Flawless Sylvan Bow

[Valgren]

Selling a thin green mithril chest.

Inside the chest:

A flawless sylvan linden bow

An arrow-etched armband of polished silver links

a supple leather headband

These are hunt for history items from several (8?) years ago.
They all have extremely long Loresongs, but I am unable to tell if they have other properties due to these loresongs. The Bow is a 5x long bow from what I can tell through personal testing. Not sure if they have other qualities for sylvans, I don't have any sylvan characters.

Selling them as a set only. Private message me with an email adress if you want to see the loresongs, posting them here would take up too much space.

With their powers combined, you become SuperSylvanhistoryranger-man!



CB: 2 million silvers once.

[Zakyu]

2.1 mil

[Wharde]

2.2

[Regallis]

A brass plaque on the front of the chest reads, "Sylvankind."

In the brown mithril chest you see a flawless sylvan linden bow, an arrow-etched armband, a supple leather headband.

Bow:

As your song delves into the curves of the bow in your hand, you feel pulled upwards into a vision.

It is dawn, evidenced by the vaporous runnels of mist rising from the dew-laden forest floor and the misty halo of light softening your view. Hovering amidst a cluster of linden boughs, you look down upon an aged yet spry sylvan and his young cohort, striding carefully across the flower-strewn forest floor. Wending from one tree to another, the apprentice indicates each by placing his palm on the trunk and turning a questioning look to the elder. The older sylvan smiles and shakes his head slightly, then indicates flaws revealed by his practiced eye in each tree's growth. Finally, one tree is thoroughly examined, and the sylvan men begin a ritual of purification and bonding.

Faltering and then falling silent, the vibrations within the bow leave a faint tingle in your hands.

Your tune hums across the bowstring, and tiny vibrations tremor between you and the bow.

Your vision floats quickly through the forest, taking a wavy track to a new destination. Drifting downwards, you phase through the walls of a small hide-covered dwelling that rests in splayed branches above the bole of an ancient tree. Inside, a large quantity of linden wood logs are stowed on drying racks, militaristically ordered into neat rows of similar shape and size. Centered in the room is a shallow ceramic bowl of glowing coals, providing a steady yet not overpowering dry warmth. Slipping slowly back out through the wall, your vision quickly speeds again through the forest, past glimpses of more hide dwellings perched in the forest boughs.

Your music fades to inaudibility and the vision disappears with it, leaving you momentarily exhausted.

Closing your eyes, your melody plays along the curved stave of the bow you hold. You sense warmth and your consciousness floats into surrealism.

Warm yellow light saturates your sight, and you are again hovering over the older sylvan man. Holding a simple handaxe, he strips the bark from a long section of wood with carefully deliberate strokes. The scene plays out before you in jerky motions, hypnotic lengths of rhythmic motion speeding through quick interchanges of material and tool. The methodical process of ripping along the grain of the pale-hued wood, coaxing it gently into a perfectly balanced stave, is like a fluid dance between sylvan and timber. Using a smaller drawknife, the man pulls gently along the length of the pieces, periodically bending the wood into an arc and shaving off areas where the curve is not true.

Within your eyelids the scene darkens and fades as the vibrations of your music die away.

Running your fingers along the smooth wood, the subtle weavings of your song hesitate and then grow stronger. You feel the unbalancing sense of leaving your body, with a sensation of rising upwards.

Your vision tunnels and then you are rushing through the forest habitation, slowing and then stopping at a hover over a long clearing. In the warm afternoon sun slanting through the trees you see a simple straw target, painted with a glowing yellow-orange nimbus. Focusing on the target, you see it suddenly explode in a proliferation of shaken particles by an arrow traveling completely through the red-marked center and halfway through the tree behind it. You turn and rush forward to see the old man and his apprentice, two hundred paces away down the strip of clearing. Smiling with satisfaction, the master lowers his bow and nods to the young sylvan. Exchanging the tested bow for a new one, the master draws another shaft to his ear and lets it fly.

Retreating like the final aching note in a sonata, the vision blurs and warps into brilliant light and then nothing. You awake feeling refreshed.

Headband:

The tones of your song blend into a forested scene of green leaves, rich loamy earth, and the music of a summer breeze.

A young sylvan, slender and untried, stands before a semicircle of sylvan adults. One of the adults holds a parchment before him while two others read over his shoulder and point, suggesting changes to the words written there. The murmur of voices rises and falls on the breeze that blows gently through the forest rustling leaves and occasionally dislodging an acorn. The youth watches the adults confer, but a look of wistfulness crosses his face as he turns his gaze to the sky.

The tones of your song blend into a forested scene of gold and red leaves, rich loamy earth and the music of a crisp autumn breeze.

The young sylvan now sits in peaceful glade at the side of a craftsman whose head is bent over a strip of leather that he is working on. The man makes a careful mark and then shows the young elf what he has done, speaking in obvious words of advice. He shows his grip on the awl and how to handle the supple leather so that it is not damaged in the work. As he speaks, a winged shadow passed briefly along the grass of the glade. A smile lights the face of the young sylvan as a hawk soars over the forest and disappears into the distance.

The tones of your song blend into a forested scene of silvery frosted branches, ice-covered earth, and the music of a chill winter breeze.

The young sylvan pulls experimentally on the string of a carved monir longbow, testing its strength and tautness. Then, in a flash, arrow is drawn from quiver, fitted to bow and sent zinging into the distance where it lands precisely in the center ring of a painted target. While its fletching is still vibrating, another arrow lands with a *thwap*, right next to it--and another and another. Then, bow lowered, the sylvan youth turns away from the target, searching. A stray beam of sunlight falls through parted tree branches and lands on a path. The youth tentatively places one foot on the path.

The tones of your song blend into a forested scene of pale green leaves and new buds, rich loamy earth, and the music of a promising spring breeze.

The young sylvan stands at the edge of the forest. Ringed around the youth stands most of the village--Councilors, artisans, and warriors. Behind lie the comforts of home and the ever sheltering canopy of trees. Before lies adventure. With a practiced movement the youth dons a leather headband and with one word strides forward. The sylvans left behind raise their hands in farewell and in promise. That single word, "Lassaran," though softly spoken, echoes along the edge of the forest, until the youth can no longer be seen.

Armband:

A vision overtakes you as you begin to sing. You lose sight of your surroundings, and instead, you find yourself in a lush, verdant forest with immense trees, many of which are taller than any you have ever seen.

The first thing that strikes you is the peace of the forest -- birdsong mingles harmoniously with the soft rushing of wind through the treetops. The woods are dense and fertile, with ferns and underbrush are nestled amongst the massive trunks of ancient modwirs.

Movement glimpsed in your periphery suddenly catches your attention, your head snapping in that direction. You hold still, eyes scanning the forest for the source of what captured your notice, ears alert for any sound. Try as you might, you neither see nor hear anything. About to give up, you catch another glimpse of movement through the trees.

The vision shifts, almost zooming in on the place in the forest you had been watching. As the view draws closer, figures begin to unmeld from their surroundings. Now you see a group of fair-haired, fair-skinned elves, their forms lithe and light, garbed in the colors of the woods. The greens and browns of their garments serve to blend them flawlessly into their environment.

The group of sylvans, men and women alike, stalk on silent feet through the fallen modwir needles on the forest floor. Entering and passing through a patch of sunlight, the polished silver of their armbands glints briefly, brilliantly. In your vision, you are able to make out the etchings on the linked silver -- each armband bears a straight and perfect arrow.

You follow the sylvans, their bows now drawn and taut with cocked arrows. They silently approach an embankment near the forest's edge, using the wide trunks and lush foliage as cover. Coming in sight now, just beyond the embankment, is an orc camp, its residents completely unaware of any approaching threat.

The sylvans crouch suddenly as an orc leader grunts a throaty command to his followers, his gnarled finger indicating some unseen destination within the sanctity of the forest. The other orcs raise a bone-chilling howl and begin preparing their equipment and supplies.

Almost silently, a well-aimed arrow pierces the throat of the orc leader and he collapses to the ground. Alarmed, the encampment of orcs risesto their feet and searches the surrounding forest with their eyes. Taking advantage of the brief, perfect moment of confusion, the remaining orcs are met with a volley of impeccably-aimed arrows, leaving the ground of the camp stained with their blood and the forest, once again, safe and peaceful.

[BriarFox]

2.5

[Eliaku]

3m

[Valgren]

CB 3 mill once.

[Ryvicke]

5

[Valgren]

CB 5 mill going once.

[Valgren]

5.25 mill once to Skatemom on the Officials.

https://www.play.net/forums/messages.asp?forum=102&category=16&topic=43

[Valgren]

5.25 million TWICE.

[Valgren]

SOLD for 5.25 to Skatemom. Pickup in landing most evenings. Contact Valgren or Jimbrov over lnet or thoughts.