Dredge pulled out the small vial, twisting it between his heavily armored fingers. It wasn’t made of glass, and the powder within it looked a bit like metal but aside from that, it was a mystery.
“Christoph-” he called as he popped the lid off- “take a look at this”.
His companion, a slender crossbowman with that damn mask- Dredge never knew what he was thinking, but he was sure he wouldn’t like it- seemed to appear out of nowhere to pear over his shoulder.
“What is it?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t have called you over,” Dredge muttered distractedly as he swirled the powder in the vial.
“Well, pass me a stick, I want to poke it.”
Couldn’t hurt, could it? Dredge shrugged, handing the vial over to Christoph, stick now in hand. He watched as the young man stuck the wooden shaft into the vial, stirred the powder once, and pulled half the stick out of the powder, the rest broken off and curiously stripped of bark within the vial.
“Whoa” they spoke at once. There was a moment of silence that Dredge broke by taking the vial back. What happened to the stick? He had never seen anything like that in either of his lives. It was obviously dangerous, but how dangerous? No weapon is worth anything without an understanding of it’s capabilities. He needed something more durable… He looked down to his armor. The armor that he had been trapped in ever since he woke up, the armor that had bonded to his skin… and then he stuck his finger the vial as Christoph recoiled.
“Why! Why would you do that?” Christoph nearly screamed. Dredge nearly screamed as well, as the armor didn’t seem to provide as much protection as he hoped. Every grain seemed to lodge in his armor as if it wasn’t there. It wasn’t dissolving his finger or armor- he knew what that felt like- no, it was slicing him. He pulled his finger out as quickly as he could. They both stared at his finger, now coated in silver powder.
Dredge moved to brush it off, but as soon as he did, pain erupted yet again.
“$&!!, we need to wash it off, grab the decanter!”
Christoph already had his tiny bag out, his arm reached fully inside it fumbling for the decanter. As he pulled out the small, innocuous clay decanter and pointed it at the finger, Dredge had a brief flash of foresight.
“wait, st-“
A stream of water blasted out of the decanter like a firehouse. Pain shot across his finger for a moment before dying down concentrated at the base of the finger. Christoph turned off the torrent. The finger, his favorite pointer finger, was now gone, and liquid spurted out where the hole once was. Dredge would like to say that he kept composed, dignified in the moment.
“OH GOD WHAT DO I DO?”
“HOLD STILL HOLD STILL” Shrieked Christoph, fumbling around his bag. “I find something to plug the hole, just hold on for a sec…”
A large broad-shouldered man wearing a dignified find suit raised an eyebrow. His two companions had rejoined the group from their joyful exploration of some treasure they had found earlier, but now seemed quite dour.
“Sooooo.” Atticus exhaled. “Could anyone enlighten me as to why Captain Dredge’s gauntlet seems to have a carrot wedged into it?”
Note: Quick Guide has been moved to the tags, to make it a bit easier to sort by.
Sharpness is one directional, and by that I mean it preferably has only length without width. A knife is sharp because it’s edge narrows. Now, some sages say that it is the transformation of length without width to length with width that defines sharpness. After all, does not the sword widen from the edge, so that your enemies might be cleaved fully?
Philosophers and assassins rebuke them. A metal wire can cut flesh as easily as a sword in the right hands, yet at no point does it widen. Movement- being dragged or pushed across a surface- is more important than width. There was a flaw though- if lack of width is what defines sharpness, then what happens when one removes length? Could one create the omni-directional sharp? This was nonsense… until vorpal sand was discovered.
Vorpal Sand is a metallic or crystalline powder, a bit like silver sugar. In most respects, aside from it’s color, its very much like normal sand, albeit sand made out of stainless steal. There is one key difference; each individual grain is omni-directionally sharp to a ridiculous degree.
Now, as a side note, it needs to be very clear that while insanely sharp, it is not infinitely, platonically, or metaphysically sharp. It cannot cut molecules, atoms, or concepts. It can cut through almost anything else though.
Vorpal Sand almost impossible to work with. If you pour some on a stone counter- carefully- it might scratch it only a little. If you blow the sand off the counter though, it will leave deep ruts and scratches in it. The more pressure and movement behind it, the more it will cut. Try to pinch some with a bare hand and your flesh will be cut to the bone. An old trap (in the Djinn Wastes) is to dig a pit, put your treasure chest in there, and sprinkle Vorpal Sand on it. Working with it is terrible- when submerged in (still) water, it clumps together and is a little bit easier to work with. A vacuum is best, assuming you can find pipes hard enough to not tear apart. Little diamond or quartz vials work for a while. Don’t breath it in.
In terms of actual damage done via casual contact, treat it like fire. Touch a little bit of it? 1d4 magic slashing slashing. Pinch it? 2d6, but your fingers might be a bit messed up. Have someone pour it on your head and rub it in? 4d8, and you’re bleeding. Being thrown into a vat of vorpal sand is a bit like being thrown into lava, with the small difference that it the damages increases the more you move.
That’s the other thing- just about the only way to get it off you is to let your blood carry it out. Normal medical advise- put pressure on the wound to stop the flow of blood- just makes it worse. Raise your DC by anywhere from 5 to 15 for any medical check related to stopping bleeding from Vorpal Sand, and if they fail, do the damage again. Healing magic doesn’t work great either- getting the sand stuck inside you may not kill you instantly, but you’ll take the damage again over the course of your next long rest as it works it’s way out of your system.
Even if you don’t use bleeding rules, this stuff should be the exception. A nightmare in sticky red grit. If you don’t have any bleeding rules, 1d6 HP Slashing damage a round with a CON save at the start of each turn should suffice.
The stuff is rare- any idea how to make it died centuries ago- and only found in one place- the Vorpal Desert, or as the Magisters of Karapesh call it, the Djinn Wastes. A bottle of it can fetch a few thousand gold to the right person, but unfortunately it’s in the category of niche goods, which means it’s hard to sell but expensive to buy.
The Vorpal Desert
The Vorpal Desert. A chromium waste, a million million mirror shards, contained by mist shrouded mountains. The core of the waste is almost entirely vorpal sand, but to the south-east, a series of badlands stretch out, carved from the predominant winds. Trickles of water, the bare traces of life, and sand-blasted rock leaves a terrible environment for the Kardrak tribes. In the center, lies the Crystalline Dragon Versilliax.
Broadly speaking, little is known. Oral history from the Kardrak states that their people once formed and empire that was tricked by a powerful Djinn, feeding off a desire for the sharpest blades, more than could be ever used. Supposedly this Djinn was mighty enough to craft two wonders; the Palace of Diamonds and the Vorpal Desert. The Kardrak hold its third wish will end the world.
There are two regions within the region- the inner desert and the goodlands.
The inner desert is one of the worst places in the world. The heat is oppressive, the metal sheen heating up to a 120 degrees (F) on the regular, while cooling into the negatives every night. During the day, the desert transforms into a massive blinding mirror, almost completely blinding unprotected travelers. Merely walking on the desert is enough to strip the flesh of your feet in a few moments. Even magic armor will slowly deteriorate from the razor sands. Sandstorms can do dozens of points of damage a round, quickly killing even massive creatures. Even the tribal wrappings struggle to survive in this area; the only time it is safe is following the incredibly rare rainstorm; the water holds the sand down, allowing a properly-protected person to walk somewhat safely.
Jewels and gemstones occasionally pop up, the remnants of mountains that have been ground down over eons (the normal sand and grit from the mountains gets carried off by the wind; it’s quite a bit lighter than vorpal sand). Some of the largest, best polished gems in the world are simply laying on the ground in the middle of the desert. There is almost no food, so the nomads choose not to go there.
Ruins occasionally pop up out of the core desert, mostly worn and weathered monuments made of a such a scale that the desert hasn’t finished obliterating it yet. It will, one day. These ruins can have any number of treasure from bygone ages… most people are just looking for the collections of vorpal weapons though.
In the center of the desert lies the Palace of Diamonds, where its master, the reclusive Crystalline Dragon dwells. It’s breath is the purest light, but it can emit it from every angle, reflecting and refracting it through its transparent, diamond body. It can be seen occasionally patrolling the waste, hundreds of feet above the sands.
The second region is the Goodlands. If normal wind and sand can erode stone, vorpal sand can absolutely obliterate it. It’s not unheard of for passages to be completely different from what they once were after a sandstone. Luckily, most of the sand here is normal sand, from crumbling canyon walls, but vorpal sand still works its way in, mixing with it and forming drifts or veins at the bottom of tiny streams.
Low lying bushes and some animal life lives here. Rust monsters (who, despite being unable to dissolve or eat the sand, are oddly unaffected by it), undead, and purple worms thrive; monsters are known for being well adapted to their environment, being better armored to deal with the sand, often with resistance to slashing, and almost always have the ” lesser vorpal” quality, dealing an extra 50 points of damage on a critical hit.
The tribes are small, less than a hundred each, and are scattered through the badlands. The less powerful and prestigious tribes take the areas closest the desert, while the most prosperous control the interior. Every year, the desert dissolves more of the Goodlands causing a constant migration. They wear durable leather wrappings, made of rust monster hide, to protect themselves from the elements. The richest have googles with clear gemstone lenses (gemstones are valued only by utility as lenses).
While the land is terrible by any objective standards, it is the only arable area the nomads know; the mountains are utterly impassible. The tribe’s religion is hard for outsiders to understand, but it involves reverence to the mountains and skies, and treats the desert as a combination of devil and lawful judge. A few tribes are infamous for sacrificing people to the desert. Most tribes use the desert as a method of executing prisoners, after they’ve been starved and dehydrated for a day or two.
Both regions are surrounded by the Mountains. The Mountains (that’s what the tribes call them) are immense, stretching miles into the air, capped with great pillars of ice and snow. Wherever the desert is (it’s long been lost) it must be hidden within some great range. Silent monasteries, carved of a dark green stone, jut out of the mountains. The monks do not answer, though shadows flicker back and forth behind darkened windows.