This palm-sized magnifying glass's ivory handle is engraved with skulls and funerary masks. Any corpse examined through the glass appears as if alive moments before its death, even if its flesh has completely rotted away and only brittle bones remain. The object is not magical, nor are its properties divinely granted leaving sages utterly perplexed.
This rectangular, rose-red flatweave rug is so worn, sun bleached and threadbare that it barely manages to cover the 5' × 8' patch of floor beneath. However, anything placed under it seemingly disappears so long as the rug can cover it wholly. Even if a treasure chest sits on the floor below it, the rug will appear to lay flat on the ground. It could cover a corpse, but a person would have to lay down in order to be magically concealed. The rug won't muffle sound or hide light, nor will it offer protection from damage; a teacup beneath the rug will shatter under foot. If it is disturbed, including by anything beneath it, whatever it covers will reappear.
Black, glossy feathers. A cunning stare. A raven. It knows its master's name and its master's name for it. If commanded, it will fly to his home, wherever it understands that to be. It flies without stopping 50 miles in an hour.
For a master who shows plenty of appreciation in the form of treats and baubles, it will also fetch small objects no heavier or bulkier than a silver teaspoon. It will sometimes steal shiny trinkets and secret them in places only it can find. Of course, anything it steals, it justifiably owns. It takes payments and trades, but never gives.
Like all ravens, it keeps watch for danger. It can take high perch and caw, wretchedly, upon the approach of anything a natural raven would find worthy of scorn, like huntsmen, lumberjacks, and riders. It also caws at restless spirits to tell them to return to the realm of dead.
It detests Mother Nature, her children, and her worshipers. It greatly prefers the roofs and steeples of the city. It eats whatever it wants and is not afraid to make itself an uninvited guest. It never defiles its own nest or makes a mess when perched on its master's shoulder or forearm, but it enjoys targeting those who annoy it.
It will defend its master with beak and talon inflicting 1-3 points of damage. A flying raven gains a bonus of + 2 on its first "to hit" roll against any one opponent due to its speed. It has three hit points, but those come at the expense of its master's maximum. If its master dies, so does it.
Usable once per day, any non-living object the conjurer can imagine may be pulled from this hat so long as he can recite a magical poem describing what's desired. It takes one round to recite the poem while waving one's hand in a circular motion around the up-turned hat. The inside of the hat will begin to glow with mystical energy.
The poem must be spoken aloud in a firm voice. It must consist of at least two verses that rhyme. The use of nonsense words such as "abracadabra" will increase the likelihood of backfire or failure. The conjurer may only use a specific poem once in his lifetime. It must come from his or her own inner creativity; repeating a poem heard or read elsewhere will automatically fail to produce any effect.
On the next round, the conjurer reaches inside and pulls out whatever the hat delivers.
Whatever is pulled from the hat vanishes into thin air 2d12 hours later.
