Quiet Word

Description

These rods are usually made from a length of rigid metal heavily treated with ambergelt. Their decoration frequently features spiders and snakes, creatures which use paralysing venom upon their prey. Some artisans with a taste for the exotic depict Jaculi on these rods. As these beasts are not native to the empire, the accuracy of some of these depictions has been called into question.

The use of these rods on the battlefield is obvious. Various nations use common names for these rods to reference the fact that the paralysis spell allows both the caster and the target to speak - for example in the Brass Coast they one might be called a Hakima's Argument. In Varushka they are often called Volhov's Remark while in Urizen and Highguard they are often called Wizards' Warning. All these names are based around the idea that a use for these rods is to render a target unable to move away from the magician for a short time, which the magician uses to give the target a piece of their mind. This usage seems to appeal particularly to drunken magicians - taking this rod to a tavern is seen as intending to start a fight.

Ironically these implements are popular with both muggers and law enforcement as a means of restraining their targets while their comrades close in. The benefit is greater to the thief-takers, as they seldom care about the noise their targets might make, whereas robbers find their victim’s ability to scream highly inconvenient.

Rules

• Form: Weapon. Takes the form of a rod. You must be wielding this implement to use its magical properties.
• Requirement: You must have the magician skill to bond to this item.
• Effect: Once per day you can cast the paralysis spell as if you knew it and without spending any mana.
• Materials: Crafting a quiet word requires eight measures of amberbelt. It takes one month to make one of these items.

The thief slipped past the hanging chimes and bells, their sonorous song a gentle sussuration that echoed back down from the vaulted ceiling above in a melange of metallic sound. The melody of the bells served him better than it did the Chapter's inhabitants, masking the padding of his feet across the stone floor as he made his way into the Magister's chambers. He moved slowly and with practiced discipline - sharp movement here would set the bells and chimes discordant, echoing his presence as clearly as any shouted alarm.

He quietly made his way around the spartan room, surprised at the sparse furnishings and lack of luxury enjoyed by such a wealthy mage. Still, his instructions were accurate enough – there, the jewel-chest with the ambergelt inlay depicting a horse-head. The thief paused a moment as he stooped over it, admiring the fine handiwork of the artist, then quietly eased the lid open to reveal a noble's ransom in crystallised mana.

The lean man grinned, and he carefully closed the lid once more before hauling the little container up in his arms. Now just to make it out of here – a simple enough task for one such as him. Then away down to the river, there to deliver this arcane bounty to his patron. Then Magister Leah and her coven wouldn't have the crystals needed for their great work, and her carefully-built reputation would suffer quite the blow.

The thief carefully threaded his way through the dangling chimes once more, but his brow furrowed. Under the gentle chime-clamour came the faintest hint of quiet words, words spoken with focus and meaning, he tensed ready to spring into motion ... and then a dark glove reached out from the gloom, wrapped round one end of a chime-rod, a cylinder of metal inlaid with ambergelt in the same horse-head patterns as on the chest he now clutched. .

Before the thief could take more than a single pace further – his sudden speed setting the cloud of bells jangling in alarm – the tip of that rod gently tapped his shoulder, and he felt a painful spasm run outwards from the impact, a jolt that locked his muscles in place. Off-balance, the thief's rigid form slowly toppled over without a hint of dignity; the box cracked against the stone floor, its lid flicking open to spill bright crystals along the hallway.

In the dark recess, Magister Leah stood stock-still, her own body caught in the spell's backlash; but unlike the hapless thief, she'd spent time training herself for this, and had become used to the unsettling grasp of the magic upon her muscles. One of the thief's blood-shot eyes rolled round to stare at her, his jaw muscles clenching and working as he loosened up his tongue to groan in pain.

“If you'd wanted some mana, you need merely have asked. We are a prosperous Chapter and I am always willing to help the needy.” She kept the scorn from her voice as best she could.

The bells were still clamouring, alarm raised by the man's inept attempt to flee; aid would be at hand soon enough.

The spell's grip dissipated, and Leah felt her muscles relax as the magic unwound from her limbs. Predictably, the thief tried to flee, scrabbling to his knees, but she kicked out and knocked the weight out from under him before a second conjuration brought the chime-threads dancing down. That spell caught him in an entangling grip, binding him in place.

The Magister smiled. She could keep this up for quite some time.

“So, since we have a little while before the cataphracts come to detain you, let me educate you about the legal consequences of thievery...”