The Vault: Weapon of Life and Death
When I stabbed ‘im, the blade shone bright, like the sun itself, an’ I felt a strength rush into me. But just as quick, it went real cold. The air was thick with it. Death.
The Vault: Rod of Serling
Then the rod pointed at me, and the world shattered. The ground weren’t ground no more. Turned to cobblestones, cold, hard.
The Vault: Hammer of Banishment
The handle was sturdy, and the head of it—two fists, one pointin’ one way, the other the other way. Every time that hammer hit, it cracked like thunder, and the demon hissed. That hammer was magic.
The Vault: Danger Cube
They had called it the danger cube, and me ears pricked up at the sound, at the possibilities it held within.
The Vault: Cowl of Cthulhu
The cowl is part of me now. I’m not — just — a goblin anymore. I belong to the sea, to the black and the brine.
The Vault: Gravegun
“Gravegun.” That’s what it whispered, I’m sure of it now.
The Vault: Wheel of Misfortune
The wheel’s all mine. I’ll ride it to the top, over every trapper, moonlighter, and backstabber that thinks he’s got my number.
The Vault: Bananaramarang
couldn’t wait to test it and threw it as soon as I had a chance. The bloody thing looped back and smacked me in the nose, but not before creating a puddle of slick ooze where it flew.
The Vault: Gobstompers
The first time I invoked the boot’s magic, it was an accident. Grink wouldn’t stop yammering about some shiny rock he found. I swung my foot in irritation, and the moment the boot connected, his jaw snapped shut, silent as stone.
The Vault: The Breakfast Club
The club and I—we ain’t heroes. We ain’t villains neither. We’re just hungry.