six-foot long, copper tipped rod composed of pale multicolored glass laced with flecks of iron. The esoteric tool contains mystic sigils and obscure glyphs that allows for reliable warping and twisting of the wielder’s magical arts. When used, the staff whispers in some ancient, arcane tongue; a nether murmur that’s audible even to non-spellcasters. The implement is infused with a Random Metamagic Power allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells. The wielder can use the staff as a focus while casting a spell to augment the spell with the Metamagic power that the implement is attuned to. The staff uses the wielder’s own power to fuel this effect and he chooses to either burn his supernatural energy which causes the spell to use an additional spell slot of the same level or higher (Minimum level 1) or drain his physical health suffering a dagger’s worth of unpreventable hit point damage (1d4) per level of the spell (Minimum 1d4).

Mobile Marbles: A lovingly crocheted drawstring bag that periodically twitches and jerks, as though it holds something alive. Inside resides dozens of beautiful glass marbles imbued with a dash of childish whimsy and a pinch of fey sorcery. The Mobile Marbles function just like a bag of ball bearings except that they are unbreakable and constantly moving within their area, excitedly bumping into each other and trying to land underneath the feet of everyone passing through. Creatures passing through the area the marbles are in, suffer disadvantage on their save to resist slipping on them and falling prone. As an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell, the bearer can whisper the command word “Playtime” (Found on the bag) to cause the marbles to jump out of the pouch and cover up to four different five foot squares (Which can have creatures already in them) of the bearer’s choice within 20 feet. A bearer who is within 20 feet of the spilled marbles can utter the phrase “Playtime’s Over” to cause them to all fling themselves back into the bag so they can be used elsewhere. Retrieving the Marbles this way takes an action equivalent to drawing a weapon.

Monster Killer’s Folio: A collection of gruesome anatomical diagrams, bound in leather that shifts slightly under the reader’s fingertips. The book’s many illustrations provide information about how to best injure a variety of monstrous creatures, and the book’s pages’ glow, allowing it to be read in the dark. The folio’s insight provides advantage on any knowledge checks made to recall any habits, combat tactics, special powers, vulnerabilities, resistances or defenses of monstrous creatures (See Note), if it is read for ten minutes as part of the check. The folio has a tendency to quickly open to the appropriate page when consulted, as though eager to provide information that will lead to violence. —Note: Monstrous creatures can include aberrations, monstrosities, elementals, magical beasts, celestials, undead, demons and fiends.

Necklace of Readiness: A necklace composed of a light chain made of tempered glass encasing a light brown liquid within each link. It seems to vibrate with energy around the bearer’s neck and when used, the bearer erupts into action, reacting as fast as physically possible for the length of a small skirmish before his muscles give out. Knowledgeable PC’s are aware that these necklaces were originally designed for gladiators and fencers so they explode into violence as quickly as possible for the audience’s benefit. Whenever the bearer rolls initiative he can choose to activate the necklace’s power to add +5 to his initiative result. This can be done after the initial roll is made but before the initiative order is declared. One minute after activating the necklace, the bearer becomes exhausted as if he spent a night without sleeping.

Necromancer’s Wand: A gruesome creation crafted out of the spine of some unfortunate, small humanoid and bears its shrunken skull at its head. The arcane implement bears traces of necromantic magic and is infused with a Random Metamagic Power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the wand twice per day as an action equivalent to drawing a weapon. Until the start of the wielder’s next turn, if he casts a spell from the school of Necromancy, the spell is augmented with the Metamagic power that the focus is attuned to. A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus crumbles into ashes and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Orb of Punctuation: A golden orb etched with linear arcane symbols hovers near its attuned owner’s shoulder. To use the sphere, the bearer must attune to it by performing a complex arcane ritual, the instructions of which are detailed on the orb itself and any PC proficient in Knowledge Arcana is able to carry out this task without issue. Should the bearer perform a powerful evocation spell, the orb absorbs traces of magic created by the invocation and distills them into an arcane missile he can direct at an enemy. Whenever the bearer casts an evocation spell, he can choose a creature he can see within 60 feet and the orb launches a glowing dart at them, which strikes without fail, dealing a dagger’s force of force damage plus one per level of the spell (1d4+1 per spell level).

Wand of Useful Things: A wand cobbled together from a myriad of different woods, metals, ceramics and types of stone all encased in a clear glass shell. As an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell, the wielder can conjure an inanimate object in his hand or on the ground in an unoccupied space that he can see within 10 feet. This object can be no larger than 3 feet on a side and weigh no more than 10 pounds, and its form must be that of a non magical object that the wielder has seen. The object is visibly magical and glows dimly. The object disappears after 1 hour, if it takes or deals any damage or if the wand is activated again.

Phantom Saddle: A finely worked riding saddle trimmed with rare ermine furs that comes complete with a bit, bridle and saddlebags. The words of a long but simple summoning ritual are stitched into the side of the saddle, written phonetically in the common tongue making it incredibly straightforward to read. Knowledge’s PC’s have heard rumors that these wondrous items were first commissioned for a pompous and fastidious Altherian noble who found the smell of horses offensive and the thought of tending to such a beast beneath his station. Any bearer capable of reading can hold the saddle and utter the incantation written on the saddle. Over the course of one minute as the bearer completes the ritual, a large, quasi-real, horselike creature forms under the saddle, summoned from the astral plane. The phantom steed has a black head and body, grey mane and tail, and smoke-colored, insubstantial hooves that make no sound. The mount obeys the verbal instructions of whoever summoned it and can ride over sandy, muddy, or even swampy ground without difficulty or decrease in speed. The steed can be summoned for a maximum of 8 hours per day, disappearing suddenly the moment that time is up. These hours do not need to be consecutive, but must be spent in 1-hour increments. The steed uses the statistics for a riding horse with the expedition that it cannot attack and does not naturally regain hit points. If the mount ever drops to zero hit points, the creature disappears in a puff of smoke and the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the saddle’s connection to the astral plane is permanently broken and the phantom steed can never be summoned again. Any bearer capable of reading can utter the summoning ritual backwards over the course of a minute which will dismiss the steed early without risk.

Sonorous Staff: A six foot, two-pronged staff made of steel that resembles a grossly oversized tuning fork or a terribly designed pitchfork. The metal constantly hums and vibrates, even in otherwise quiet areas. The staff resonates in tune with the voice of the creature holding it, changing its pitch to match its wielder. The implement works as a mundane tuning fork in addition to its magical properties. When the staff is activated, the constant vibrating hum becomes exponentially louder as the prongs reverberate violently, nearly shaking out of the wielder’s grasp. The implement is infused with a Random Metamagic Power that allows the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the staff while casting a spell that deals only thunder damage to augment the spell with the Metamagic power that the implement is attuned to. The staff uses the wielder’s own power to fuel this effect and he chooses to either burn his supernatural energy which causes the spell to use an additional spell slot of the same level or higher (Minimum level 1) or drain his physical health suffering a dagger’s worth of unpreventable hit point damage (1d4) per level of the spell (Minimum 1d4). A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus vibrates until it shatters into pieces and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Poison of Healing A leather bandolier holding 2d4+1 identical sealed glass vials, all containing a fluid that cycles through colors, changing from a deep, radiant red, to a dark inky black. The concoction is an alchemical blend of preserved hydra blood and standard healing potion ingredients. This mixture creates a potion that is initially rejected by the body causing serious harm as the hydra blood fights against the drinker’s tissues before being assimilated by his system which causes his body to supernaturally regenerate, nearly as well as a hydra can. If consumed, the drinker immediately suffers poison damage equivalent to four daggers (4d4). After 1d10 minutes the drinker is healed for twice the amount of poison damage that he suffered. If the drinker is missing small body parts (No larger than a finger, tongue or ear), he will regrow one such missing part at random over the course of the 1d10 minutes.

Poison of Person Slaying: A sealed glass vial containing a clear, tasteless fluid, that through a combination of generations of selective botanical breeding with toxic herbs and years of alchemical research in the field of distilling, has been tailor made to kill Random Humanoid Race (Referred to as X) and nothing else. An X who consumes the liquid immediately suffers the equivalent of five shortsword’s worth of poison damage (5d6) and is considered poisoned for one hour (Suffering disadvantage on attack rolls and skill checks). There is no save to resist either effect. As an action equivalent to attacking, the bearer can coat one piercing or slashing weapon with the poison which causes the same type of injury as consuming it. Once applied to a weapon, the poison remains potent until delivered through a wound, washed off or for ten minutes before drying and becoming inert. Although sorcery was used in the manufacture of the poison, the liquid itself does not register as a magical for the purposes of detection spells or abilities. Furthermore, the poison is so precisely made to kill X that it does not even register as a poison when viewed by spells that detect poison unless the caster himself is X. A bearer who is proficient in a poisoner’s toolkit can mix the liquid with stabilizing reagents so that the adverse effects will be delayed once it’s consumed or introduced to the victim’s bloodstream. A proficient bearer can spend one hour and ten gold pieces of materials in order to rig the poison so that its toxic effect is delayed from one minute to up to eight hours once it’s introduced to the victim’s system. The bearer makes the choice of the time delay when the poison is altered.

Poison of the Star-Crossed Lover: A sealed glass vial containing two doses worth of a black liquid that smells heavily of hops. If consumed, the drinker enters a deep sleep that is indistinguishable from death for 2d6 hours. During this time the drinker appears dead to all outward inspection and to spells used to determine the drinker’s status. The drinker can be awoken early from this state by being kissed by a loved one.

Potion of Shadow Form: A sealed glass flask containing a greyish liquid with black flecks. If consumed, the drinker’s body is subsumed by his shadow. In light he appears as an unattached shadow and in dim light or darkness he vanishes completely unless viewed with detect magic, truesight or similar magic. The drinker can move his normal speed on any solid or liquid surface, such as walls, ceilings, lakes, or even up the face of a waterfall. However he cannot fit inside or through a space smaller than he could normally squeeze into. The drinker only takes half-damage from all types except for psychic damage while in this form. Furthermore he cannot speak, cast spells, interact with physical objects or make attacks. All of these effects last for one hour and the drinker can end the effect early as an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell by concentrating on being solid again. Either way when the drinker returns to his physical form, he becomes incredibly disoriented and falls prone and is completely incapacitated until the end of his next turn.

Radiant Wand: A foot-long wand made of a single large angel feather. The barbs constantly rustle and sway as if blown by a stiff breeze. No matter its circumstances, the feather remains absolutely pristine, free of blood, gore, stains, and bent barbs, remaining perfect and pure. A creature holding the wand is imparted with a strong sense of good and evil and the desire to see justice done and the corruption of the world purged away. The implement is infused with a Random Metamagic Power allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the wand twice per day as an action equivalent to drawing a weapon, causing the wand to glow with a warm light equivalent to a candle for a few moments and chime a single pure, piercing note. Until the start of the wielder’s next turn, if he casts a spell that deals only radiant damage, the spell is augmented with the Metamagic power that the focus is attuned to. A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus evaporates into motes of light and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Ring of Nine Lives: A ring made of the polished bone of a cat that was once a witch’s familiar. The feline was exceedingly lucky in life and escaped death many times before the inevitable end. The bearer gains a measure of that extraordinarily good fortune. When found, the ring has 1d6+3 charges. Whenever the bearer’s hit points would be reduced to 0 but not killed outright, the ring automatically expends a charge and the bearer is reduced to 1 hit point instead. Once all of the charges are expended, the ring breaks. If the bearer has another power or ability that is functionally similar to this already, then this ring is prioritized after that ability.

Ring of the Vanquished Soul: A black band adorned with a small skull shaped ruby. When the bearer kills a humanoid creature, a small piece of its soul is absorbed into the ring and a flickering light dances within its skull gem. When the jewel glows in this way, if it’s placed next to the ear, a muted mournful moan can be heard issuing from the ring. The bearer can burn this fragment of soulstuff, consuming its power utterly to change his own fate. Whenever the bearer makes an attack roll, ability check, or saving throw he may choose to extinguish the sliver of spirit within the ring to roll an additional d20. The wielder must use this ability after the original roll is made, but before the outcome is revealed, and can take either result. The ring can only hold a single piece of soul at a time.

Ruthless Wand: A foot-long wand that looks more like an undersized club than a magical conduit. The truncheon-like implement is dented with repeated blows and sports a handful of small nails that have been driven through the battered oak, as well as a number of small razors wedged into the end. A creature holding the wand feels a heady sense of heightened physical prowess and a desire to fight. The implement is infused with a Random Metamagic Power that allows the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the wand twice per day as an action equivalent to drawing a weapon, causing the wielder to feel an intense surge of adrenaline as their spell surges through them filling them with primal energy. Until the start of the wielder’s next turn, if he casts a spell that deals only physical damage (Bludgeoning, piercing or slashing), the spell is augmented with the Metamagic power that the focus is attuned to. A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus crumbles into ashes and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Wand of Simple Weapons: A white wand made from the horn of a unicorn, laced with bone from an ox. As an action equivalent to drawing a weapon, the wielder can instantly transmute the implement into any one-handed melee weapon that he is proficient with. The weapon appears to be made of pristine shimmering horn and is considered magical for the purposes of overcoming resistances, damage reduction and other defenses. The weapon transmutes back into a wand whenever it leaves the wielder’s grasp.

Savage Staff: A six-foot staff that looks more like an oversized club than a magical conduit. The truncheon-like implement is dented with repeated blows and sports a dozen sharp nails that have been driven through the battered oak, as well as a number of razors wedged along its length. A creature holding the implement feels a heady sense of heightened physical prowess and a desire to fight. When the staff is activated, the wielder feels an intense surge of adrenaline as their spell surges through them filling them with primal energy. The implement is infused with a Random Metamagic Power that allows the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the staff while casting a spell that deals only physical damage (Bludgeoning, piercing or slashing), to augment the spell with the Metamagic power that the implement is attuned to. The staff uses the wielder’s own power to fuel this effect and he chooses to either burn his supernatural energy which causes the spell to use an additional spell slot of the same level or higher (Minimum level 1) or drain his physical health suffering a dagger’s worth of unpreventable hit point damage (1d4) per level of the spell (Minimum 1d4). A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus crumbles into ashes and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Scentless Brooch: A small green brooch has been molded in the shape of a pine tree. The object completely eliminates all traces of the bearer’s scent including everything wafting from the equipment he’s carrying. The bearer is completely undetectable by any skill checks (Such as perception or tracking) that rely on smell and is effectively invisible to creatures who solely rely on smell to perceive in combat.

Screaming Staff: A six-foot, two-pronged staff made of steel that resembles a grossly oversized tuning fork or a terribly designed pitchfork. The metal constantly hums and vibrates, even in otherwise quiet areas. The staff resonates in tune with the voice of the creature holding it, changing its pitch to match its wielder. The implement works as a mundane tuning fork in addition to its magical properties. When the staff is activated, the constant vibrating hum becomes exponentially louder as the prongs reverberate violently, nearly shaking out of the wielder’s grasp. The implement is infused with metamagic power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to translate aspects of certain spells into more desirable results. Twice per day when the wielder casts a spell that deals damage, he can filter the magic through the staff to convert 100% of that damage to thunder.

Shroud of Safe Burial: A long length of wool, embroidered with holy symbols of Gods of Peace and Death. A deceased body that is wrapped in the shroud is protected from rot and decay and cannot become undead. If the shroud is removed from the corpse, it continues to rot as normal and is no longer protected from necromancy. The shroud can be reused as many times as desired but can only envelop one human sized creature at a time.

Sinful Staff: A six-foot staff made of a single twisted demon’s horn. The black implement is disturbingly warm to the touch and intermittently whispers promises of dark power, destruction and death in the language of demons. The horn itself is hideous and heavily damaged, sporting a multitude of scratches, dents, chips, rents and other patterns of wear. A creature holding the staff is instilled with the certainty that everything in life or death is theirs to command if they can shrug off their ethical and moral compunctions and reach out to take what they want, whenever they want it. When activated, the horn draws in light and warmth from the area around it for a few moments as if attempting to corrupt the very nature of the world. The implement is infused with a Random Metamagic Power that allows the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the staff while casting a spell that deals only necrotic damage to augment the spell with the Metamagic power that the implement is attuned to. The staff uses the wielder’s own power to fuel this effect and he chooses to either burn his supernatural energy which causes the spell to use an additional spell slot of the same level or higher (Minimum level 1) or drain his physical health suffering a dagger’s worth of unpreventable hit point damage (1d4) per level of the spell (Minimum 1d4). A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus mutates into a swarm of flies and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Soulfire Staff: A six-foot staff that seems to have been made from a still burning piece of white oak that was never put out. Embers of pale blue and white fire still crackle and burn in the wood, and the air around the staff is blurred with a constant heat mirage. Although the object does feel warm to the touch, the embers never ignite anything or consume the wand. A creature holding the staff is instilled with the feeling that the evils of the world should be cleansed with holy fire and that they now have the power to do so. When activated, the embers flare as bright as a torch with pure white light for a brief moment as the wielder is filled with a strong sense of absolute righteousness. The implement is infused with metamagic power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to translate aspects of certain spells into more desirable results. Twice per day when the wielder casts a spell that deals fire damage, he can filter the magic through the staff to convert 50% or 100% of it to radiant damage.

Staff of Chaos: A heavy leaden rod six feet long, decorated in strange and twisting runes. Raw chaos flows and writhes along its gnarled length, running up and down the stave as tongues of crackling rainbow fire. Objects directly touching the implement seem to be in a constant flux of aesthetic minor changes in color, texture and size, never quite remaining themselves until they snap back to their original form upon ceasing contact with the staff. The implement is infused with metamagic power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to translate aspects of certain spells into potentially more desirable results. When activated, the wielder can feel their spell being warped by chaotic power, mutating it into a bastardized version of itself. Twice per day when the wielder casts a spell that deals damage, he can filter the magic through the staff as part of the casting. The player then rolls 1d10 (See Note) and 100% of the spell’s damage is converted from its original type to the result of the roll, rerolling if the new result is the same as the original. —Note: Roll results on 1d10 are; 1 = Poison, 2 = Fire, 3 = Cold, 4 = Acid, 5 = Lighting, 6 = Thunder, 7 = Force, 8 = Psychic, 9 = Necrotic, 10 = Radiant.

Staff of Healing: A six-foot laurel staff with two entwined snakes carved along its length and capped with a pair of brass wings. A creature holding it feels an enhanced sense of empathy towards other thinking creatures and is imparted with an ethical obligation to do no harm while the object is held. These ideas fade instantly when the implement is released. When the staff is activated, the wielder is filled with the deeply satisfying knowledge that they have helped save a life and kept the grim scythe of Death at bay. The implement is infused with a Random Metamagic Power that allows the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can use the staff as a focus while casting a spell that heals or restores hit points to augment the spell with the Metamagic power that the implement is attuned to. The staff uses the wielder’s own power to fuel this effect and he chooses to either burn his supernatural energy which causes the spell to use an additional spell slot of the same level or higher (Minimum level 1) or drain his physical health suffering a dagger’s worth of unpreventable hit point damage (1d4) per level of the spell (Minimum 1d4). A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus crumbles into ashes and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one. —Note: Substitute the word “healing” or “hit points” for any Metamagic option that reads “damage” or “damage die”. The DM should reroll any Metamagic option that would not be beneficial to apply to healing spells, like those that affect saving throws.

Staff of Potential: A six-foot staff consisting of a narrow cylinder of magically preserved blood, held in place by a larger tube of pure arcane force that completely encapsulates it. The magical force is firm and stronger than steel but completely invisible, effectively creating an untouchable, free floating tube of liquid blood. When left unattended or held by a mundane creature, the blood sloshes around against the interior of the staff but is otherwise dormant. When held by a mage or creature capable of casting magic spells, the blood boils in its confined space and the wielder can feel the magic power contained within. Knowledgeable PC’s will realize that the blood contained inside the staff is that of the mage who created it. The implement is infused with metamagic power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to translate aspects of certain spells into more desirable results. Twice per day when the wielder casts a spell that deals damage, he can filter the magic through the staff to convert 100% of that damage to force.

Staff of Psyche: A six-foot staff made of straightened brain tissue whose ridges are braided into shape. A knowledgeable PC will be able to determine that the grey matter comes from a number of different creatures who all had psionic, telekinetic or telepathic abilities. The staff feels damp as squishy beneath the wielder’s grip as if the tissue was still fresh. Wielders who hold the staff for long periods of time, or who activate its power, experience fleeting mental flashbacks of lives they never lived, as the memories locked away in the preserved brains leak into the user. The implement is infused with a Random Metamagic Power that allows the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the staff while casting a spell that deals only psychic damage to augment the spell with the Metamagic power that the implement is attuned to. The staff uses the wielder’s own power to fuel this effect and he chooses to either burn his supernatural energy which causes the spell to use an additional spell slot of the same level or higher (Minimum level 1) or drain his physical health suffering a dagger’s worth of unpreventable hit point damage (1d4) per level of the spell (Minimum 1d4). A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus rots into a putrid mess and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Staff of Purification: A six-foot staff made of a single enormous angel feather. The barbs constantly rustle and sway as if blown by a stiff breeze. No matter its circumstances, the staff remains absolutely pristine, free of bent barbs, stains, blood and gore, remaining perfect and pure. A creature holding the staff is imparted with a strong sense of good and evil and the desire to see justice done and the corruption of the world purged away. When activated, the feather glows with a warm light equivalent to a torch for a few moments and chimes a single pure, piercing note. The implement is infused with metamagic power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to translate aspects of certain spells into more desirable results. Twice per day when the wielder casts a spell that deals damage, he can filter the magic through the staff to convert 100% of that damage to radiant.

Staff of Sensation: A six-foot staff made of the heavily braided, preserved nerves of a number of humanoids. The implement feels damp as squishy beneath the wielder’s grip as if the tissue was still fresh. A creature holding the staff experiences a constantly alternating set of warm, soft pleasurable tingling feelings and cold, sharp piercing pains, wherever it makes skin contact. The corded neural tissue allows the caster spells to reach deeper into the victim’s mind, implanting the enchantments within the depths of their subconscious. Twice per day, the wielder can use the staff as a focus while casting a spell that imparts the charmed or frightened condition in the target to double the spell’s duration. This cannot be combined with other objects, powers or abilities that extend the duration of a spell.

Staff of Storms: A six-foot staff consisting of a hollow tube of crystallized sand. Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize the material as fulgurite, which is formed when lighting strikes loose sand, fusing the individual grains together into a solid object. The glassy implement is surprisingly firm and durable despite its fragile appearance. Small bolts of lightning flicker intermittently within the opaque tube. When activated, the staff’s interior storms and flashes with energy that audibly crackles and sparks. The implement is infused with metamagic power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to translate aspects of certain spells into more desirable results. Twice per day when the wielder casts a spell that deals damage, he can filter the magic through the staff to convert 100% of that damage to lighting.

Staff of the Abjurer: A long, sturdy, straight staff made of solid iron and bears heavy iron spheres on both ends. The arcane implement bears traces of abjuration magic and is infused with a Random Metamagic Power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the staff while casting a spell from the school of Abjuration to augment the spell with the Metamagic power that the implement is attuned to. The staff uses the wielder’s own power to fuel this effect and he chooses to either burn his supernatural energy which causes the spell to use an additional spell slot of the same level or higher (Minimum level 1) or drain his physical health suffering a dagger’s worth of unpreventable hit point damage (1d4) per level of the spell (Minimum 1d4). A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus crumbles into ashes and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Staff of the Evoker: A sturdy staff crafted from a solid branch of darkwood. Simple silver bands adorn both ends of the staff. The arcane implement bears traces of evocation magic and is infused with a Random Metamagic Power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the staff while casting a spell from the school of Evocation to augment the spell with the Metamagic power that the implement is attuned to. The staff uses the wielder’s own power to fuel this effect and he chooses to either burn his supernatural energy which causes the spell to use an additional spell slot of the same level or higher (Minimum level 1) or drain his physical health suffering a dagger’s worth of unpreventable hit point damage (1d4) per level of the spell (Minimum 1d4). A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus crumbles into ashes and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Staff of the Illusionist: A slender staff crafted out of an invisible material that is probably mithral though it’s hard to determine. The arcane implement bears traces of illusory magic and is infused with a Random Metamagic Power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the staff while casting a spell from the school of Illusion to augment the spell with the Metamagic power that the implement is attuned to. The staff uses the wielder’s own power to fuel this effect and he chooses to either burn his supernatural energy which causes the spell to use an additional spell slot of the same level or higher (Minimum level 1) or drain his physical health suffering a dagger’s worth of unpreventable hit point damage (1d4) per level of the spell (Minimum 1d4). A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus crumbles into ashes and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Thirsty Compass: A compass that sits in a small round case of varnished dark wood, emblazoned with a stylized image of a great wave. Inside, a black needle drifts slowly in a pool of translucent, milky-green liquid under a sheet of glass. The needle always points unerringly towards the nearest large body of non-running water within ten miles. When fully immersed in water, the compass points true North.

Staff of the Inferno: A six-foot staff that seems to have been made from a still burning piece of oak that was never put out. Embers still crackle and burn in the wood and the air around the staff is blurred with a constant heat mirage. Although the object does feel warm to the touch, the embers never ignite anything or consume the staff. When activated, the embers flare as bright as a torch for a brief moment and the wielder’s hands are coated in a fine layer of ashes. The implement is infused with metamagic power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to translate aspects of certain spells into more desirable results. Twice per day when the wielder casts a spell that deals damage, he can filter the magic through the staff to convert 100% of that damage to fire.

Staff of the Transmuter: A staff of unusual make. Its materials and style vary greatly all along its length. From the base up, the staff is made from stone, then wood, then leather, then bone, then lead, then gold, then mithral, and then finally adamantine. The arcane implement bears traces of transmutation magic and is infused with a Random Metamagic Power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the staff while casting a spell from the school of Transmutation to augment the spell with the Metamagic power that the implement is attuned to. The staff uses the wielder’s own power to fuel this effect and he chooses to either burn his supernatural energy which causes the spell to use an additional spell slot of the same level or higher (Minimum level 1) or drain his physical health suffering a dagger’s worth of unpreventable hit point damage (1d4) per level of the spell (Minimum 1d4). A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus crumbles into ashes and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Tick-Tock-Time-Travel Clock: A simple bronze pocket watch that was clearly designed by an expert clock maker. It is never in need of winding and the place where the winding mechanism rests is a small switch. When triggered, the watch can send a chosen creature a few moments back in time causing them to experience the same event they were attempting but with the opportunity for a different outcome. Once per day as an action equivalent to an attack of opportunity, the bearer can press the switch immediately after a creature within 30 feet makes an attack roll, skill check or saving throw and force that creature to reroll the attempt. That creature must then use the outcome of the second roll for better or worse. Only the bearer notices that time was turned back a few seconds. The bearer must activate the timepiece after the initial roll is made and declared a success or failure but before the result of the roll (Such as damage dealt) is shown. The bearer must have a free hand or be holding the watch in order to activate its power.

Staff of Will: A six-foot staff made of straightened brain tissue whose ridges are braided into shape. A knowledgeable PC will be able to determine that the grey matter comes from a number of different creatures who all had psionic, telekinetic or telepathic, abilities. The staff feels damp as squishy beneath the wielder’s grip as if the tissue was still fresh. Wielders who hold the staff for long periods of time, or who activate its power, experience fleeting mental flashbacks of lives they never lived, as the memories locked away in the preserved brains leak into the user. The implement is infused with metamagic power, allowing the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to translate aspects of certain spells into more desirable results. Twice per day when the wielder casts a spell that deals damage, he can filter the magic through the staff to convert 100% of that damage to psychic.

Tome of the White Hand: A blue leather-bound book imprinted with a white hand. It is wrapped in black velvet cloth and bound with glistening silver twine. The tome contains extensive instructions on creating circles of extraplanar protection and how to summon demons from the Abyss to the material plane to be bound into service. Oddly enough the book provides graphic warnings on the dangers of doing so and large sections of the book are devoted to prayers and meditations to be carried out to cleanse the reader’s mind and soul before and after completing a fiendish summoning. Through the use of the book, a bearer can burn ten gold pieces worth of incense in order to summon a minor demon and bind it to himself for use as a familiar. The summoned imp is forced to be loyal to the bearer and cannot act against him directly or indirectly. However if the summoner dies while the imp is summoned, the devil is freed to act on its own desires. Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize this tome was penned by a clerical order devoted to subduing fiends by any means possible. A large part of their training is the actual summoning and binding of demons to use them to kill other demons and extract their truenames in order to destroy them utterly and permanently. Their philosophy of fighting hellfire with hellfire is a fringe school of thought and is considered zealous at best and outright heresy at worst.

Supernatural Staff: A six-foot staff consisting of a narrow cylinder of magically preserved blood, held in place by a larger tube of pure arcane force that completely encapsulates it. The magical force is firm and stronger than steel but completely invisible, effectively creating an untouchable, free floating tube of liquid blood. When left unattended or held by a mundane creature, the blood sloshes around against the interior of the staff but is otherwise dormant. When held by a mage or creature capable of casting magic spells, the blood boils in its confined space and the wielder can feel the magic power contained within. Knowledgeable PC’s will realize that the blood contained inside the staff is that of the mage who created it. The implement is infused with a Random Metamagic Power that allows the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the staff while casting a spell that deals only force damage to augment the spell with the Metamagic power that the implement is attuned to. The staff uses the wielder’s own power to fuel this effect and he chooses to either burn his supernatural energy which causes the spell to use an additional spell slot of the same level or higher (Minimum level 1) or drain his physical health suffering a dagger’s worth of unpreventable hit point damage (1d4) per level of the spell (Minimum 1d4). A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus spills out all the blood and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Surging Staff: A strange and peculiar staff that changes its appearance, coloring, weight, and even size, randomly. It can be smooth and cold to the touch one second then hot and ruggedly textured the next. Its weight randomly fluctuates between that of a feather’s, to that of a hefty war-hammer. Unpredictably growing as large as a quarterstaff, while shrinking to be as small as a wand on an inconsistent basis. Different colors appear and disappear, swirling about within and around it, periodically emanating strange weave-like patterns of tangled light that are seemingly stuck to it. Knowledgeable PC’s will be able to determine that the staff is a shard of crystallized wild magic and that its nature corrupts spells cast through it, infusing them with chaotic power. The staff can be used as a spellcasting focus and the wielder can choose to channel additional power through the implement in order to trigger an outpouring of uncontrolled magic, allowing the player to immediately roll on the Wild Magic Surge Table and apply the result to the spell that was cast. The staff uses the wielder’s own power to fuel this effect and he chooses to either burn his supernatural energy which causes the spell to use an additional spell slot of the same level or higher (Minimum level 1) or drain his physical health suffering a dagger’s worth of unpreventable hit point damage (1d4) per level of the spell (Minimum 1d4). —Note: For D&D 5e players the DM can choose to have the player roll on my homebrew tables of effects on this blog, the published Sorcerer’s Wild Magic Surge table or any other random effect table you can find. Should the player roll on a result that would be grossly detrimental for the campaign (Such as casting Fireball at their own feet resulting in a TPK) the DM should feel free to have the player reroll.

Toxic Wand: A foot long wand made of a single fang of a giant venomous snake. The hypodermic implement is bright and polished, showing no signs of wear and tear, as if it was only recently removed from its former owner. The fang is so immense that a perceptive PC can actually see the venom channel at the tip of the fang. A single bloated drop of venom rests at the end of the channel in a perpetual state of near drip. A creature holding the wand feels an unpleasant warm tingling sensation in their hand, as if a fraction of its power somehow penetrated the wielder’s skin. When activated, the wand spits the drop of venom from the tip of the fang, penetrating the target’s skin, poisoning them from within. On the wielder’s turn he can target a creature he can see within 60 feet and activate the wand as an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell. The wand is perfectly accurate at close range and if the target is within 5-30 feet the creature suffers poison damage equivalent to a dagger plus the wielder’s character level (1d4+level) and half that damage if the target is 35-60 feet from the wielder.

Visibility Cloak: A long cloak decorated in several bright colors. It sparkles and shimmers in even the faintest light and whenever the cloak is worn, the bearer automatically fails all hide or stealth skill checks. Twice per day the bearer can cause the cloak to shine as bright as a bonfire for five minutes or until the bearer chooses to end the effect with a thought on his turn. When the cloak is gleaming, observers have a hard time looking at anything other than the coruscating colors and all creatures within 60 feet suffer disadvantage on perception and investigation checks and creatures other than the bearer gain advantage on stealth and hide checks.

Wand False Healing: A lacquered maple wood wand, one foot in length, filled with a thin, barely perceivable core of lead. Twice per day the wielder can use the wand on a living creature within 15 feet, causing the target to regain hit points equivalent to a dagger’s damage die plus the wielder’s character level (1d4+level) as they feel a rejuvenating burst of vitality surge through them. The wand’s artificial healing is short lived and fades suddenly like the crash of a powerful stimulant, leaving the target worse off than before. One minute after being healed, the target suffers unpreventable hit point damage equal to the amount the wand healed. If this damage reduces the creature to zero hit points or less, the target also becomes exhausted as if it had gone a night without rest. Only a perceptive PC will notice that this isn’t a true healing wand unless they actually use it. —Note: This is considered a cursed item for the purposes of any detection magic or curse breaking powers.

Wand of Discipline: A foot-long wand made of a slim willow switch covered in a heavy layer of solidified rubber. Although firm, the implement absorbs shock and blunt force and spreads it through its core, making it nearly impossible to use as a weapon. A creature holding the wand can feel the painful whip strong force of the willow switch encased within the emasculating sheath of the rubber. On the wielder’s turn he can target a creature he can see within 60 feet and activate the wand as an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell, causing the wand to fling a narrow strip of invisible magical force that cracks the target like a willow switch across the knuckles of a disobedient schoolboy. The wand is perfectly accurate at close range and if the target is within 5-30 feet the creature suffers nonlethal force damage equivalent to a dagger plus the wielder’s character level (1d4+level) and half that damage if the target is 35-60 feet from the wielder. This effect leaves no visible marks of injury or damage, nor will it ever directly kill the target. If a target would take enough damage from the spell to render them unconscious or dead, they instead drop to 1 hit point, remain conscious and become exhausted as if they had gone a night without sleeping. This fatiguing effect is cumulative and the wielder is able to exhaust a target to death with enough effort, leaving a corpse with no marks of injury or apparent cause of death.

Wand of Frost: A foot-long wand made from a solid core of cloudy ice. The frozen implement never melts or cracks, even in the fiercest of heat and will mist and emit vapor in warm temperatures. Although the object does feel cold to the touch, the ice never freezes material it touches or causes frostbite in its wielder. The implement is infused with a Random Metamagic Power that allows the wielder to use it as a spellcasting focus and to alter the essence of spells tied to its nature. The wielder can activate the wand twice per day as an action equivalent to drawing a weapon which coats the wielder’s hand in a fine layer of frost that deals no damage and melts normally. Until the start of the wielder’s next turn, if he casts a spell that deals only cold damage, the spell is augmented with the Metamagic power that the focus is attuned to. A bearer capable of casting spells can adjust the Metamagic formula during the course of a delicate one-hour ritual. At the end of the procedure the player rolls a d20 and on a 1, the bearer causes the supernatural architecture to collapse and the focus melts into a puddle and is destroyed. If the implement survives, the bearer rolls randomly on the Metamagic Options table and can either choose to keep the current Metamagic power or change it to the new one.

Wand of Grease: A slick wooden wand perpetually coated in some sort of greasy substance and is rather difficult to hold unto. Twice per day as an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell, the wielder can cause slick grease to cover a 10-foot square patch of ground within 60 feet. The area becomes difficult terrain (Requiring twice as much movement to pass through) and is treated as if it was covered in ball bearings and all creatures already in the square must make saving throws to avoid falling prone as if they had just walked into the area. The grease is not flammable and lasts for one minute before dissipating, though the wielder can dismiss it early with a thought.

Wand of Hail: A foot-long wand made from a solid core of cloudy ice. The frozen implement never melts or cracks, even in the fiercest of heat and will mist and emit vapor in warm temperatures. Although the object does feel cold to the touch, the ice never freezes material it touches or causes frostbite in its wielder. On the wielder’s turn he can target a creature he can see within 60 feet and activate the wand as an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell, which launches a jagged chunk of ice towards the enemy and coats the wielder’s hand in a fine layer of frost, which does no damage and melts normally. The wand is perfectly accurate at close range and if the target is within 5-30 feet the creature suffers cold damage equivalent to a dagger plus the wielder’s character level (1d4+level) and half that damage if the target is 35-60 feet from the wielder.

Wand of Minor Wonders: A lightweight one-foot long, black, cylindrical wand bearing white tips on either end. The implement more resembles a stage magician’s wand than a wizard’s arcane focus, but that may have been the creator’s intent. The wielder may use the wand to perform minor magic tricks and feats of prestidigitation for short periods of time. The wielder can perform any of the following tricks: Create an instantaneous, harmless sensory effect, such as a shower of sparks, a puff of wind, faint musical notes, or an odd odor. Instantaneously light or snuff out a candle, lantern or torch. Instantaneously clean or soil an object no larger than one cubic foot. Make a color, a small mark, or a symbol appear on an object or a surface. Create an illusory image that can fit in the wielder’s hand. The wielder can perform any single trick as an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell, can maintain up to three non-instantaneous effects active at a time and can dismiss such an effect at will. The wand has a maximum range of 15 feet and all colors, marks, symbols and illusions fade five minutes after the wielder creates them unless ended earlier.

Bell of Endless Death: A heavy, rusted iron bell with a bone clapper. The object has the following inscribed on its surface; “Ring this bell and you will receive a fortune but someone, somewhere in the world, whom you do not know, will die.” When rung by a mortal intelligent being, the bell’s magic activates, killing a living intelligent being somewhere in the world, who the ringer does not know. The bell then teleports to that location appearing on top of the fresh corpse and leaves a pile of 100 blood covered, gold pieces at the ringer’s location.

Wreaking Wand: A foot-long wand consisting of a narrow cylinder of magically preserved blood, held in place by a larger tube of pure arcane force that completely encapsulates it. The magical force is firm and stronger than steel but completely invisible, effectively creating an untouchable, free floating tube of liquid blood. When left unattended or held by a mundane creature, the blood sloshes around against the interior of the wand but is otherwise dormant. When held by a mage or creature capable of casting magic spells, the blood boils in its confined space and the wielder can feel the magic power contained within. Knowledgeable PC’s will realize that the blood contained inside the wand is that of the mage who created it. On the wielder’s turn he can target a creature he can see within 60 feet and activate the wand as an action equivalent to attacking or casting a spell, causing the implement launch an invisible blast of pure magical force that ripples through the air like a speeding heat mirage before slamming into the enemy. The wand is perfectly accurate at close range and if the target is within 5-30 feet the creature suffers force damage equivalent to a dagger plus the wielder’s character level (1d4+level) and half that damage if the target is 35-60 feet from the wielder.

Beating Heart Potion: A small sealed vial filled with pulsating red fluid that tastes like extremely bitter fruits with an aftertaste of vanilla. When consumed, the drinker’s maximum hit point total is permanently increased by 1 hit point. No creature is able to drink more than ten of these potions in their lifetime, lest their body erupt with rapidly growing cancers, eating them up from the inside in a manner of minutes until the drinker explodes in immediate unpreventable death.

[deadpresidents]

Unfinished: April 12, 1945

As March 1945 drew to a close, Franklin Delano Roosevelt was exhausted. At the beginning of February, Roosevelt had attended the Yalta Conference with Winston Churchill and Joseph Stalin -- a meeting which required the American President to undertake a physically punishing and extraordinarily dangerous trip halfway around the world to the Crimean Peninsula in the middle of a raging world war. At Yalta, Roosevelt’s appearance had shocked the foreign leaders and their aides. In his last face-to-face meeting with Churchill, on February 18, 1945, FDR was seen as a dead man walking. Churchill’s personal doctor, Lord Moran, told a friend that Roosevelt had “only a few months to live”.

Being President of the United States for just one term is taxing enough on a young man or a healthy man. Franklin Delano Roosevelt had been President for twelve years. He had campaigned for the Presidency and been victorious in four national elections. His Administration faced one of the greatest domestic crises in American History -- the Great Depression -- and the greatest crisis and bloodiest conflict in world history -- World War II. FDR had attacked these problems (and other issues that arose during his terms) with energy, creativity, and a relentless pursuit of victory.

A healthy and athletic man who stood nearly 6′2″ and weighed about 200 lbs. as Assistant Secretary of the Navy under Woodrow Wilson, Franklin Roosevelt had been stricken by polio in 1921. The disease robbed him of his ability to walk and, at the time, looked as if it had robbed him of a political future. He rebounded politically but physically he was never the same. Confined to a wheelchair, the muscles in his legs withered like the branches of a tree in winter. Although he could not walk under his own power, FDR taught himself to stand while wearing heavy steel braces around his shins. He needed the assistance of a muscular partner -- sometimes one of his sons, sometimes a military aide -- in order to feign the appearance of walking. Through sheer will, however, Roosevelt learned to take a few steps without anyone’s help -- a handy skill that he would show off at important campaign rallies. But as he began his unprecedented fourth term in the White House in the early months of 1945, FDR no longer had the energy to show off.

Roosevelt was as gravely ill as Lord Moran suggested. The successful 1944 Presidential campaign had severely drained his already tapped-out reservoirs of energy and stamina. His fourth inauguration was low-key, partly because it took place in the midst of war and partly due to the President’s failing health. Instead of the traditional inaugural ceremonies at the U.S. Capitol, Roosevelt took the Oath of Office at the White House and gave his brief fourth Inaugural Address from a balcony at the Executive Mansion. The famously verbose Roosevelt gave the second-shortest Inaugural Address in American History. By the time the crowd realized that he was talking he had already finished. Only George Washington’s four-sentence-long second Inaugural Address in 1793 was shorter than the address given by FDR on January 20, 1945.

FDR now looked entirely different than the man who had told the nation that “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself” in 1933. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, which seemed sunken into his skull. Since his first Inauguration, Roosevelt had lost 40-50 pounds. His hands shook so violently at times that some observers wondered how he was able to eat. He smoked constantly, but rarely finished his cigarettes. Most shocking of all, FDR no longer went to great lengths to conceal his disability. Frail and tired, he found it almost impossible to wear the heavy braces that he long wore on his crippled legs. On March 1, 1945, Roosevelt addressed a joint session of Congress on the results of his Yalta Conference with Churchill and Stalin. In an unprecedented move, the President sat in a chair on the floor of the House of Representatives and apologized to Congress, beginning his speech by saying, “I hope that you will pardon me for this unusual posture of sitting down during the presentation of what I want to say, but I know that you will realize it makes it a lot easier for me not to have to carry about ten pounds of steel around on the bottom of my legs.” It was the first time that President Roosevelt had ever publicly acknowledged his physical disability.

Twelve years of the Presidency, economic depression and war had strained Roosevelt’s health, but the 14,000-mile trip to the Yalta Conference on the Black Sea had pushed FDR to the limit. On March 30, 1945, Roosevelt arrived in Warm Springs, Georgia for a few weeks of relaxation and, hopefully, recuperation. Roosevelt loved Warm Springs. He had started visiting the small town in western Georgia in the 1920s, hoping that the warm waters from the natural mineral springs nearby would help him regain the use of his legs. When he was Governor of New York, FDR purchased a small house that he used when he visited Warm Springs. As President, the home was called the “Little White House” and although FDR only visited it sixteen times during his Presidency, many of those trips were for 2-3 weeks each. When his train pulled into Warm Springs at about 1:30 PM on March 30, 1945, many longtime residents said that things seemed different. Roosevelt looked terrible and while he waved to onlookers, it was with noticeable weakness.

The first few days in Georgia were tough. FDR was obviously ill and seemed to struggle making it through a church service on Easter Sunday. Roosevelt also avoided his beloved Warm Springs pools. Instead, the President rested, caught up on sleep, and visited with guests. The goal was for FDR to regain enough of his health to make a trip to San Francisco for the charter meeting of what would become the United Nations. At the Little White House with Roosevelt were some personal aides, military attaches, and cousins Daisy Suckley and Polly Delano. During his first week at Warm Springs, Roosevelt did very little work, dictating a few letters and reading briefings, stronger and more animated in the mornings and evenings but completely drained in the afternoon. Another goal for Roosevelt was to gain weight -- by the time he left Warm Springs, he hoped to be up to 170 lbs.

Still, there was no noticeable improvement in FDR’s health or spirits. Then, on April 9th, Lucy Mercer Rutherfurd arrived. As President Wilson’s Assistant Secretary of the Navy, Franklin D. Roosevelt had become involved in a passionate love affair with his wife’s social secretary, Lucy Mercer. It was 1918 when Eleanor Roosevelt discovered the affair between Franklin and Lucy and threatened to divorce him unless he promised never to see or speak to Lucy again. FDR agreed to the ultimatum -- an ultimatum that was strengthened by his mother’s threat to cut off his inheritance if he and Eleanor were divorced, as well as the fact that Franklin’s budding political career would be crushed if the affair was revealed. The relationship between FDR and Eleanor was never again passionate or loving after the discovery of the affair, but Eleanor kept her word and remained married to Franklin. Franklin, however, didn’t keep his word to Eleanor.

The Franklin-Lucy affair probably resumed shortly after Roosevelt’s first Inauguration in 1933.  By that time, FDR and Eleanor had more of a professional relationship than a personal one. He respected the First Lady’s political viewpoints, supported her activism, used her as a sounding board, and tried to act on many of her suggestions. Personally, however, there was no passion or tenderness or intimacy between the First Couple. It was FDR and Eleanor’s daughter, Anna, who helped rekindle Franklin’s relationship with Lucy. She arranged for Lucy to visit the President in the White House when Eleanor was out of town. And on April 9, 1945, Lucy Mercer Rutherfurd was in Warm Springs, Georgia visiting President Roosevelt due to Anna Roosevelt’s invitation.

FDR was so excited to see Lucy that he didn’t wait for Lucy to make the drive all the way from Aiken, South Carolina to Warm Springs. The President and his cousin Daisy decided to meet Lucy’s car en route. At Manchester, Georgia, 85 miles away from Warm Springs, the highway rendezvous took place. FDR looked happier than he had in months as Lucy got into FDR’s car along with her friend, painter Elizabeth Shoumatoff. Lucy had brought Shoumatoff along to paint a portrait of the President -- a portrait that she hoped would be an improvement on the recent photographs that had made Roosevelt look “ghastly”.

For the next two days, Roosevelt and Lucy enjoyed their time together, going on small drives, eating happy meals, and sitting together while Shoumatoff prepared to paint the President’s portrait, studying photographs and making preliminary drawings. Daisy Suckley had the opportunity to observe the unique relationship between FDR and Lucy Mercer and also had some private conversations with the President’s longtime mistress. In her diary, Daisy recorded her thoughts about the two after she accompanied them on an automobile drive that they took: “Lucy is so sweet with F(ranklin) -- No wonder he loves to have her around -- Toward the end of the drive, it began to be chilly and she put her sweater over his knees -- I can imagine just how she took care of her husband -- She would think of little things which make so much difference to a semi-invalid, or even a person who is just tired, like F(ranklin).”

On April 12th, President Roosevelt woke up and ate a light breakfast. He had a slight chill despite the warm, humid weather that day and wore his cape draped over his shoulders throughout the early afternoon. Roosevelt did a little bit of work, reading the Atlanta newspapers and dictating some correspondence. Elizabeth Shoumatoff had set up her easel in the living room where the President worked behind a card table that served as his makeshift desk. As Shoumatoff painted, FDR continued reading, and at about 1:00 PM, Roosevelt said, “We have got just about fifteen minutes more to work.”

In the quiet of the room, Daisy Suckley thought that the President had dropped his cigarette and was searching for it because his head slumped forward suddenly. Roosevelt could barely lift his head when Daisy asked what was wrong. He placed his left hand gently against the back of his head and, in a barely audible voice, told Daisy, “I have a terrific pain in the back of my head!”

Roosevelt quickly slipped into unconsciousness as the women in the room summoned help. They called for a doctor who was staying in a cottage close to the Little White House and they helped two of FDR’s valets carry the President into the bedroom. Roosevelt’s hands and feet were ice cold, but he was still breathing. Smelling salts were administered but FDR was unresponsive. As the doctor and aides tried to help the President, Lucy Mercer Rutherfurd and Elizabeth Shoumatoff recognized the hopelessness of the situation. They also recognized the potential scandal that was possible if it was learned that the President collapsed in the presence of his longtime mistress.

Shoumatoff packed up all of her paints and the unfinished portrait she had been working on. Lucy Mercer grabbed her belongings and took one last look at her beloved Franklin. He was still alive when they left, but he was breathing laboriously and his eyes no longer recognized Lucy. Lucy and Elizabeth Shoumatoff had been on the highway back to Aiken, South Carolina for an hour when President Franklin Delano Roosevelt died in Warm Springs at 3:35 PM. The official cause of death was a cerebral hemorrhage. FDR was 63 years old.

Eleanor Roosevelt was notified of her husband’s death a few minutes after 4:00 PM. She summoned Vice President Harry Truman to the White House while he was having a drink at the U.S. Capitol with House Speaker Sam Rayburn. Truman wasn’t told why he needed to hastily come to the White House, but he knew it sounded urgent. As Truman left the Capitol, he ran into a young Congressman who questioned the Vice President about his speedy exit -- a young Congressman named Lyndon Johnson.

At the White House at 5:30 PM, Eleanor Roosevelt broke the news to the Vice President simply a directly: “Harry, the President is dead.” Truman was stunned and asked what he could do for the widowed First Lady. Eleanor smiled sadly and asked, “Is there anything we can do for you? For you are the one in trouble now.” At 7:00 PM, Chief Justice Harlan Fiske Stone administered the Oath of Office to Truman as the 33rd President of the United States.

By that time, Eleanor was on her way to Warm Springs to claim her husband’s body. At about midnight, she arrived at the Little White House in Georgia where she asked about her husband’s last hours. It was then that she learned news almost as shocking as the President’s death. Eleanor found out that FDR had been with his former mistress Lucy Mercer Rutherfurd when he was stricken. She spent 45 minutes alone with his body, picked out the clothing for his burial, but never lost her composure despite the shocks that she experienced that day.

A funeral train returned FDR’s body to Washington, D.C. the next day. Roosevelt was embalmed by morticians who found that the President’s arteries were so hardened that they could barely inject the embalming fluid into his body. FDR’s body laid in state in the East Room of the White House almost 80 years to the day that Abraham Lincoln’s body rested in the very same place following his assassination. On the 80th anniversary of Lincoln’s death -- April 15, 1945 -- Franklin Delano Roosevelt was buried in the garden of his beloved estate Hyde Park on the Hudson River in New York. Upon his death, the New York Times wrote of the deceased President:

“Men will thank God on their knees a hundred years from now that Franklin D. Roosevelt was in the White House. It was his hand, more than that of any other single man, that built the great coalition of the United Nations. It was his leadership which inspired free men in every part of the world to fight with greater hope and courage. Gone is the fresh and spontaneous interest which this man took, as naturally as he breathed air, in the troubled and the hardships and the disappointments and the hopes of little men and humble people.” 

Elizabeth Shoumatoff’s Unfinished Portrait of President Roosevelt -- which she was working on when he died -- now hangs in the Little White House in Warm Springs, Georgia.

[schmergo]

I’m gonna get a little more serious and personal than I usually am on social media here for a sec, so sorry if this is annoying. Anyway, I never had an actual eating disorder, but, like many young people, I struggled on and off with somewhat disordered eating habits and negative body image for many years. 

Between ages 9 and 20, every year or two, I would suddenly get into a groove of weird restrictive behaviors around food, either because I felt like my life wasn’t going well enough and I needed to be punished, or because I felt like my life was going too well and that I wasn’t pretty enough to deserve it. I would stop for a year or two, and then when it came back, I’d be even more strict with myself.

 For example, for a year in elementary school, I only let myself eat yogurt for lunch, not because I particularly liked yogurt but because I Decreed It Must Be So. For a year in high school, I would throw out my lunch every day and go to the library during lunch time, on the excuse that “you aren’t allowed to have food in the library, and I need to do homework.” And while studying in London in college, I would only let myself eat 800 calories a day. I was only allowed sweets on Wednesday, but no actual meals on that day, just the dessert. I used the excuse that I was trying to save money on food, but calorie restriction isn’t the most efficient way to save money. These are just a few examples of some of the little phases I fell into-- I finally stopped after that last one because I felt so awful  when I came home from that semester and had to eat around other people again that I just went, “Never again.” I still don’t have very good body image, but it’s better, and I don’t do strict rules around food anymore.

I never lost much weight or developed health problems from it, and I was always either a healthy weight or slightly overweight, but I know those weren’t very healthy habits to have. But I guess I didn’t realize that even though the behavior itself wasn’t super extreme, the way it was ingrained into my mind was more insidious and deeply-rooted than I thought.

The reason I mention this is that I recently got into a kick of rereading some of my old writing. I did a TON of writing as a teenager and wrote a lot of book-length stories, many of them fanfiction. Most of my work is fairly humorous, light-hearted, and a lot of it falls into the ‘fantasy’ genre. There are darker themes at times, but the endings are usually happy. I was reading a romantic comedy “book” that I wrote in high school and enjoying the blast from the past when I realized something strange about the narration. It’s written in first person, and the heroine/ narrator is written to be a fairly attractive character-- her friends think she’s pretty, she receives a few compliments on her appearance, and she attracts the interest of at least two dudes in the story. As written, she’s athletic and in good health. 

But the narration CONSTANTLY seems to obsess over food, her appearance, people’s body types, and comparing her body to everyone she interacts with. If she’s eating lunch at the same time as a coworker, she complains in her internal monologue about having to make excuses for her food choices so that her coworker doesn’t judge her for what she’s eating. She makes jokes about a pregnant family member, saying she enjoys hanging out with the pregnant character because she feels skinny next to her. She seems to think she looks horrible and unpresentable when not dressed to the nines and frets over how unflattering her work uniform is. She makes snarky remarks about her best friend’s husband’s weight and constantly seems to feel inferior in terms of appearance compared to her own very athletic boyfriend, thinking other characters are judging her appearance when she’s with him. She both seems to envy and make fun of her skinny best friend’s body. And she talks about food A LOT. At times, she’s so conscious of her appearance and how she looks, even when she’s alone, that you almost feel like she knows she’s in a story and has strangers observing her.

If you had asked me at the time that I wrote it if I intended that character to have body image issues or food issues, I’d say no, she’s just a sarcastic, snarky, funny person who likes to make self-deprecating jokes and that she knows she’s considered conventionally attractive. But reading it seemed honestly pathological-- like, it permeated the entire thing. The comments happened on every page. I didn’t notice at all at the time, and that really tells you where my mindset was. 

I think it can be hard to separate an author’s feelings from a fictional character’s feelings at times. Sometimes when a fictional character has a problematic viewpoint, they’re really a mouthpiece for the author, and sometimes the author intends it to be a negative trait or a biased belief. In this case, I expressed opinions about food and body types that were way harsher than I would ever say out loud in real life or admit to anyone in my life and used a character who, if you asked me, had a healthy and confident attitude toward her body, to express them. I guess I just thought everyone’s internal monologue was like that. I figured attractive people were just as obsessive as I was but better at self-discipline. I honestly believe a lot of the books I read as a teenager may have been written with a similar attitude to mine.

I think I still have a slightly distorted self-image-- for example, at a recent doctor’s appointment, discovered I weigh 30 pounds less than I thought I did-- but I have a much clearer-eyed view of this stuff that I couldn’t see before when I was in the thick of my body issues. When you’re deep in this stuff, not only can you not see your physical shape accurately, you also can’t see your behavior, beliefs, and thoughts for what they really are. It all seems normal.

I’m not sure what point I’m trying to make here, but I do think that the stuff we create can reveal so much more about our own biases, insecurities, and sometimes even harmful beliefs than we’d ever suspect. Those thoughts tend to linger longer than the actions themselves-- I sometimes still think about myself the same way now that I did then, I just don’t let it change my behavior anymore. And like I said, my actions never got so severe that they harmed me physically, but I hope the thoughts that I expressed in my writing, which I published online for people to read, didn’t mess with any other impressionable young people’s self-esteem or habits. Fairly mild mental health issues are especially weird like that-- you don’t really notice the change the way you might with more severe symptoms, and you don’t really think you’re seeing the world or yourself any differently from your peers. It all seems totally normal at the time until you look back.

[thehandthatfollows]

This spreadsheet is one whole year of logging any calories that go into mercy’s body, how much she expended, her weight, ect.

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1-Qx9pJhAWJxf18l9q9gVDncOwRjBgra5pTMstr7J5QE/edit

It was not a new year’s resolution, mercy just happened to meet Master and become his submissive right after Christmas last year and this was one of the first things he did. mercy wanted to loose weight and he wanted to help with that.

He set a calorie limit of 1700 and mercy believes she went over it maybe 3 times? Once with permission. If mercy was not held accountable it would have been far more then three times in just the first week. Without Master mercy would have never lost the weight she did, nor learn about portion control. She had been overeating a bit before and feeling sick and bloated after almost every meal.

It wasn’t just the punishments that kept mercy in line, although she was punished for the times she went over in addition to the over calories being taken from the next day. It was just knowing that Master was checking the spreadsheet regularly, knowing mercy wanted to make him proud follow his rules that kept her in line.

Mercy started at 183 and as of her last weigh in this morning, 12/31/2021 she is 140.1 lbs. That’s a weight lose of 43 pounds in 52 weeks, for an average of .83 pounds a week. (Reminder, for sustained weight loss, you don’t want to average more then 1.5 lbs for just general health)

When she started this spreadsheet she weighed herself every two weeks and added it to the spreadsheet, but she lost access to that scale and didn’t end up weighing herself again until like… thanksgiving. We also closer to the end of the year started trying to track squats/working out/streaching on the spreadsheet and mercy was bad at remembering and then if she did it remembering to add it… Something Master is currently working on is keeping us working out and holding us accountable for that, but it has been slightly crazy lately.

Some graphs for viewing pleasure:

Left: Weigh ins. Right: Calorie deficits

You will notice the one negative calorie deficit, Master gave her shots that day back when alcohol calories counted and now they don’t so much.

(There is a blank week. The week she visited for the first time he was physically in control of anything she ate and so that week he didn’t make her log her food then. Now that she lives with him she still logs her food though, sense he isn’t here and physically giving her anything she consumes like he did that amazing week 🥰🥰🥰)

[ratsoh-writes]

Sorry I just had to say that I LOVED YOUR TALL GIRL ASK WITH THE BOYS 💗💚💚💞💘🧡💝❤️💕🧡💞💟💖💝💛💕💙🖤💗💟

YOU ARE SO VALID

Well F*CK YOU for giving me feelings you superb little jerk. Don’t think I didn’t see that reblog. Here’s your punishment:

In case anyone is wondering, this is the guys reactions to having a tall SO

Lord: if lord had a taller SO, he would secretly wish for them to just pick him up and hold him once in a while? His manly pride will never allow him to admit this, but if you ever did.... well let’s just say lord will be a very blushy bean

Mutt: each time you guys sit together, mutt uses your shoulder as his personal pillow. It’s just something he does to all his SOs, but with shorter ones, it’s usually him resting his chin on their head. Your shoulder is much more accessible

Wine: like red, wine is also a man of culture. He likes to dress up his SOs, so you bet every outfit he gets you will accent your lovely legs. Wine doesn’t care how tall you are either. Heels are a must, and if anything, the extra height turns him on even more ;)

Coffee: in public he’s as sweet as can be, but in private, coffee is a total little sh*t. His favorite method for bugging you is suprise piggy back rides. You’re lucky he’s just a skeleton and only weighs like 30 pounds