Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

I have, in the past, retained Nymbal Gobkin to bring me magical items that she finds in her, shall we say, explorations. Of pockets. That are not hers. I pay for each according to its rarity and value, but often the magicks within are dubious at best and useless or dangerous at worst. It remains to be seen whether Nym, myself—or perhaps both—are being played the fool in this case.

Nym has, for instance, managed to collect two of what I have dubbed the Ten Rings of Selesus, after the rune inscribed on each that I can only assume is a maker’s mark and a numeral. The first band, which is inscribed as 7/10, I have dubbed the Lucky Ring, as it has powerful enchantments placed upon it. It has been spared from fires by kismet, recovered from streams by local fishermen, and generally seemed to be smiled upon by fortune. This effect does not, however, extend in any way to the person wearing the ring, as Nym’s bruises can attest.

The second Ring of Selesus is what I have dubbed the Invulnerable Ring, and it has charms and enchantments so powerful that I have not been able to unravel a fraction of them. Labeled as 9/10—though quite how anyone was able to inscribe anything upon it is a mystery to me—it has proven to be utterly impervious to all attempts to harm or otherwise mark it. I have placed it in fire, ice, molten metal, a Sphere of Annihilation, and even lent it out for a test of a Maul of Atom Splitting. The results have all been the same: the ring has survived unscathed while everything around it has been laid waste. The wearer or bearer of said ring is not so fortunate.

I feel that the rings are failed attempts to create powerful magickal artifacts; Nym believes that they are elaborate practical jokes by an impishly powerful sorcerer. I suppose those are not mutually exclusive explanations.

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My friend Hazelwald is, among other things, a talented alchemist and botanist, regularly collecting rare plants and ingredients for use in spells, potions, and poultices. I asked about some of the most sought-after with a thought toward presenting them as a lecture at the herbarium, only to discover that she had already done so—twice. Nevertheless, my curiosity was indulged.

The immediate answer was etherroot and astraleaf. In those places where the ethereal or the astral worlds infringe upon ordered reality, where the laws of the physical world grow thin and malleable, those plants thrive. They have, according to Hazelwald, a brute purpose and an elegant one apiece. In both cases, they must be prepared: the etherroot by grinding, and the astraleaf by boiling reduction (of leaves) or pressing (of pollen, flowers, or seeds).

Brute purposes for either, which both caused Hazelwald to wrinkle her nose in disgust, are as lethal toxins. If eaten or swallowed in sufficient quantity, they will cause death as the body begins to phase into the ethereal or the astral, both places where living, ordered beings cannot normally exist. Even an experienced conjurer with access to the means to survive the journey will typically not survive, as they will be caught betwixt. Clever assassins are known to use the toxins to hide bodies, as well, by placing them out of phase with their surroundings.

The elegant purpose is as an astral or ethereal beacon. When combined with mineral oil and applied to an object, that object becomes visible in and can have limited interactions with things that are out of phase. As long as those using it are careful to keep it out of their mouths, it can be an essential tool.

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