Will give you fifty dollars, if you ask politely. teaches you how to bake perfect cookies that smell like vanilla and summer evenings. You love it dearly, but... every time it's summoned it bestows upon you a different ancient weapon of vast puissance, declaring that it is now up to you alone to fulfill the prophecy. "What prophecy?" you try to ask, but the duck quacks loudly as you speak, and the sword-bearer pretends not to hear you. It happens every. Single. Time. You have nine mystic blades, and none of them are worth fucking shit.