For Marj's eyes only.
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Showing 60 of 430 items in the Quest Items category.
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Just like Dad used to make.
The tag reads: 'Porpertry of Marjan.'
For Marj's invisible ink, used to write down her secret recipes.
Gifts freely given, then later repurposed for a dark ritual. How nice.
Retire to a secluded corner of the library and lose yourself between my pages...
A reinforced survival cloth built for shelter, signaling, filtration, and wiping yourself dry.
Canceled meeting? Try not to look too relieved.
Join us to learn exactly how well we're allegedly doing!
Scuffed leather, patched three times over. Contains exactly one hermit's life savings: not much.
A practical assortment of supplies for crafting something useful. Nothing here is decorative.
Grumbles like its owner.
Boldly marked 'INCREDIBLY PRIVATE'—as if that ever stopped anyone.
Amano's Kebab
Uncommon
A practical meal for someone who likes dinner with defensive potential.
A key to Amano's room, which carries the unmistakable aroma of camp smoke and the general misery of a man twice as tired as his age.
Hastily scrambled together storm data from Amano to help Candlewic relax. Or something.
Destined to be discarded with extreme prejudice.
It's everything he never wanted.
Light this flame to remember the forebears, and let its glow carry your thanks.
A particular type of clay with resonance dampening properties.
Not to be confused with Antifun Cream, which removes whimsy on contact.
Tiny engineered components designed for delicate, multi-axis movement.
Bolts, gears, and various odds and ends for coaxing broken machinery back to life.
Slightly damaged but still mostly functional. Like some people you may know.
Essential doohickies, forcefully removed by paws.
This component crackles with Beacon Energy—Maya is certain it's connected to Joule.
USAGE: Takes residual energy from shattered beacons for reuse. NAMED: After my third cat.
The rating has had little effect on a hungry and determined Roomie.
Untouched pages ready to preserve a faithful copy.
A little blurry, but there's a blot there somewhere.
A noble attempt at order, constantly undermined by new additions.
From fluttery fae to the mysterious bleepatrice, this book is overflowing with magical information.
Now free to resume its quiet life on Candlewic's shelf, safe from the teeth of a hungry fluffalo.
New and refurbished sensors for extracting weather data wherever weather can be found.
A shaken and stirred box of collectibles.
A healthy snack to feed Tanice's creative brain. Brain Juice Trail Mix (patent pending).
Fluffalo wool snagged on thorns. Still slightly brambly.
The petards are all coming home for the hoistin'.
Once a cabinet. Now a suggestion of one.
A glider that's seen better days.
A battered sound system with nothing left to say.
A battered sound system with nothing left to say.
Whatever bond it marked still exists—just no longer within reach.
Scientific Name: Necrolichnium. But Joule insists on calling it Bub's Eye.
Looks fried, smells fried... probably is fried. Fix it to tune Joule's ham radio.
In desperate need of some TLC...or maybe a tech grave.
Handwritten name tags for the tucked-away things.
A trove of tools for elevating scholarly work: sealing wax, rich ink, and a personalized metal embosser.
A key to a room crowded with thoughts, half-finished theories, and one scholar doing his earnest best.
Every page brims with meticulous notes and handwriting that got more frantic near the bottom.
Candlewic's Soup Dumplings
Uncommon
A comforting meal for Candlewic, best served with a blanket.
A selection of supplements compensating for Candlewic's unreliable relationship with regular meals.
A teacup for a scholar who really ought to be drinking less caffeine.
A metaphysical hiccup, somehow condensed into a little creature.
Contents selected by someone who insists that this isn't a big deal.
A little care for the person who spends all theirs on everyone else.
<I>'Sup bro, party maybe? You should come by or whatever. It's chill.'</>
<I>'Please print clearly. Democracy suffers when I can't read your pawwriting.'</>
A secure receptacle for suggestions, concerns, compliments, and NOT DOG FECES. GREG HIBBSTON, I KNOW THAT WAS YOU.
The citizens has spoken.
Data from the Spirit Crossing demo (build 26168555, version 15.4.1). Item records reflect extracted game client configuration files.