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A standard gambeson of quilted cloth. Good for catching blows, but almost unbearably sweaty.

This old splintered shield is no stronger than a child's toy.

Though shining brightly, this necklace smells distinctively of rust.

The interlocked bronze links of this necklace tinkle softly every time you move.

A purple gemstone set in bronze, this ring has been crafted by a steady and practised hand.

A cheap ring, decorated only with a sizeable green agate.

Each of this amulet's jewels shines like a viper's eyes.

A cornered animal will, on occasion, feel a rush of exhilarating energy, and an urge to fight. The same is true of many arcane practitioners, who do not take kindly to being menaced.

Bright and polished, this necklace was clearly cherished by its previous owner.

A paralysing eyestalk harvested from a beholder was boiled in a broth, and poured down the throat of a dwarven ringsmith. Not one fortnight thence, he crafted this ring.

This wizardly hat has a little embroidered rabbit inside its lining - the rabbit is called snowball, and once he was lost, never to be found.

A grudging gleam emits from this ring - more an indictment of light than an endorsement.

Putting on this hat is somehow enough to lift your spirits.

With every blow the skullcap seems to compress, narrowing the vision of the wearer.

A noble warrior's cloak, woven in the heart of an ancient empire.

Considered a token of good fortune, this ring's stones are perfectly smooth.

Strapped and lined in an either piscine or arboreal motif, these sandals are perfect for a warm morning stroll.

Adjusting this unassuming ring on your finger, you hear a faint sizzle, as of pressure being released.

Not only do these sandals allow your feet to breathe on warm summer-scented evenings and leaf-crunchy autumn afternoons, but come the turning of clocks toward colder seasons, the sandal straps emit a faintly magical heat as cosy as any pair of wooly socks.

The little tentacle engravings are a nice touch.

The taut violet leather is drier than snakeskin, and puckered at each knuckle with shallow mouth-shaped pits.

The tight weave of chains in this armour chimes like wind through leaves.

Fine fabric obscures the bulk of this chain mail, allowing its wearer to mix in polite society while protecting them from unexpected assailants.

Made from thick, strong chains loosely-fitted, this armour hangs more heavily than some but protects its wearer with an impenetrable weave of metal.

Linked rings crackle with energy, just waiting to be released.

Tight chains protect the wearer from many sharp weapons, while fabric padding protects the skin from cold metal.

While the stitching on the shirt is rushed and uneven, the chain mail is sturdy, and the garment is decorated with an obsidian disk that seems to swallow all light.

The intricate embroidery on the linen panel of this armour indicates the nobility of its previous owner.

This mail's impossibly fine, close joining indicates the work of gnomish fingers.

A plump mass torn from Sovereign Glut's own flesh. A marker of the colony's esteem - or perhaps its property.

Imbued with a little luck after the item was pressed to the pursed lips of a saint of the goddess Tymora. Inscribed roughly and inexpertly on the underside: 'Lady Luck, don't you piss in my porridge oats!'

Modelled on the chandeliers in the Waterdavian Sea Ward - aesthetically pleasing and most grand.

Underwear of this type was commonly worn by mages powerful enough to broadcast their likeness across the many plances of existence.

Indigo cloth manipulated into elaborate patterns mark this outfit's wearer as a gregarious observer, listener, and conversationalist.

This lovely ensemble is evocative of the apron of a master chocolatier - and just as scrumptious.

Despite the many scorch marks, these leather boots are somehow still supple and intact.

With every rustle of this cloak, small moths like windblown embers appear around you - they flutter for a moment, then fade into inconsequence.

'What moves faster, a loosed crossbow bolt or a windblown cinder? Let's find out.' - Overheard during a Flaming Fist raid in Baldur's Gate.

A coldness clings to this macabre circlet, like the chill of a grave.

Provides its wearer a touch of elegance but no additional protection.

This delicate circlet grants the wearer the ability to cast the Scorching Ray spell.

Merely holding the circlet makes your skin flush, filling you with determination and righteous fury.

Huntresses prowling in the least hospitable woods of Toril hold one rule as cardinal: kill quickly. This is not about suffering. It's about sound, and its necessary absence.

Fell magic has seeped into this circlet, rejoicing at the slightest touch of despair.

You get the eerie feeling that the jewelsmith used more than alien metals to forge this circlet - something like ancient magic, or shards of a soul.

Designed for fun rather than function.

Though the name is an exaggeration (the fabled city's heat would burn the fabric black stitch by stitch), the sheer magnificence of this ensemble's appeal is not.

Woven of heavy wool, this cloak is solid of make if somewhat stiff to wear.

Woven of heavy wool, this cloak is solid of make if somewhat stiff to wear.

Woven of heavy wool, this cloak is solid of make if somewhat stiff to wear.