Consider the following to be stats for typical weapons of their type—a specific weapon could have different tags to represent its features. Armor is heavy, difficult to wear and is damned uncomfortable. Some classes are better trained to ignore these drawbacks, but anyone can strap on a suit of armor and enjoy the benefits it grants. Armor, like weapons, has tags. Some are purely descriptive but the ones below have some mechanical effect on the player wearing them.
Adventuring gear is a collection of useful mundane items such as chalk, poles, spikes, ropes, etc. When you rummage through your adventuring gear for some useful mundane item, you find what you need and mark off a use. When you drink an entire healing potion, heal yourself of 10 damage or remove one debility, your choice. If you drink a whole keg yourself, you are very, very drunk. Dwarves say it tastes like home. Everyone else says it tastes like home, if home is a hog farm, and on fire.
Until cured, whenever the afflicted rolls damage, they roll an additional d4 and subtract that result from their normal damage. The target treats the next creature they see as a trusted ally, until proved otherwise. Anyone dealing damage against the target rolls twice and takes the better result.
There are stranger things in the world than swords and leather. Magic items are the non-mundane items that have intrinsic power. Magic items are for you to make for your game. The GM can introduce magic items in the spoils of battle or the rewards for jobs and quests. This list provides some ideas, but magic items are ultimately for you to decide. When making your own magic items keep in mind that these items are magical. There are many swords in this world, but there is only one Argo-thaan. It is a blade of gold, silver and light, revered as a holy relic by all orders and religions for whom Good rings true.
Its touch is a blessing and to many, the sight of it brings tears of joy. In the hands of a paladin, it strikes true and strong. A paladin wielding it increases their damage die to d12 and has access to every paladin move. As well, Argo-thaan can harm any creature of Evil, regardless of any defenses it may have. No Evil creature may touch it without suffering agony. In the hands of any non-paladin, it is merely a sword, heavier and more cumbersome than most—it gains the awkward tag.
Argo-thaan, while not intelligent, will forever be drawn to a cause of true Good, like iron to a magnet. Crafted in darkness by a blind fletcher, these arrows can find their target in even the deepest darkness.
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An archer may fire them blind, in the dark, with his eyes bound by heavy cloth and still be assured of a clean shot. If the light of the sun ever touches the arrows, however, they come apart like shadows and dust. It is crafted of shining steel, glowing with a golden light and imbued with mythical powers of authority. When you bear the axe, you become a beacon of inspiration to all you lead. A nail or spike, twisted and forever cold, said to have been pried from the Gates of Death.
When hammered into a corpse, it disappears and ensures that corpse will never be risen again—no magic short of that of Death himself can reignite the flame of life natural or otherwise in the body. A bag of holding is larger on the inside than the outside, it can contain an infinite number of items, and its weight never increases. An ancient wooden wheel, as might appear on a war-wagon, banded with steel.
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On a glance, it appears to be nothing special—many spokes are shattered and the thing seems mundane. Under the scrutiny of magic or the eyes of an expert, its true nature is revealed: the Burning Wheel is a gift from the God of Fire and burns with his authority. Once used, the Burning Wheel ignites and burns with brilliant light. It does not confer any protection from those flames, nor does it provide any bonus to swimming.
A brass naval horn, curled and ornate, carved with symbols of the gods of Plenty. When blown, in addition to sound, the horn spills forth food. Enough to feed a meal to everyone who hears its sound. None know from whence this spear of twisted white coral comes. Those who bear it too long find their minds full of alien dreams and begin to hear the strange thoughts of the Others.
None are impervious. Its true purpose is to do harm to those things whose strange natures protect them against mundane weapons. Used thus, the Spire can wound foes otherwise invulnerable to harm. The wielder will recognize these twisted foes on sight—the Spire knows its own. A cape of rich black velvet outside and sparkling with tiny points of light within, this cloak bends fate, time and reality around it to protect the wearer, who may defy danger with whatever stat they like.
The cloak makes it so. It can be used once for each stat before losing its magic. What appears, at a glance, to be a simple copper coin is, in truth, an enchanted coin. Its bearer can, at any time, redeem it to know immediately one fact that has been forgotten. What a waste of time! I could easily dash over to that nitwit and grab him before he knew what was coming off. And here we are, standing around! Don held himself back for another two minutes or so, then he made up his mind to put an end to this nonsense, no matter what the orderly said.
So Don edged away to the side, putting distance between the big orderly and himself. But as Don lowered his shoulders slightly in preparation to make the sudden dash, the orderly reached out with the speed of an attacking snake and grabbed him by the arm. The grip was like a tight circle of steel. For a few seconds Don stood still, deciding whether or not to obey; then he turned and walked toward the doorway.
The group standing there made room for him to pass through, but he came to a stop in their midst and turned about to see how things would come out. Markham began to laugh loudly. After a moment Don realized that the patient was talking to him. What a chance! Bradley turned his face back to the room and stared straight ahead. His face relaxed into a blank expression for a moment, but then it twisted up again as he began to cry.
Squatting there on the windowsill with his long arms hanging down lower than his feet, Bradley Markham cried as vociferously as any little baby and his cheeks grew wet with tears. Now the two orderlies began to walk slowly toward him. Markham continued to cry as they reached him, but when the big orderly put an arm around his shoulders he calmed down to the point of sniffling, with only a sob now and then. They helped him down off the windowsill and led him toward the doorway.
Everyone there, including Don, cleared the way by hurrying into the big room. Don made a fast circle around the upset tables and headed for the exit. He was embarrassed at the way the orderly had spoken to him, actually telling him to get out of the room! Everyone standing there had heard it. And now that the orderly had managed to calm the patient, he looked entirely justified in what he had said. They were just lucky! Don told himself. He groped in his pocket for the key that had been issued to him when he had become a regular volunteer worker. Don unlocked the oaken door, stepped through, and let it snap shut behind him without looking back.
He knew the orderlies bringing the patient would be there in a few seconds and would have to unlock the door again, but that was their problem. He just wanted to get out of here. Three minutes of striding through corridors, descending stairways, and passing through several more locked doors, brought Don out into a pleasant evening, exceptionally cool for late June. There was a smell of moisture in the air, and the sky was partly overcast, but so far no rain was falling and the descending sun was still thrusting its golden rays between the high buildings of downtown Minneapolis.
Several people were standing at the bus stop, waiting, when Don arrived.
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The girl, wearing a little blue skirt and a short-sleeved blue and white top, was holding her arm just above the wrist as though she was hurt. The young man stood very close to her, apparently in sympathy, and soon Don was near enough to be able to hear his words. This was unlikely though, for there was a wide lawn area between the sidewalk and the institution building. Still, Don felt obligated to find out for sure.
He walked up to the couple. Her eyes, slightly widened by surprise, were dark and beautiful. A tiny round birthmark was on her left cheek. She was short, small boned, and slim waisted, and the fact that she was hurt made Don want to put his arms around her to comfort her.
His sandy hair was a little shorter than the way most boys his age wore it. His cheerful looking face was remarkably handsome.
Don wondered if this couple was going steady; then his sharp eye noted that in spite of the difference in size and coloring, there was a definite resemblance between them. They could be brother and sister , thought Don, or maybe cousins. He was going to jump out. The girl looked shocked, as did some of the older ladies in the group standing around waiting for the bus and listening to the conversation.
Until a few years ago, these trucks were the only vehicles allowed to ride past the Yukon River. The culture of trucking in this neck of the woods has not changed much from those days: the truck owns the roads. When you are riding there, you need to adhere to a new set of rules and become very aware of the effect large trucks have on your ride to the Arctic.
When you cross a truck on dirt: Hunker down behind your windscreen. These trucks are throwing rock — sometimes the size of baseballs — and you need to protect yourself. Do not ride with your face shield open. Keep as much of your body behind a protective surfaces as possible. Let trucks pass. Many of these trucks are empty after delivering their supplies and are trying to make time. They run at speeds of up to 90 m. Keep vigilant in your rear view mirror for these monsters creeping up on you.
To be sure, you will be passed! The shoulders of this road are extremely soft, and will throw you into the bushes. Be aware of where you park. This highway will be empty for up to 30 minutes at a time.
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No traffic makes a rider complacent. Add a herd of caribou and the rider wants to stop and take a picture. At the time of parking, no one is around, so you choose the road as the parking lot. Then, and this has happened two wheelers come from opposite directions and will need to pass each other right where you parked! There is simply no room for your bike to be there, and this is when things get tricky!
The 10 Dos and Don’ts of the Dalton
If you ever stop along the Dalton, make sure to pull completely off the road. Otherwise, you may get an ear-full from an Ice-road trucker in the Coldfoot parking lot! Bring the tools necessary to get you out of a pinch. Be able to take off your tire, replace an inner tube, patch a hole, plug a hole, take your bike apart, put air into your tire…All the things you wish you had brought seem to come to mind when your bike fails. Take time and prepare beforehand.
Be able to take of your tires and repair them and fix problems that may arise. I always bring a manual foot pump, tool kit, tire spoons, hex set, and a syphon hose. Accessorize your bike. Make sure it can take rocks and fall over and not get hurt. Protect your engine on the sides and underneath.
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Protect your hand guards. Make sure your pegs do not get slippery. Make sure you seat fits your body. Do everything you can to make that bike you ride comfortable, well balanced and able to take a hit. You will be glad you did. Outfit the rider. Waterproof boots and gloves are essential. These are the basics if you want to have a safe and memorable trip as far north as you can go on the North American continent. Your health and safety, of course, come first. Your lust for adventure will not be stopped. In fact, it should be encouraged!
Just take a couple of these steps to make sure you get home safe and sound and have the time of your life. Ride safe! Over his year career as a motorcycle guide in Alaska, he has witnessed the very best and worst prepared adventure riders you can imagine. Interested in joining us on one of our motorcycle adventures, or renting one of our bikes to go on an adventure of your own?
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