Arctal
05-22-2011, 12:29 PM
a shell-inlaid blue mithril chest
A small brass plaque on the front of the chest reads, "River's Rest."
a green silk scarf embroidered with white lilies
As you sing, a picture forms in your mind. From out of the mists a massive stone structure looms in the background. The mists begin to clear, and you notice the form of a gardener, hard at the task of digging in the rich, dark soil. A beautiful young woman watches the proceedings with avid interest.
The music takes a ghostly turn as you sing your final verse. So too does the gardener, moving now in eerie silence among the plants. And so, too, the odd critters that occasionally run through the area, the result of some strange experimentation or unlikely breeding. Still the garden thrives, as a monument to the care of the goddess of all growing things and those who love her.
Your voice ebbs a bit and then returns with vigor as the gardener leaves the area, to be replaced by a younger man. It is soon obvious by his actions that he is in love with the garden, and no less in love with the beautiful woman. You become aware of the strangely swift passage of time, the woman's constant presence and watchful eyes, and the aging of the man who now tends the garden with great care.
The music takes a ghostly turn as you sing your final verse. So too does the gardener, moving now in eerie silence among the plants. And so, too, the odd critters that occasionally run through the area, the result of some strange experimentation or unlikely breeding. Still the garden thrives, as a monument to the care of the goddess of all growing things and those who love her.
a tattered krolvin banner
As you hold the remnants of the banner and your voice intones the words of your song, a small flotilla of pirate ships appears in a vision before you, riding the incoming tide in Maelstrom Bay. Boats of all shapes and sizes -- a motley group -- sail up the bay under grey-black clouds in a threatening sky. Nothing about the picture looks good.
Your words call forth another image, this one of krolvin pirates meeting a large force of trolls on the shore. The krolvin chieftain and the troll chieftain warily bash their forearms in greeting, and it appears they are agreeing to set aside their differences and fight as a unified force. This could mean trouble for the hapless citizens of Rivers Rest.
As you continue your song, the outline of a large fortress appears before you, with siege engines aimed at the walls. Trolls and krolvin swarm around it and through the broken gates, which hang by one hinge. Your gaze, too, is drawn inside, and you see, as they do, that other than the corpses of several unfortunate guards, there is nothing there but emptiness. Around you the krolvin soldiers squint at the bands of trolls, suspicion, perplexedness, and distrust filling their eyes.
As the last verse of your song comes to an end, the picture changes. Krolvin troops retreat from the island, boarding their ships and sailing away on the outgoing tide. The island they leave is a shambles, with trolls roaming at will amid the ruins. Though you sense that the pirates will not return here in the near future, there is no telling where they are headed next or what fate will befall the island.
a petrified turtle egg
As you put the egg to your ear, the soft sound of waves upon a beach echoes in your head. Lulled peacefully, you continue listening, the rustlings of the woods almost drowned out. Sudden war cries and keening wails vibrate within the egg, making you flinch as though in pain.
The first notes of your song reveal nothing more than pure darkness black as pitch, but as your tune escalates, your mind's eye adjusts. Comparable to entering a room that has been shut off from light, as you become accustomed to the illusion, details become revealed. Stars twinkle in a midnight sky void of a moon, and the susurrus of soft waves crashing against the shore develops with clarity.
Again, the notes you sing vibrate and your current surroundings dim. Your internal vision becomes rich and clear, the colors vibrant, even those of a somber range. A small cove, protected by twin fingers of rock that arc out like a giant pincher, is peaceful and quiet, caressed by a gentle breeze. What sounds like distorted louder waves crashing adjusts, and you recognize the distinct sound of something swimming towards the shore.
Your angle of view shifts with this refrain, no longer does the beach stretch out in long view, instead you gaze out over the ocean from the cover of the tree line. Dark, rounded forms on the water glisten as they breach the surface, then bob and move forward towards the pale stretch of sand.
A giant oval emerges at the edge and crawls slowly towards you, unaware of your observation. Two huge front flippers struggle and pull, leaving deep tracks as the creature moves to the upper portion, where it is safe from high tides. Digging slowly, the sea turtle carves a birthing pit in the sand to lay her clutch of eggs.
Your mind's eye quickly focuses on the scene again, more sea turtles also upon the shore and giving birth. Bi-pedal shapes along both sides of you rush the beach, war cries loud and with huge mallets raised. The sickening thuds echo as weapon meets flesh and shell, the blood of the sea turtles spilled upon the delicate white eggs that glisten iridescently in the moonless night. The remaining ocean creatures sense the danger and turn away quickly to dive back into the waiting waters, except for one lone female hiding in the shadow of the rocks, burying her efforts.
A sudden brightness appears, the vision causing you to wince slightly. You see the cove long eroded and changed, yet identifiable. A child wanders along the beach, bending down to examine stone and shell alike. Reaching the jagged rocks that once protected this place, he begins to search for a way to climb up, but a smooth, rounded object cresting the sand catches his eye. Tiny fingers reach out to probe, then begin to dig, revealing the first of many petrified sea turtle eggs, perhaps offering a clue as to why this particular land was named Turtle Egg Island.
Sold on BO
A small brass plaque on the front of the chest reads, "River's Rest."
a green silk scarf embroidered with white lilies
As you sing, a picture forms in your mind. From out of the mists a massive stone structure looms in the background. The mists begin to clear, and you notice the form of a gardener, hard at the task of digging in the rich, dark soil. A beautiful young woman watches the proceedings with avid interest.
The music takes a ghostly turn as you sing your final verse. So too does the gardener, moving now in eerie silence among the plants. And so, too, the odd critters that occasionally run through the area, the result of some strange experimentation or unlikely breeding. Still the garden thrives, as a monument to the care of the goddess of all growing things and those who love her.
Your voice ebbs a bit and then returns with vigor as the gardener leaves the area, to be replaced by a younger man. It is soon obvious by his actions that he is in love with the garden, and no less in love with the beautiful woman. You become aware of the strangely swift passage of time, the woman's constant presence and watchful eyes, and the aging of the man who now tends the garden with great care.
The music takes a ghostly turn as you sing your final verse. So too does the gardener, moving now in eerie silence among the plants. And so, too, the odd critters that occasionally run through the area, the result of some strange experimentation or unlikely breeding. Still the garden thrives, as a monument to the care of the goddess of all growing things and those who love her.
a tattered krolvin banner
As you hold the remnants of the banner and your voice intones the words of your song, a small flotilla of pirate ships appears in a vision before you, riding the incoming tide in Maelstrom Bay. Boats of all shapes and sizes -- a motley group -- sail up the bay under grey-black clouds in a threatening sky. Nothing about the picture looks good.
Your words call forth another image, this one of krolvin pirates meeting a large force of trolls on the shore. The krolvin chieftain and the troll chieftain warily bash their forearms in greeting, and it appears they are agreeing to set aside their differences and fight as a unified force. This could mean trouble for the hapless citizens of Rivers Rest.
As you continue your song, the outline of a large fortress appears before you, with siege engines aimed at the walls. Trolls and krolvin swarm around it and through the broken gates, which hang by one hinge. Your gaze, too, is drawn inside, and you see, as they do, that other than the corpses of several unfortunate guards, there is nothing there but emptiness. Around you the krolvin soldiers squint at the bands of trolls, suspicion, perplexedness, and distrust filling their eyes.
As the last verse of your song comes to an end, the picture changes. Krolvin troops retreat from the island, boarding their ships and sailing away on the outgoing tide. The island they leave is a shambles, with trolls roaming at will amid the ruins. Though you sense that the pirates will not return here in the near future, there is no telling where they are headed next or what fate will befall the island.
a petrified turtle egg
As you put the egg to your ear, the soft sound of waves upon a beach echoes in your head. Lulled peacefully, you continue listening, the rustlings of the woods almost drowned out. Sudden war cries and keening wails vibrate within the egg, making you flinch as though in pain.
The first notes of your song reveal nothing more than pure darkness black as pitch, but as your tune escalates, your mind's eye adjusts. Comparable to entering a room that has been shut off from light, as you become accustomed to the illusion, details become revealed. Stars twinkle in a midnight sky void of a moon, and the susurrus of soft waves crashing against the shore develops with clarity.
Again, the notes you sing vibrate and your current surroundings dim. Your internal vision becomes rich and clear, the colors vibrant, even those of a somber range. A small cove, protected by twin fingers of rock that arc out like a giant pincher, is peaceful and quiet, caressed by a gentle breeze. What sounds like distorted louder waves crashing adjusts, and you recognize the distinct sound of something swimming towards the shore.
Your angle of view shifts with this refrain, no longer does the beach stretch out in long view, instead you gaze out over the ocean from the cover of the tree line. Dark, rounded forms on the water glisten as they breach the surface, then bob and move forward towards the pale stretch of sand.
A giant oval emerges at the edge and crawls slowly towards you, unaware of your observation. Two huge front flippers struggle and pull, leaving deep tracks as the creature moves to the upper portion, where it is safe from high tides. Digging slowly, the sea turtle carves a birthing pit in the sand to lay her clutch of eggs.
Your mind's eye quickly focuses on the scene again, more sea turtles also upon the shore and giving birth. Bi-pedal shapes along both sides of you rush the beach, war cries loud and with huge mallets raised. The sickening thuds echo as weapon meets flesh and shell, the blood of the sea turtles spilled upon the delicate white eggs that glisten iridescently in the moonless night. The remaining ocean creatures sense the danger and turn away quickly to dive back into the waiting waters, except for one lone female hiding in the shadow of the rocks, burying her efforts.
A sudden brightness appears, the vision causing you to wince slightly. You see the cove long eroded and changed, yet identifiable. A child wanders along the beach, bending down to examine stone and shell alike. Reaching the jagged rocks that once protected this place, he begins to search for a way to climb up, but a smooth, rounded object cresting the sand catches his eye. Tiny fingers reach out to probe, then begin to dig, revealing the first of many petrified sea turtle eggs, perhaps offering a clue as to why this particular land was named Turtle Egg Island.
Sold on BO