Stabbyrogue
11-19-2009, 07:24 PM
Cash offers preferred, silver considered. What doesn't sell by the second stays on the acct indefinitely.
Bow sold.
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Some flowing ebon robes
+45, 4 lbs.
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a twisted ebonwood-hilted black ora flamberge set with silver barbs
6x, teleport to lornon temple once per day, cycling (damage) flares based on the disrupt table, mana regen bonus, spirit regen hindrance.
Jevacio sings flirtatiously:
"My flamberge you are so rare
whisper your value if you dare."
The black ora flamberge seems to respond to the magic of Jevacio's song.
Jevacio projects his voice toward the black ora flamberge, and it draws in the notes like a dry sponge eager absorbing water. The flamberge begins to reverberate under the weight of the melody, and it throws back at Jevacio a discordant version of his own song.
"As your song flows into the black ora flamberge, it is echoed back like a distorted reflection from a warped mirror. The discordant tones twist and writhe across the backdrop of your mind, bringing forth imagines that flash with alarming vibrancy. -- A light haze of smoke slants across the scene, back lit by dozens of ebony candles glowing with a purple-tinged brilliance. Your gaze pans upward, and you find yourself staring into the marble faces of the Lornon pantheon. The smoke dances languidly in your line of sight, creating on the pale visages the illusion of movement - leering smiles, laughter, and contemptuous gazes from cold stone eyes. Your breath quickens, and your sight begins to fail as all plunges into darkness."
>
The shadows darken and lengthen from Jevacio's black ora flamberge and wrap around his hand.
The shadows surrounding Jevacio's black ora flamberge swirl around and a low murmuring can be faintly heard.
>
Jevacio sings flirtatiously:
"My flamberge you are so wierd
unravel your purpose or I'll grow a beard."
The black ora flamberge seems to respond to the magic of Jevacio's song.
As the notes of Jevacio's song seep into the flamberge, he takes in a quick breath as his eyes pan downward.
"The notes of your song shed light once again on your marbled surroundings. Above, the patrons of Lornon gaze downward upon the scene, and you turn your eyes from them, instead taking in your surroundings. Around you rise the walls of a marble chapel, and tucked within the stony niches are windows of dark stained glass. No light filters through their jewel-toned panels, and instead, the light from a myriad of candles caresses their polished surfaces."
"Before you, in the center of a floor marked by concentric circles of brass-inlaid conduits, is a raised, ivory marble and obsidian altar. Atop the altar, the prone form of a young man lies, his face turned from you, and his limbs fixed at each corner. You can see that from each of the corners, thin rivers of blood run within brass-inlaid channels, conveying the sanguine liquid to the design underfoot. A glance downward reveals the labyrinthine pattern traced in blood, and the movement of your head causes your vision to swim. With a quick inhalation, your sight is extinguished."
Jevacio sings flirtatiously:
"My flamberge I am so blue
tell me your magic if you are true."
The black ora flamberge seems to respond to the magic of Jevacio's song.
Jevacio's song hitches in several places at his breath quickens, his eyes widening as he gazes on sights only he can see.
"With a frightful abruptness, your song calls forth a vision from the black ora flamberge. -- You find yourself closer now to the altar at the labyrinth's heart, and a heavy weight calls your attention to your hands. You find there a twisted ebonwood-hilted black ora flamberge set with silver barbs, its blade smeared with incarnadine streaks. In your chest, your breath comes and goes in haste, and you feel a certain dizziness as you take the blade into one hand and extend your other to the face of the man atop the altar. Your fingers leave ruby-hued prints on his skin as you tilt his face toward you, and you hear an unidentifiable, though audible noise fall from your lips. All at once, darkness closes your sight."
>
Jevacio sings flirtatiously:
"My flamberge you are so neat
reveal your ability my love, my sweet."
The black ora flamberge seems to respond to the magic of Jevacio's song.
Jevacio's song entwines the flamberge, and again, his body react to the answering visions. His face contorts with an expression of disbelief, and Jevacio stumbles backward, almost losing his balance before his song ends and he steadies himself.
"The notes of your song draw you back into the black ora flamberge's memories, and you find that the face looking up at you no longer belongs to the prone young man. Instead, your own visage stares back at you: sightless eyes, sallow skin, and lips perched open as if to draw the next breath, which never seems to come. Laughter begins to echo in the empty chapel, and you look up, expecting to see one of the marble statues come to life with morbid merriment. Instead, they are motionless, and you come to realize that the hysterical laughter is none other than your own. As you stumble backwards, your feet slip in the blood that runs in narrow rivers through the marble floor, and you feel yourself falling... falling... falling... until blackness engulfs you."
Bow sold.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Some flowing ebon robes
+45, 4 lbs.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
a twisted ebonwood-hilted black ora flamberge set with silver barbs
6x, teleport to lornon temple once per day, cycling (damage) flares based on the disrupt table, mana regen bonus, spirit regen hindrance.
Jevacio sings flirtatiously:
"My flamberge you are so rare
whisper your value if you dare."
The black ora flamberge seems to respond to the magic of Jevacio's song.
Jevacio projects his voice toward the black ora flamberge, and it draws in the notes like a dry sponge eager absorbing water. The flamberge begins to reverberate under the weight of the melody, and it throws back at Jevacio a discordant version of his own song.
"As your song flows into the black ora flamberge, it is echoed back like a distorted reflection from a warped mirror. The discordant tones twist and writhe across the backdrop of your mind, bringing forth imagines that flash with alarming vibrancy. -- A light haze of smoke slants across the scene, back lit by dozens of ebony candles glowing with a purple-tinged brilliance. Your gaze pans upward, and you find yourself staring into the marble faces of the Lornon pantheon. The smoke dances languidly in your line of sight, creating on the pale visages the illusion of movement - leering smiles, laughter, and contemptuous gazes from cold stone eyes. Your breath quickens, and your sight begins to fail as all plunges into darkness."
>
The shadows darken and lengthen from Jevacio's black ora flamberge and wrap around his hand.
The shadows surrounding Jevacio's black ora flamberge swirl around and a low murmuring can be faintly heard.
>
Jevacio sings flirtatiously:
"My flamberge you are so wierd
unravel your purpose or I'll grow a beard."
The black ora flamberge seems to respond to the magic of Jevacio's song.
As the notes of Jevacio's song seep into the flamberge, he takes in a quick breath as his eyes pan downward.
"The notes of your song shed light once again on your marbled surroundings. Above, the patrons of Lornon gaze downward upon the scene, and you turn your eyes from them, instead taking in your surroundings. Around you rise the walls of a marble chapel, and tucked within the stony niches are windows of dark stained glass. No light filters through their jewel-toned panels, and instead, the light from a myriad of candles caresses their polished surfaces."
"Before you, in the center of a floor marked by concentric circles of brass-inlaid conduits, is a raised, ivory marble and obsidian altar. Atop the altar, the prone form of a young man lies, his face turned from you, and his limbs fixed at each corner. You can see that from each of the corners, thin rivers of blood run within brass-inlaid channels, conveying the sanguine liquid to the design underfoot. A glance downward reveals the labyrinthine pattern traced in blood, and the movement of your head causes your vision to swim. With a quick inhalation, your sight is extinguished."
Jevacio sings flirtatiously:
"My flamberge I am so blue
tell me your magic if you are true."
The black ora flamberge seems to respond to the magic of Jevacio's song.
Jevacio's song hitches in several places at his breath quickens, his eyes widening as he gazes on sights only he can see.
"With a frightful abruptness, your song calls forth a vision from the black ora flamberge. -- You find yourself closer now to the altar at the labyrinth's heart, and a heavy weight calls your attention to your hands. You find there a twisted ebonwood-hilted black ora flamberge set with silver barbs, its blade smeared with incarnadine streaks. In your chest, your breath comes and goes in haste, and you feel a certain dizziness as you take the blade into one hand and extend your other to the face of the man atop the altar. Your fingers leave ruby-hued prints on his skin as you tilt his face toward you, and you hear an unidentifiable, though audible noise fall from your lips. All at once, darkness closes your sight."
>
Jevacio sings flirtatiously:
"My flamberge you are so neat
reveal your ability my love, my sweet."
The black ora flamberge seems to respond to the magic of Jevacio's song.
Jevacio's song entwines the flamberge, and again, his body react to the answering visions. His face contorts with an expression of disbelief, and Jevacio stumbles backward, almost losing his balance before his song ends and he steadies himself.
"The notes of your song draw you back into the black ora flamberge's memories, and you find that the face looking up at you no longer belongs to the prone young man. Instead, your own visage stares back at you: sightless eyes, sallow skin, and lips perched open as if to draw the next breath, which never seems to come. Laughter begins to echo in the empty chapel, and you look up, expecting to see one of the marble statues come to life with morbid merriment. Instead, they are motionless, and you come to realize that the hysterical laughter is none other than your own. As you stumble backwards, your feet slip in the blood that runs in narrow rivers through the marble floor, and you feel yourself falling... falling... falling... until blackness engulfs you."