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zweiginator · 6 years

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Duality

Brian May x Reader

Summary: It’s the end of the semester and with final exams in a week, you’re desperate for physics help. Your professor recommends Brian May, a bright young student who is seemingly unsure, anxious and apprehensive at life. So when he invites you to a Queen gig, you’re shocked to see another side of him.

Warning: DEFINITELY REALLY INAPPROPRIATE AND SMUTTY I WARNED YOU!!

This semester had taken a physical strain on you. You had transferred to a new university, and the pressure of making all new friends and having all new classes, which were much more strenuous than those of your old school, was weighing down on you, causing you quite a few breakdowns throughout the transition period.

Now, final exams were approaching quickly, and you had piles of assignments to complete, seemingly thousands of dates to memorize for your Renaissance history course, a few hundred thousand words to write in essays for your composition class, and worst of all, terribly complex equations to master for your physics class, all before next week. Why you had decided to take that class was beyond your locus of understanding, you weren’t majoring in anything of the sort, and you weren’t a very math or science enthused person.

All you did know, was that you were on the verge of failing the class, by the scarlet red marks which covered the top of each of your exams, the midterm being the worst score you had ever received in your life. You’d always worked hard in life and achieved grades you were proud of, for the most part, so struggling in a class was foreign to you and you hated the feeling. Worst of all, you didn’t want to admit defeat, to ask for help was the stripping of your dignity to you, and you were dreading the conversation you were about to have with your professor.

As the 10:30 AM lecture ended, your peers packed up their belongings, heaving their giant backpacks over their tired shoulders, shoving crumpled assignments and exams with near-perfect marks into their folders, making weekend plans with their friends. You slowly stood up from your desk in the front of the room, neatly putting your unsightly exams into your portfolio and sighing, before walking towards your professor’s mahogany desk, which was cluttered with red and blue ballpoint pens and coffee-stained papers.

“Um, Professor Prescott?” You inquired, taking a deep breath as you met her blue eyes.

“Y/n, I’m afraid if you need extra help today, I’m not able to do that. I’m awfully busy tonight with appointments, and the rest of the semester is booked with grading and conferences with other professors.” She looked at you with pseudo-sympathy, pursing her lips as she slung her brown leather teacher’s bag over her willowy shoulder.

“Professor Prescott, I really need help. I know I’m close to failing this course, and I need to do well, considering my position at this school depends on it. Please, is there any way you can help me?” You felt tears begin to prick the corners of your eyes and you scolded yourself for being so dramatic in front of an authority figure.

She sighed and tore a piece of yellow paper from a legal pad underneath a mass of quizzes and exams. “I suppose I can recommend a bright student of mine to help you. He’s in a course a few levels above this one. He does exceptionally well, and I’m sure he’d be happy to help you, y/n. Just tell him that I sent you, he tends to be very anxious.” She gave you a small smile and scribbled a name and a phone number before handing it to you, leading you out of the classroom and into the crisp fall air, wind nipping at your exposed skin.

“I hate making phone calls, Debbie.” You complained, rolling your eyes at your roommate, who was sitting across from you, eating a small sandwich.

“No, you hate admitting you need help, y/n.” She retorted, cocking her blonde eyebrows at you.

“I mean, you’re right, but I don’t want to get help from some random guy and it be awkward and terrible. Maybe I’m just not meant to be at this school.” You took a chip from her plate and mirrored the judgmental look on her face.

“Y/n, you’re going to call this random awkward guy and you’re going to get a passing grade on this exam, and you’ll be fine.” She smiled and cocked her head towards the pastel peach phone hanging by the humming refrigerator.

You scour your pockets for the paper and take it out, looking at the number before quickly dialing it on the rotary, holding the phone between your cheek and your shoulder as you tied your hair back. The phone rang only twice before somebody picked it up, muttering a confident, “Hello?” in a deep, raspy voice.

“Hello? Is this Brian May?” You were afraid she had given you the wrong number, this guy sounded self-assured, cocky, and nothing like the anxious, shy boy professor Prescott had described to you.

“And who would be asking?” He retorted.

“Um, my name’s y/n, Professor Prescott gave me this--your number because I need help with physics. Desperately.”

“I’m no Brian May, but I can help you with something else if you so desperately need it, sweetie.” He chuckles and you cringe at his words, before you hear the shrill sound of the phone being knocked out of his hand, and a loud, “ROGER” from the other side of the line, and then a raspier, “fucking teacher’s pet,” from who you assume to be this Roger character you were just speaking to.

You begin to hear shaky, heavy breathing on the other line, which sounded a lot less self-assured, and a lot more like who your professor described. “Hello?” He asked, barely above a squeak. You were about to answer him when he started apologizing profusely. “I’m-I’m sorry if my roommate--Roger--was offensive towards you or said anything inappropriate, he’s very, um, outspoken, especially with girls--not that that’s an excuse, but I’m sorry.”

You giggled a little, finding his care for your feelings charming and cute. “No, no it’s not your fault, you don’t need to apologize. I just-really need help with physics, and professor Prescott recommended you. If you can’t or don’t want to help me then I understand but--it’s worth a try.” You felt stupid for rambling but his nervousness was transferring onto your demeanor.

“Oh! I’d love to help you--uh, I’ve helped a lot of students study for this exam so I know more or less the material that’s on it so I can just teach you that stuff and not bother with the other material so as to not waste time--not that I don’t want to help I just don’t want to waste your time..um, what did you say your name was? I’m terribly sorry.” You heard loud giggling in the background of the call and mocking sounds from more than one person and you felt you face turn bright red.

“Oh, I’m y/n, where would you like to meet up? We can in about an hour if that works for you?” You licked your lips, waiting for his reply.

“I always go to this café on twelfth street when I tutor, it’s very ambient. And an hour from now would be perfect, y/n. It was nice talk-”

You interrupted him, tripping over your own words. “Wait-wait, Brian how will I know it’s you?”

“Oh, I never thought about that.” His voice was shaky yet impeccably smooth, almost sultry, even though you could feel the anxiety seeping through his tone. “Um, I will be sitting at the first booth you see when you walk into the door. I’ll be hard to miss.”

And then the call ended, and you reluctantly set the phone back onto the receiver, noticing that you had bitten your nails down quite a bit during the awkward encounter.

For the next forty-five minutes, you sat at the dining room table nervously tapping your patent leather boots against the oak floor, circling terms and concepts you weren’t sure about on the exam outline your professor had given your class weeks before. You sighed as your paper was soaked with red ink; you didn’t know a thing.

You stood in front of the antique mirror which was perched by the front door of your shared apartment, fixing stray strands of hair which had fallen from the back of your topknot. You quickly applied some brick-red lipstick and put some hoop earrings in, trying to look somewhat decent, as the stress you were under had made your confidence plummet recently.

“Isn’t this just a tutoring session?” Your other roommate, Alison inquired, raising her eyebrows at you, almost accusatory.

“I mean, yeah, but I want to look decent, Alison.” You retorted, grabbing your purse from the coat hook by the door.

“Who is this guy who’s tutoring you again?” Debbie questioned, fixing the hood of your coat.

“Brian May,”

“That sounds vaguely familiar for some reason.” Alison countered, as you left your apartment.

The November wind nipped against your skin, making goosebumps form against your rosy skin. The streets were bustling with midday traffic and you walked the short trek to the café, listening to your boots click against the cement, and the occasional sound of a rust-colored leaf crunch beneath your feet.

As you reached twelfth street, your heartbeat began to quicken as you had no clue what this Brian looked like, you only knew the sound of his voice, and he didn’t give you much to go off of. You peered into the window which extended across the front of the old brick building, but the tint prevented you from looking too long. You walked to the door, a dark stained wood door with an old copper handle, eroded from years of use, cold against your already numb fingertips.

You turned the corner as you walked into the café, and saw a sea of dark, chocolate-brown curls atop who you assumed to be Brian May’s head. He was hunched over in concentration at the booth, working on a physics problem, you could see the familiar assignment, and the buttons of his calculator reflecting against the ambient light. He looked small, curled into the corner of the booth, so you were more than surprised when he stood to greet you and was towering above you, thin, jean-clad legs taking up most of his body. He wore a simple white button-up which had all but one button fastened. You could see the top of his bony sternum, and the sleeves to his shirt were messily rolled up, revealing muscular yet dainty forearms, and his fingernails were short, contrasting with his long, slender fingers, and had the remnants of white nail polish on them.

His face was even more handsome than you could have ever imagined, and you felt your face redden at the sight of it. His eyebrows were dark, and tapered off towards the tails, giving his warm hazel eyes a kind, almost ethereal look. His cheekbones were high and elegant, his nose aquiline and prominent and quintessentially masculine, stopping just above his light pink lips.

He gestured for you to sit down and you took your coat off hurriedly, as he scooted over to make room for you next to him. You felt nervous and uneasy, sitting next to this gorgeous guy, and you were glad you put extra time into your appearance today.

“Okay, y/n, what do you need help with?” He met your eyes only briefly, and blushed a little, flashing a toothy smile at the table where his large hands rested upon the paper he was working on.

You scoured your bag for the review sheet and handed it to him, giving him a nervous laugh. “Pretty much everything,” you answered, sighing. He handed you his pencil, which was chewed around the barrel, and you could see the embarrassment in his eyes; he regretted giving you the pencil. Your fingers touched briefly and he stuttered his words as he began to teach you the material. As the session continued you got closer and closer to each other, and he ordered you a snack and a coffee, and you noticed he accidentally drank out of your cup a few times, but you didn’t mind enough to tell him; you knew it’d embarrass him.

He was hunched over, helping you enter something into your calculator correctly when you asked him more personal questions.

“So, Brian, do you have another hobby, other than physics?” You joked, looking at him intently as he chewed on his pen, scribbling the answer on the messy paper in his illegible handwriting.

He met your eyes, and bit his lip lightly. “Um, yeah, I’m in a band actually. I play the guitar. It’s mostly a weekend thing, at pubs and bars.”

“Oh really? When is your next gig?” You fiddled with your own calculator, mindlessly pressing the buttons.

“Tonight, actually. At a pub just down the street. You’re welcome to come with some friends if you want.” He flushed pink and grinned at you, warmly.

“I’d love to come! What time is it?” You took out the paper with Brian’s number on it and flipped it over, ready to write the details. He took the pen from your hand and wrote the address and time in his best handwriting and then a small smiley face on the bottom corner, before folding the paper up and handing it back to you, along with the pen, which was impossibly small in his hands.

He looked at his watch and bit his lip. “I’m sorry y/n, but I actually have to go help set up the gig. If I don’t they will be mad. It was great meeting you, see you later?” He rubbed the back of his neck and you watched as a curl bounced back to its original position after being caught on a ring of his.

“Oh, of course, sorry for keeping you so long. Good luck, I’ll see you later. I’ll bring my roommates.” You stood up to let him out of the booth and he gave you an awkward kiss on the cheek, not knowing the correct etiquette for this type of situation.

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As you walked back to your apartment, you couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face, even though the piercing wind was making your face numb to any feelings. You were excited to go to a concert, and excited at the prospect of having something other to focus on than final exams, even if it was just for one night. Your roommates noticed your heightened mood when you got back.

“How did it go? Was it terrible?” Debbie greeted you at the door and smirked at you when she saw your grin.

“Why are you smiling like that, yn?” Alison inquired, following behind Debbie.

“He’s super attractive, ok!” You replied, feeling your face burn up.

“Oh my god, really?” Debbie looked shocked.

“A physics tutor?” Alison looked doubtful.

“He’s cute--really cute. And he’s in a band. He’s the guitarist, and he has a gig tonight. He invited me--us. He said I could bring friends too.”

“A concert? Nice, y/n, you’re getting out there!” Alison playfully shoved you and led you over to the couch.

“What type of music is it?” Debbie sat down next to you and Alison.

“I’m not sure, but I’m guessing something acoustic and folky, I just got that feeling from him.”

“Cute,” Alison exclaimed. “Y/n got herself a catch!”

You unfolded the paper Brian had written on and looked at the time and address. It was 7:20 PM, and he wrote eight sharp on the paper.

“Shit, it’s in 40 minutes.” You quickly got up and changed your outfit, opting for something casual but classy.

As you left your apartment with your roommates twenty minutes later, you felt nervous once again, but the walk calmed you down. The atmosphere was different from what you expected when you arrived, there were a lot of people you recognized from college who were into harder stuff--druggies and metal-heads lined up at the door, and you felt overdressed when you saw everyone’s attire: layered band tees and flared pants which contrasted greatly with your outfit.

The line was surprisingly long and energetic, with hundreds of people packed onto the sidewalk mingling with the others, talking about new albums for bands you couldn’t begin to understand. The red lights from the inside of the bar cast a bright rosy red glow amongst the street, like its own personal spotlight. You vaguely heard drums and the tuning of a guitar as the door occasionally opened and closed as the bouncers let people in.

When the bouncer let you and your roommates in, you felt out of place. You weren’t expecting the venue to be so hardcore, there were crude posters messily hung about the building, and the lighting was dark and red, making everything glow with something akin to anger, making you tap your foot anxiously as you ordered a drink. You and your friends moved up to the front of the crowd, silently pushing through the sea of people to the front of the crowd. The bar owner climbed onto the stage and introduced the band, telling the crowd to get ready for Queen. They all cheered as if this wasn’t new, as if they knew what to expect. You were excited.

The drums matched your heartbeat, heavy and rhythmic, yet somehow a little irregular. You could feel the bass vibrate in your feet and the heavy riff of the guitar ringing in your ears. A flamboyant frontman came to the front of the stage, wearing an angelic white pleated white shirt, tight white pants and tall heels, with his nails painted an impossibly deep black. He grinned and danced around the stage, commanding the audience as he introduced the band members. As the light shone upon the stage, illuminating the other three men, your heart skipped a beat as you saw the same Brian you had nervously chatted with hours ago, the Brian who had an impermeable uncertainty about him, who wore conservative clothing, stuttering over his words, no matter how confident and skilled he was about the topic, towering above his bandmates, wearing a flowy, lacy top and a statement necklace which adorned his thin neck. His eyes were shadowed in dark makeup, his slender fingers now painted opaquely white, contrasting against his tanned, smooth skin. His eyes were smoldering, certain and beautiful, the eyeshadow complementing the golden brown irises.

As Brian saw you at the front of the crowd, you knew you were ogling him, but you couldn’t look away. You were awestruck by his presence, his stature, which was heightened by 3 inch heels. His eyes bore into yours and he didn’t look away. He licked his lips as he strummed the first cord of the song. Although the talent of the rest of the band was amazing, Brian was mesmerizing you with his every move. His nimble fingers struck every cord perfectly, strummed every string without fail, without taking his eyes off of you. His mouth was slightly open, and he briefly looked down to watch his own work, his fingers moving ridiculously fast over the strings and frets. He strummed with unduly passion and you could see the sheen of sweat covering his face as he turned on the delay pedal. During his solo he commanded the crowd with no words. His shoulders contracted as he moved about the stage, his long legs making him look angelic, but his smoldering look giving him an alluring, unexpected sinful appearance that was impossible to look away from.

He stared at you as he wrapped his fingers around the microphone singing into it forcefully as he played his guitar simultaneously. He and Freddie were a unit on the stage, moving together in something alike a dance between the musicians. He began to strum with more fervor, brows furrowed in concentration, breathing heavily as he swayed around the stage, entrancing the audience as if he were a bonafide pendulum in human form, hypnotizing them with his pure talent. Your mouth was agape looking up at him, unable to believe this was the same Brian who was stumbling over his words hours before, punching numbers into an old calculator. It felt like the show had barely begun when Brian strummed the last cord, and the lights were cut, casting the four members in a shadow, shrouded by stage smoke. You were speechless as you turned to your friends, your face red dripping with sweat. You hurried to the bar and asked for a glass of water.

“So that was Brian?” Debbie looked at you with awe.

“I guess so. He was stuttering in a coffee shop with me 3 hours ago.”

You, Alison, and Debbie gushed about him as you sipped your water, unable to believe the duality of him, how a jean-clad physics tutor could command hundreds of people with an English sixpence and an old guitar. You felt a warm hand on the small of your back, the unmistakable feeling of a hard-on pressing into your back as you leaned against the bar. You quickly turned around only to realize it was Brian, motioning for the bartender to pour him a glass of water. He smirked down at you, his eyes shimmering, his cheeks flushed pink, pupils dilated so much that the golden brown irises you’d grown to love were invisible now.

He put his long arms around your waist, lifting you onto the barstool with confident ease, standing between your legs, your roommates feigning conversation four feet away.

“I want you,” Brian almost growled into your ear, nibbling at your earlobe, his hands rubbing your inner thighs, causing you to moan quietly into his own ear.

He pulled you off of the stool and held you close to him by your waist, almost as a shield for his boner as he led you backstage, where he took you into the greenroom, gaining attention and a few odd looks from his bandmates. He shut the door and didn’t even bother to lock it before he pushed you against it, pushing his hard thigh against your aching clit, holding your hands above your head with one hand, holding your waist tight with the other, hungrily kissing your neck as you ground yourself against his thigh, moaning into his mouth as he kissed you hard.

“I fucking need you.” He whispered, pressing his sweaty forehead to yours. You tangled your hands into his thick curls as he basically threw you onto the couch, set papers flying in every direction as he pulled your jeans down your legs, kissing your thighs as he pulled your panties aside, sucking on his own fingers and rubbing them against your heat, before entering 2 long fingers inside, making you arch your back. He used his thumb to rub your clit and you moaned loudly, which only spurred him on. His fingers were rough and calloused, the texture driving you crazy as he moved pulled your shirt up and quickly unclasped your bra, kissing your breasts and sucking on your nipples, hardened from arousal and the cold air of the room. He looked up at you and groaned at your face, contorted with pleasure as he continued to finger you hard.

“Fuck, Brian.” You whimpered, your legs shaking. He firmly gripped your thigh and held your hips down as he went faster, scissoring his fingers, making you cry out. You didn’t care if anybody could hear you at this point.

“Say my name again,” He commanded.

“Brian, please.” You moaned again, close to your impending orgasm. You looked at him intently, furrowing your eyebrows as he continued his movements, not taking his eyes off of you for a second. You came as soon as you felt the cold metal of his ring touch you, arching your back as you screamed his name. He took his fingers out of you, sucking them clean as he grabbed a condom from his wallet. You sat up and unzipped his pants, pulling them down his slender legs, palming his cock through his now-tight briefs. His head lolled back as you touched him, and he whimpered your name before handing you the condom. You tore it open, before pulling his briefs down, revealing his impressive length. You rolled the condom on locking eyes as you did. You could hear his heavy breathing as he pulled you up, kissing you feverishly on the mouth before flipping you over, pulling your hips up and lining himself up with your entrance.

“Are you ready?” He said against your neck.

“Please,” You pushed back into him, and he entered you, slowly at first, but then with more fervor, holding your hips as he pushed into you repeatedly, groaning into your neck as he held your ass. You buried your face into the pillows, unable to contain the pleasure.

“I’m so fucking close,” Brian groaned into your neck, causing you to clench around him. He came at the same time as you did panting as he fell against your back, unable to move for a few minutes, basking in the pleasure you shared together. He eventually pulled out, helping you get redressed, blushing as he put his underwear back on. He looked wrecked, his neck was covered in love bites, his face flushed, hair matted in some places and unruly in others, his chest still heaving as he handed you your panties.

“Do you still need help with physics?” He almost gasped as he pulled your panties up your legs, kissing right above your belly button, looking up at you with a huge grin.

#brian may #queen #brian may fanfic #brian may smut #brian may x reader #bohemian rhapsody #gwilym lee #joe mazzello #ben hardy #rami malek #borhap #roger taylor #john deacon #freddie mercury

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tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 7 years

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Trinkets, 11: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A “broken” compass, which is only accurate while underground.

A 3 inch coil of string that purrs when praised like a good pet

A alchemist’s rugged leather vest with a multitude of pockets, loops and hooks for holding various items.

A belt pouch holding a small collection of stylized coasters from different taverns

A black iron spur from a devil’s scourge.

A black lace veil which feels oddly cold to the touch. If worn, the bearer immediately becomes aware that it was placed on a corpse during a funeral and stolen soon afterwards. The owner of the veil will be subject to recurring nightmares involving grave robbing and being slaughtered by the disturbed corpses of the dead they’ve looted.

A black leather domino mask once worn by the Queen of Thieves,

A bloody cloth handkerchief in which three teeth are wrapped up in. Each has a small gold filling. The teeth are badly cracked and scoured, it looks like someone used pliers to extract them.

A box containing an eyeball made of petrified wood that changes color at random every hour

A bracelet consisting of six small feathers tied together with twine.

---Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

---Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A “broken” compass, which is only accurate while underground.

A 3 inch coil of string that purrs when praised like a good pet

A alchemist’s rugged leather vest with a multitude of pockets, loops and hooks for holding various items.

A belt pouch holding a small collection of stylized coasters from different taverns

A black iron spur from a devil’s scourge.

A black leather domino mask once worn by the Queen of Thieves,

A bloody cloth handkerchief in which three teeth are wrapped up in. Each has a small gold filling. The teeth are badly cracked and scoured, it looks like someone used pliers to extract them.

A box containing an eyeball made of petrified wood that changes color at random every hour

A bracelet consisting of six small feathers tied together with twine.

A brass framed bifocal monocle on a silken cord.

A brass spyglass that always shows the environment suffering a terrible storm

A broken sword-hilt made of black metal. On it is written “Whoever recovers my blade…”

A bronze coin that bears the profile of the infamous thief, the “Duke of Blackmail”. Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize the coin as black-market currency that’s accepted by some criminals in return for illicit good and services.

A bundle of six small, durable, black silk pouches that can be sealed with a drawstring.

A cheap hoop earring that can be bent into a professional-grade lockpick, with ease in a few seconds.

A child’s spinning top that never falls over, instead when it stops spinning it remains fully upright.

A cigar box containing a complete suit of plate, a shield, a lance, a flail, and a sword, all scaled for someone 3.75 inches tall.

A clay tablet etched with runes that smells like excrement when cold

A cloth handkerchief that speak a single, random word every hour

A cloth pouch containing a short metal rod that is insubstantial to all matter except the special metal glove that goes with it.

A cloth pouch holding several whetstones, along with six incredibly blunt daggers

A bronze coin that bears the profile of the infamous thief, the “Prince of Spies”. Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize the coin as black-market currency that’s accepted by some criminals in return for illicit good and services.

A copper wristband that buzzes when in complete darkness

A copper wristband that’s slightly magnetic. Elderly creatures who wear it are sometimes relived from joint and arthritis pain, however it may be a placebo effect.

A creased, crumpled and sweat-stained black hood. It is lacking in mouth and eye holes. Worryingly, it has a thick draw string enabling it to be tightly secured around the bearer’s head and tied off.

A crystal antiprism about four inches across that is mildly repelled away from living flesh

A dainty ladies wrist-length glove, scaled to the size of a storm giant. Usable as a sack.

A deck of dirty playing cards with lewd images not suitable for children.

A decorative dagger carved from deep red wood and wrapped in an orange cloth

A derelict holy symbol of a forgotten god

A dried sponge that smells like mint

A driftwood sculpture of a fish that grants visions of the sea when licked

A driftwood sculpture of a fish that scares small land animals

A fashionable top hat made of fine moleskin.

A figurine of a large ant carved from onyx

A finger lengthed stone dog figurine that is always warm to the touch

A finger sized tail made of green glass that occasionally moves.

A fist sized bronze cube that, when tapped on thrice, disappears for one minute and then reappears in the same spot

A fist sized chunk of meteor rock.

A fist sized glass orb that drips perfumed water intermittently

A fist sized metal sphere that plays quiet, unpleasant, disturbing music when looked at by only one person

A five-inch square of Randomly Colored cloth that is uncannily pleasant to touch

A framed sheet of glass that appears to show a crystal-clear picture of the current surrounding area from a high vantage, but it is always completely wrong.

A genuine looking, but harmless (Blunted) stage dagger with a retracting blade and blood-compartment.

A gilded robin’s egg.

A glass jar containing a two-headed cat fetus

A glass jar containing a two-headed dog fetus

A griffin’s beak strung on a leather cord.

A hand sized figurine of a soldier, complete with detachable metal armor.

A hand sized sea foam colored scale from a sea serpent. It feels hard and rough to the touch and weighs as much as iron but floats like cork.

A hand sized wooden coffin filled with grave earth

A handful of carefully folded pages ripped out of an accounting journal of a local merchant.

A heavy wooden boomerang that could serve as a decent weapon or hunting tool in the hands of a skilled wielder.

A holy symbol of a long forgotten god, carved from bone

A holy symbol of a minor God of a Random Evil Domain hangs from a particularly long chain that allows it to be worn at navel height. Some of the chain’s links are particularly worn.

A horrendously ugly shirt which cleans and folds itself when removed.

A human skull and the ball joint end of a femur which have been altered into a mortar and pestle.

A large and realistic fake mustache.

A large belt pouch containing a small book wrapped in cloth. The book has a battered, mildewed cover and faded writing. Close examination reveals it is a prayer book of the minor god of a Random Evil Domain.

A large scroll tube containing a rolled up canvas painting of a sinister looking brooding royal

A large sponge that only soaks up blood

A leather belt pouch containing three empty potion vials. One is marked “invisibility” while the other two smell slightly of cinnamon.

A leather bookmark made from the skin of an infamous assassin.

A leather pouch containing seven small candles that are deceptively difficult to blow out

A leather pouch with the initials “J.F.” burnt into the lid which contains three six-sided bone dice with crudely inked pips. One of the dice is loaded and always comes up on the number one. The dice sit snug in the pouch, obviously custom made for this specific container.

A leather scroll tube containing a map to a labyrinth, marked with a path that doesn’t reach the center

A heavy, rust-covered iron rod that whispers unintelligible words only the wielder can hear

A lovingly preserved keepsake made of three locks of hair, from three different people, braided together

A magically preserved leaf from an oak treent.

A magically preserved wildflower, completely encased in a glass prism. The flower is a prime specimen of nature’s beauty and is forever frozen in full bloom. Staring deeply into the prism will grant the creature fleeting, rapidly shifting visions of heaven bursting forth from the flower. The viewer cannot control the visions and can choose to look away at any time.

A necklace of white clay prayer beads stained with blood.

A pair of clear drinking glasses that change color depending on the contents

A pair of intricate two-inch metal and glass disks that can be set to orbit around wrists like a hovering bracelet.

A pair of leather and glass goggles whose lenses are tinted Random Color.

A pair of leather and glass goggles whose lenses glow a faint Random Bright Color. The bearer is not negatively affected by the glow and can see normally

A pair of pallid leather gloves crafted with ivory fingernails.

A pair of red fur balls that will envelop whatever touches them until pulled free, providing a soft and warm slipper or mitten.

A pair of silken gloves with six fingers each

A pair of small steel ball bearings that circle each other when placed on a flat surface.

A pair of tiny metal rods that, when brought within one inch of each other, vibrate exactly fifteen minutes before the sun rises on any given day.

A pair of well-used manacles stained with old, dried blood.

A pair of wire and glass spectacles that makes everything appear upside-down. Curiously, wearing the spectacles upside down does nothing to solve this phenomenon

A pair of wire and glass spectacles that prevents the user from perspiring when worn under starlight

A pair of wire and glass spectacles that project strange images on the lenses so the wearer sees things that are not there

A pair of wire and glass spectacles whose lenses are tinted Random Color.

A pair of wire and glass spectacles whose lenses glow a faint Random Bright Color. The bearer is not negatively affected by the glow and can see normally.

A plain scroll tube containing several pieces of parchment that were used to make observations of the stars. These comprise several complicated diagrams of various constellations and cryptic notes regarding “the wanderer.”

A plate of glass that, when used to view the night sky through it, reveals ten times as many stars

A polished copper wristband that smells strongly of sugar

A porcelain doll’s head that always seems to be looking at the nearest creature to it

A preserved flower that changes to become the same color as the last meal of the creature wearing it

A Randomly Colored triangular flag emblazoned with strange markings which, when waved, plays an unfamiliar tune.

A rod that makes clicking sounds when wet

A rusted chainmail pouch which appears to have some sort of magical darkness inside it. All attempts to peer through the links fail unless a magical light source is shone into the pouch. Only then will the eyeball encased in resin within be visible. The eyeball belongs to a necromancer in a far off land. If removed from the pouch, the necromancer can see through the eye again.

A scroll tube containing several scraps of paper that name the PCs and provide rough descriptions of their appearance and abilities. Perceptive PC’s will realize that the notes (given the different handwriting styles) seem to have been written by at least three different people.

A sealed clear glass bubble containing an orange and green frog being kept alive by magic. It moves around, sleep and seems to be aware of its surroundings but never needs to eat or drink and does not age.

A sealed letter ordering the execution of one of the PC’s and stamped with various official seals.

A sealed vessel topped by a baboon’s head, all crafted of glazed porcelain. The canopic jar contains a wrapped and preserved pair of humanoid lungs.

A sealed vessel topped by a falcon’s head, all crafted of glazed porcelain. The canopic jar contains a wrapped and preserved humanoid intestines.

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