sfmatthias0
10-20-2011, 11:14 PM
a curved white ora scythe with a leather-wrapped blackened deringo shaft
5x unlocked
MB:10
BO:20
Loresong:
As you begin to sing, your vision clouds over and a scene unfolds before you. The image of a scarred dwarf in white leathers, laboring deep in a dark, dank mine, grunting as he extracts precious white ora ore, fills your vision.
As you continue to sing, you can see the dwarf laboring over a hot iron forge. He mops his brow continually as he pumps the bellows, then returns to the anvil, coaxing a weapon from the white-hot metal. As he hammers again and again with a perfect eonake forging-hammer, he looks more and more pleased with his work. He now and again sticks it into a trough filled with a shimmering oil. After a few more minutes of hammering, he begins to look unsatisfied with his results and then suddenly tosses it back into the fire. "I can do better than that, for Eonak's glory!"
As you continue to sing, your inner vision once again focuses on the scarred dwarf who is now carefully polishing the white ora scythe before handing it to an imposing priest. His raiment is of the finest quality, from the magnificent cloth-of-silver cope to his bejeweled miter to the gleaming amethyst on his hand marking him as one of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. He sets the weapon on the altar and cries, "In the name of Kai, I consecrate this weapon."
As your song comes to an end, you see the scythe being used in combat training in the monastary. A burly dwarven acolyte rains down blow after blow versus an obviously overmatched elven clark. Finally, the white ora scythe bursts into flames and sets the elf's shield alight! He cries out, "The day is yours M'laird Dwarf. I prostrate myself to your superior skills and must atone for my lack." He glances at the knotted scourge on the training wall and grimaces.
5x unlocked
MB:10
BO:20
Loresong:
As you begin to sing, your vision clouds over and a scene unfolds before you. The image of a scarred dwarf in white leathers, laboring deep in a dark, dank mine, grunting as he extracts precious white ora ore, fills your vision.
As you continue to sing, you can see the dwarf laboring over a hot iron forge. He mops his brow continually as he pumps the bellows, then returns to the anvil, coaxing a weapon from the white-hot metal. As he hammers again and again with a perfect eonake forging-hammer, he looks more and more pleased with his work. He now and again sticks it into a trough filled with a shimmering oil. After a few more minutes of hammering, he begins to look unsatisfied with his results and then suddenly tosses it back into the fire. "I can do better than that, for Eonak's glory!"
As you continue to sing, your inner vision once again focuses on the scarred dwarf who is now carefully polishing the white ora scythe before handing it to an imposing priest. His raiment is of the finest quality, from the magnificent cloth-of-silver cope to his bejeweled miter to the gleaming amethyst on his hand marking him as one of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. He sets the weapon on the altar and cries, "In the name of Kai, I consecrate this weapon."
As your song comes to an end, you see the scythe being used in combat training in the monastary. A burly dwarven acolyte rains down blow after blow versus an obviously overmatched elven clark. Finally, the white ora scythe bursts into flames and sets the elf's shield alight! He cries out, "The day is yours M'laird Dwarf. I prostrate myself to your superior skills and must atone for my lack." He glances at the knotted scourge on the training wall and grimaces.