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Aureate twists in the metal give a sheen like polluted sunlight.

The ruby's red reflections look like eerie flames dancing across your skin.

Supported round the heel, these sandals provide good comfort for the unhurried peruser of brooks, streams, and stony woods.

These boots are well-maintained and clean, though their soles are thin from wear.

Belonged to a trader Firzu. Increases Deception Checks by 1.

'If your foe rains down blows upon your head, turn not the other cheek, but let your pricking helm bleed the bastards dry.'

The air around this armour shimmers, oven-hot. From the seams of the armour you can hear a red-tinted rumble, like coals digesting in a furnace.

The brutish thuggery of the Enforcer's position is summarized in this helmet's design.

'I learned so much from Carixim. All sorts of forgecraft that... S-sorry. Just when I think of him, and the whimpers those people inside him made... I don't know. Anyway, it was worth it. Worth it to be the best.' - Overheard from the smith Dammon

'Beneath those horrible sounds of... well, let's call it what it was: torment, Beneath the tormented screams I heard this moaning sound like many people in pain, and I heard the ringing of a great hammer. Carixim's forge was close.' - Overheard from the smith Dammon

'When I found Carixim, he turned to me, all those poor people's souls crammed into him like too many bees in a rotten hive, and he... He grinned at me. And he said: I been expecting you, boy.' - Overheard from the smith Dammon

Plain leather with a faint but unmistakable buzz - as if eager to put idle hands to work.

Droplets of foul acid drip from the tails of this cloak, as if from the stinger of a demonic scorpion.

It is said Diores the Charming once lured a nest of harpies to their deaths, using only a flute.

Hammered from an alloy of strong mountain metals.

Sticky, rope-like seaweed is wrapped around this oversized shell, allowing it to be fashioned as a shield.

A supple leather cowl. Its spiderweb embroidery is stained, and pieces of leather and thread are slowly disintegrating.

Each sapphire feels like a tiny shard of sharpened ice.

Somehow, Gale has managed to make his clothes smell like a library. To inhale their aroma is to feel a sudden urge to speak more quietly. Or pay a fine.

Long ago, Kushigo was a warrior. Bedecked in an enormous set of plate steel, its shoulder pauldrons fashioned like great antlered stags, his arrival on a battlefield spelled doom for the enemy.

Yet this armour - so light and fine - speaks nothing to the legacy.

These boots are heavy and slow to step in - perhaps due to the gargoyle spirit reportedly trapped within. While that legend's truth is debatable, the protection these boots offer against toe-stubbing is not.

The garnet embedded in this tarnished ring has been lovingly polished - the band worn thin from use.

The garnet embedded in this tarnished ring has been lovingly polished - the band worn thin from use.

The garnet at the centerpiece of this ring is like an unblinking, malevolent eye.

The garnet at the centrepiece of this ring is like an unblinking, malevolent eye.

When the light catches, this ring shines like a smouldering flame.

When the light catches, this ring shines like a smouldering flame.

A tyrant's grip must be one of cool, unforgiving, and intricately realised steel. It cannot budge, cannot falter, no matter the pressure, and its fingertips must deeply pierce those who would struggle against it.

Your basic hill giant is just a landslide with a digestive system.

Made from steel hammered thin, these gauntlets are a fine investment for any warrior.

Clothing doesn't tend to have much personality. That comes down to how it's worn. Yet these gloves exude a confidence, an intangible aura of expertise.

Designed by an arcane smith with half-vision. He made these gloves to make sure his spells hit their target.

Corroded by Sceleritas' insouciant perversion, this little gibus hat was worn by the Butler before he sank throat-deep into Bhaal's clutches. Once, it was beyond besmirchment. Once, it was lovely.

Lavishly decorated boots, crafted on far-away planes from stolen metals and poached rubies.

Githyanki actually do have a comedy culture, and it's this: they attack anyone who makes them the butt of a joke.

This armour was forged to Vlaakith's standards under the exacting eye of a githyanki smith.

This armour was forged to Vlaakith's standards under the exacting eye of a githyanki smith.

This armour was forged to Vlaakith's standards under the exacting eye of a githyanki smith.

This armour was forged to Vlaakith's standards under the exacting eye of a githyanki smith.

Worn by warriors upon the bloodiest sands.

The notorious gnomish bard Fiddlesticks Glimmergad was said to play violin tunes so sad they made bank guards weep - while his accomplices robbed the bank's vaults.

Supposedly fashioned around a lock of hair stolen from the head of the Prince of Gloomwrought, shields of this ilk gladly welcome the dark.

These padded vambraces balances light protection with a dextrous expression impossible in heftier gauntlets.

Treated animal hide is hammered taught into these gloves, offering protection against hostile climes but little else.

Banded in dark iron, these gloves are embossed with the brass likeness of an elf against a trio of arrows in flight.

The slightest movement of leather makes a dark energy seep out of the gloves.

Bands of blue light snap and contract when the gloved fingertips are pressed together - evidence of the arcane polarity linking them.

Balling your fingers into fists while wearing these gloves causes a sonorous chime, like the fusion of a tempest and a church bell, to resound inside your skull.

It was through scrying and observing blazing elementals that the monks of Plumgully Temple mastered the art of fighting fire with fists, and vice versa.

Stitched into the fabric of these gloves are the words: Largest and Largesse, For The Discerning Murderer.