Game! Random item generator

"To glance upon the Gates of Diamond is to fall to a lack of sanity" or so the prophecy went. Lord Eret of The Brotherhood had researched the fact and fiction, the science and the fantasy, the myth and legend behind the large gates which guarded the Great Temple of Az. He understood that the myriad reflections cast by the gates, bent the light so that you saw...strange shapes in the shadows. Shapes that could be monsters, shapes that conjured up the deepest dread from the darkest corners of the mind. However, behind the gates lay his destination.
He steeled himself against whatever his mind could throw at him, protected himself with the relevant enchantments and sigils and runes, emptied his mind, and stepped into the temple...

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Fast-Travel
 
Fast-Travel doors initiated the era of cheap, simple, reliable teleportation. Any two quantum alignment fields (to give them their proper name) could be attuned so that freight and passengers passed through one and arrived at the other in much less than the blink of an eye. Breakfast in Rome, a quick visit to Kilimanjaro, lunch in Tokyo, a lazy afternoon exploring Machu Picchu. When the first Fast-Travel door to be launched into space arrived at L5 Base, the hardy pioneers living in the space colony grumbled. "There goes the neighborhood."

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Firecats
 
Firecats are rare beasts, valued for their pelts, but even more for their gift. Once, in the times of our ancestors, it is rumoured that they were the dominant race here on Panzara, ruling with passion, but also with justice. Hunters have lived their whole lives without glimpsing a single Firecat, but the stories by the cooking fires at night tell of grandparents who looked into the eyes of a firecat, down the length of a black arrow. They say the Firecat speaks to the hunter, mind to mind, in the moment before the string is released. They say the Firecat forgives. That the Firecat gifts the hunter with one of its own attributes - stealth, camouflage, intelligence and thus accelerates the extinction of its race.

Cyclic Axe
 
Nearly one thousand masters of the Cyclic Axe filled the stadium, splendid in their barbaric outfits. Fur-wearing ice farmers from the far south; tattooed mariners from the Inner Ocean; bone-thin female warriors from tropical islands. Each had trained with the deadly weapon, half battle axe and half boomerang, for years to reach this contest. Empress Quarlan raised her scepter. The crowd roared. The slaughter began.

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Macropedia
 
Macropedia is the bible of, the final word on, all things too big to be apprehended or perceived. Essentially a handbook of only the smaller objects in the larger dimension which resides next to this one, the new edition attempts to describe objects far too large to be believed in and thus is categorized as fantasy, and ignored by the small-minded human beings who are just so damned tiny, when all is said and done, that who cares what they think, their minds are teensy-weensy beyond all comprehension, and should be ignored. At 257 thousand billion pages, 'tis a small book for such a large subject.

Jetbikes
 
Got my first jetbike back in '37. Hell, boy, they hadn't even perfected the obstacle avoidance protocols yet. You had to steer the damn thing. Ain't nothing like it. Cruising at a hundred klicks over Frisco Dome, just you and your bike and the wind. That was before the Chi-town wreck, of course. Just a bunch of dumb butt kids out for a good time. Too bad about the reactor. They say you can get a good look at Deadtown from one of the new safety bikes, the ones with the environmental isolation fields. Still, I miss the old days.

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Salamandrian wine
 
Salamandrian wine can only truly be described in the fiery tongue of the native Salamandrian, but this glossary entry, found in the Epochs of Ephyre: Scribe of Pthalos, gives passible account of its origins and merit:

Though the potent quaff be not obtainable to those outside of the venerable monastic order of Charegmeiogn (Shar-Egg-May-On) Scalars, one of three casks absconded with during the Battle of Eight Dimensions was brought here to Mars and set before my Lord and Master one particularly warm evening by an honorable ex-communicate of the Order of B'Shaar. Knowing not to trust the B'Shaarian (but of course lauding him with great praises for this esteemed gift) he did order the barrel carted to my storehouse for thorough examination and testing.
Knowing not the temperament of the legendary vintage, but being able to calculate and recreate the atmospheric conditions rumored to exist within the Scalar's impenetrable Monastery high in the peaks of Salamandria's incredible equatorial ranges, I set about separating the volume into 16 equal portions. Six of these portions I bottled and set aside to maintain their present state of being. Five of the portions I laid up in crystal flasks and upon them applied varied vacuums and cooling, each being in it's turn lower in temperature than the original volume. To the remaining five, I exercised increasing pressures and heatings which I deemed might attain an atmosphere closest to that supposed region of the Charegmeiogn.
In the tasting of the latter group I cannot speak, for who dares to even think of drinking of such a distillation but those of the Salamadrians themselves. The former, cooled group, though still a trying experience for even the mightiest of us fleshy beings, may be described only with euphoric and electric prose, and the like of which may never be again tasted by Solar palettes after this small allotment is depleted!
As soon as the glass approaches one's face, the mists arising from it's rim are scented as the most profound Terran cinnamons and nutmegs. These heady vapours engulf the tasters head as the cup draws yet closer, tickling the eyes and the hairs of the nose and ears with a static charge. The moment that the liquid touches the lips a sharp shock is felt, and the first drop enters the mouth almost magnetically. The first flash of flavor is that of sulfur and coffee, followed suddenly by a wave of Martian mint and cannabis. This wave crests with the spice of hot peppers and sweet onions, and washes over the tongue, where it trickles languidly down the throat with a singing anesthetic of anise and arnica.
Here, however the Terran analogues end and the flame-tastes of Salamandria arise. A vacuous numbness overtakes the taster, and a burning flush upon the ears and cheeks is felt, like a wasp has kissed one on the mouth. If the taster is not seated and prepared, one may expect to crash to the floor as the numbness overtakes the remainder of the body. It is as if one has swallowed glowing embers of sage, but is somehow impervious to the searing pain. A psychic heat swells in the head and amongst the organs, and courses out to the fingertips, distributing the fiery glow throughout all of the aural pathways and capillaries.
Suddenly a great clarity of vision emerges out from the smokey cloud, and one is left at the last with an overwhelming sense of calm, peace, understanding and acceptance. One remembers fond memories of youth, and feels reconciliation and forgiveness for old enemies long passed. The finish is as fine as purest honey and cardamom. Best taken on an empty stomach.

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The Wings of St. Dolor
 
The Wings of St Dolor, the last ingredient in the recipe for elixir of life.

St Dolor had led a long and tedious immortal life, constantly on the run from those few elite alchemists who had found the secret scrolls. This time one of them had him cornered, atop a mountain peak in the Vango range. He clung to the rocky outcrop, regret clouding his thoughts. This one had been exceptionally clever, subduing a dragon to pursue the harassed saint and drive him here, to his last refuge.

It had seemed a good idea at the time, to land on a snow capped peak where the dragon's furnaces would fail, leaving it unable to flame; but now the ice crystals had set on the edges of his downy wings, weighing him down and preventing him from flying it didn't seem such a clever plan.

He shivered as he looked down at the alchemist, trudging the long, weary way to the top of the mountain. He had to give him credit for persistence. He wondered which magical attribute the man would have.

At last the exhausted climber reached the peak. St Dolor watched him as he drew a knife from the sheath at his belt.

"I need your wings, Saint," he said.

"Do you realise what taking them will mean to you?" Dolor asked.

"I do," the alchemist replied, raising his tinted goggles so the saint could look into his eyes. "The ingredients will be modified to include St Ash's eyes..."

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The elliptical echo
 
The elliptical echo is a phenomenon known to occur only in the hydrocarbon lakes of Titan. The tiny, jellyfish-like organisms inhabiting that moon apparently make use of echolocation to find their prey, even smaller analogues of plankton. The irregular shape of the lakes, combined with the complex chemical nature of the liquid within them, cause the hypersonic cries of the Titanites to travel in unpredictably complex loops, yet somehow these primitive animals are able to decipher what appears to be sonic chaos. Slowed down to the human hearing range, recordings of these sounds currently hold positions 20, 31, and 37 on the System Top Forty.

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The Revenent's Gown
 
six centuries ago, back in 2291, it was a dark time for Our Glorious Earth. The war with the Revenents was reaching its climax, with billions dead on either side all in the name of an alien religion. In the Hall of Battles here, we see relics from that era, starting with the Revenent's Gown in the first display case.
Each Revenent wore one of these silken flowing gowns which acted as powered armour and gave them the ability to pass between realities with a mere thought. It wasn't until Colonel Wheaton of the Paladin regiment captured one and put it on, that we started to turn the tide of the battle.

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Cyber-Link Interface
 
The so-called "Cyber-Link Interface" device, inexplicably popular during the '23 Xmas season, was nothing more than a minor variation on (some might say rip-off of) the previous year's newly introduced iSpot and SmartDot products. The packaging, much larger than the tiny, jewel-like object within, contained the provocative statement "WARNING: DO NOT INGEST (wink wink nudge nudge)" in shiny red letters. Naturally, many people swallowed it, expecting to be launched into cyberspace at last. The only result was a lot of stomachaches and a lot of lost money. Authorities traced the mysterious manufacturer of the Cyber-Link Interface to one of the newly independent island nations in the Pacific, the entire population of which (estimated to be three or four) disappeared before charges could be brought against them If you still have a Cyber-Link Interface in the original packaging, hang on to it. Collectors have been offering kiloeuros on WeBuy.

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Malkot's Song
 
If you visit the city of Mhgarkahak while on your vacation to Langahoog, make sure you take a walk along the Avenue of Fabulous Design, just five minutes walk west of the city center. You will find such treasures as The Long Crook, Feathery Hangtags and Principally Small Holes, but more importantly you will be able to gaze longingly at Malkot's Song - forever frozen in time due to the Emerson Effect, a time-space anomaly that solidifies sound within a small area of space and makes it visible to the naked eye. Please be aware however that Malkot's Song has been known to cause nausea, headaches, bowel inconvenience and loss of hair to a small number of viewers. If you experience any of these side effects, leave the vicinity of Malkot's Song immediately and consult a suitably trained physician.

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Doomweppers Sandal
 
The Doomweppers Sandal is an elusive item in the popular Marauder's Vision III: The Legend of the Twelve Weeping Towers video game. According to an article in Pwnd magazine, this magical footware is located somewhere inside the labyrinthine corridors of Professor Perwickle's Paralogical Premises, the seventeenth and most difficult level of the game. Given the fact that there are more than nine hundred rooms to explore, each one filled with traps and enemies, it's unlikely that any player has found it yet. Rumors suggest that the Doomweppers Sandal includes an easter egg in the form of a code which allows the one who finds it communicate directly with the reclusive designer of the game, who hasn't been heard from in more than a decade.

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Slow Harvesters
 
Way back in 2043 when the worlds energy crisis was at its peak, the French scientist Luc Le'Fevre created a device that could literaly siphon the life force from a person and convert it to usable electricity. The Slow Harvester as Le'Fevre named it was banned by the UN as barbaric, however several smaller nations continued to use them on prisoners for at least a decade after the ban, until economic sanctions forced them to stop.

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Shwangers energetic enhancer.
 
Roll up, Roll up, this is your last chance to see the fantastic effects of Shwangers Energetic Enhancer. Gather around, and let me tell you how the residents of Ogdenville and East Haverbrook were Energetically Enhanced, and how all of their menfolk now have a full head of hair and the population has increased. Simply one swig of the bottle every night before bed, and you too will feel Energetically Enhanced. Just be careful not to handle energy weapons within the first month while your levels settle down. Now, who will open the bidding at five E-Dollars a bottle...Only limited stocks and time left...

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Servitor Mk VII
 
The Servitor Mk VII was the only sentient subspace starship in the galaxy. He was builted to allow the Terans to finally overcome the challenge of how to navigate the unstable transmutational honeycomb of subspace. The ship's life was a lonely one and indeed the previous 6 Servitors had all self distructed following psychotic episodes. In fact the only relationships the Servitor was only allowed were with his Captain Kischella and the Ship's psychologist Delilah.

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Transient Huminator
 
Like a lone migrating bird lost from the flock, the transient huminator floated over the city slowly, turning now and then until it had made a complete circle. The pale pink mist it sprayed into the atmosphere dissolved into invisiblity. Calm would return to the rioting metropolis in less than an hour. Exhausted, the huminator headed for its base, where it would rest, refill its storage chambers,a dn wait for another emergency.

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The round lakes
 
The Round Lakes, located in the high polar latitudes of the planet were a source of mystery for the settlers who lived their. Ill equipped to plumb their depths they had to make do with speculation from the geologists living among them.
Gaseous releases from melting subsurface ice was among the most popular explanation, the almost perfectly circular banks seemed to point to a natural though rare phenomena.
When a supply ship finally swung by their system they had barely began to unpack their food and medical supplies before sending the specially requested submersible ROV on its voyage to the bottom of the first of 8 lakes.
By the time they reached the lake bed, tremors started to register at first on the ROV but when soon felt through their very own feet. The shuddering waves of activity seemed as if the ground beneath them was heaving with the breaths of some giant Leviathan.
On the VR headsets the researchers wore, a huge crack began to race across the floor of the lake before yawning open as a giant fissure the drew in huge clouds of silt and mud.
The shaking worsened as the view slowly cleared from the turbulence in the water and tonnes of debris thrown up in the quake.
Where there should be a chasm into the crust of the planet was instead a mile long iris. Punctuating it's furious crimsons and fuschias was an infinitely dark pupil contracting to a single dark portal to some giant creature's eye.

When the supply ship returned 3 years later they found the planet torn apart. The official report blamed intense gravity induced geological stress from a wandering interstellar body. Though the Captain's first remark recorded on the black box was closer to the truth.

"I can't believe it's all gone, just totally gone. The whole planet... cracked apart like an egg."



Solarian Pheasant
 
"Mommy, mommy, what kind of bird is that?" the child cried.

Sitting in it's cage, the golden-plumaged bird turned to the sound of the young boy's voice, it's long iridescent feathers shimmering in the delicate light. A short curved beak appeared to be carved from yellowed ivory, while it's startlingly blue eyes blinked at the intrusion. Locking his gaze with the bird's, the child was entranced by the alien nature of the creature.

Reading from the plaque affixed to the cage, she replied "This is the very rare Solarian Pheasant, which is only found on the 4th moon of Tyronius. Legend has it that anyone who heard it's song could be cured of any illness, but the bird refuses to make a sound while in captivity."

As mother and child left the exhibit, the Solarian Pheasant turned back to the windows it had been longingly looking through before their arrival. Softly at first, an indescribable melody could be heard. Rising in volume, the beautiful song of the bird filled the empty hall, never to be shared with the ears of it's captors.



Carson's wagon
 
Folks always got mighty riled up when Carson's wagon came to town. That crafty old pitch man had the most curious things piled up in his creaky vehicle. Elixirs that cured the shakes, Arabian perfumes that made your head spin, ancient scrolls with snaky writing not even a Chinaman could read. One time he brought a barrel full of French champagne, dumped it into a horse trough, and soaked his head in it. Guess he could be anywhere right now, maybe even Saint Louis or San Francisco.

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Cloth of mist
 

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