A perfect disk of pure silver, perpetually spinning on its axis. It controls and channels the flow of magical energies based off of its angle and proximity to earth. Master thieves dream of stealing it. Wizards spend decades trying to discern its secrets. So far, none have succeeded.
A prisoner bound to the earth by a great adamantine chain. It pulls against its shackles, forever seeking to escape our orbit. Mysterious cults spring up every few decades with catastrophic schemes to set it free.
A massive egg of some unknowable celestial entity. Every new crack on its surface heralds era-defining upheaval.
A sigil of chaos; the greatest of the Marks of Discord are circumscribed across its entire surface. The forces of chaos grow and recede in power to match the moon’s cycle, becoming the most potent when the moon is at its fullest.
A purgatorial realm of milk-white cities and crystalline spires. It is the intermediary space between the real and the unreal. Spirits and astral entities congregate, souls of the deceased await their passage to the beyond, angels repose before again being called to duty, and spells manifest physical forms in order to acclimate to our reality.
The head of an ageless being. Or perhaps the being itself is just a head? It has a pale, moony face with wispy fronds of mist that form a sort of hair. Sometimes it’s a man, sometimes it’s a woman, sometimes it’s something else entirely. It’s rather lonely and appreciates having people to talk to, but has a hard time relating to mortals. Occasionally gets mournful and sullen. Has a vast, terrifying wealth of knowledge, relatively little of which is relevant or useful to anyone.