You find a cloak of burning.
The centaur seizes your iridescent ring of despair and disappears.
From beside the sleeping small fuzzy creature, you carefully lift a stained skirt.
You pick up a heavy mace of curious working.
Suddenly, a hamster blocks your path, a rusty golden breastplate in one hand, a silver orb wrapped in cloth of gold in the other.
As you lift the scratched greater sceptre wrapped in a dirty sack, you hear gleeful gibbering close by.
You trade your grimy throbbing frisbee for an ethereal necklace of rejuvenation.
You lift a loose slab and find a scorched Dwarvish skirt of spiders.
From beside the sleeping hamster, you carefully lift a perfect snowglobe of the Dead.
You find a shiny eldritch wand.
You trade your rod of the Forest for a book wrapped in ribbons.
The elusive small fuzzy creature drops a greater kilt of the Mountain at your feet.
Gibbering in a language unknown to you, a talking dog stares at your corroded orb of the Forest.
The sorceror drops a rusty skirt at your feet.
The elf drops a kilt wrapped in leaves at your feet.
You trade your brand new glowing collar for a battered dagger of burning.
You find a hat of the Sea.
On the corpse of the construct, you find a tiny shield.
You pick up a carrot of protection.
You pick up a Dwarvish cowl wrapped in tattered rags.