The Nail

A spike, set deep for maximum hold


The Founder. The Great Smith. God of civilization itself, of the great achievements of stone and steel and sail chose a young man to be his paragon, to bring creation to the uncreated wilds and masses and tribes. To aid him, he drove one solitary nail into his head to pierce his brain and provide a conduit to the great Builder.

The Nail is a heavy, thick iron nail with rounded head, no more than two inches long. The sort of nail that one uses to join simple boards together. It must be attuned, requiring 24 hours of sleepless reflection of the deity’s creations and capped by a driving of the nail into one’s head, anywhere on the skull’s cranium. There is a 1% chance that it kills the PC (on 100, dead), otherwise it does 1d4 damage that may be healed as normal.

Once driven into the skull, the nailhead is noticeable (though can be hidden under hair or hats), but not remarkable otherwise. A dull black/grey spot of iron.

While attuned and attached to the nail (losing the former if one loses the latter), the PC is advantaged on enchantment-related saves and when struck with a critical hit from a weapon (must be a created weapon or conjured one, not a natural or biological attack; but this includes magical, spiritual, and other such weapons), the critical hit is changed to a normal hit immediately. The player rolls 1d4 and ages that many years instantly. Nothing short of a wish or divine intervention may interfere with or reverse it.


The massive, mailed fist crashed into Ubaid’s face again–loosening a tooth and welling coppery tasting spittle in his mouth. He stared at the half-orc, the soldier’s knuckles must be aching by now.

“Where is it?” the pale green sergeant of the Emperor’s Finest barked. Ubaid spit a pink foamy splat onto the stones and looked up into his captor’s face. There was no joy in this. None. None of this made him happy. He figured he might ask again…

“I cannot give it to you. Please,” Ubaid tried pleading, why not? He had no pride left, his pride left with the years. “You do not want it. It is a heavy blessing. Your life is worth more, officer. Please… I will leave and take it with me, the Emperor has no fear from it being in his lands. Let me take it away and die with it, let it claim no other foolish young man.”

The fist crashed into his nose, again, and as Ubaid felt it break… and then unbreak… he wept.

The Nail

Can I play with Madness? Vosenbergen