Loresongs

a faceted golden blazestar ferroniere strung from a delicate faenor chain

- Wizard only
- enhances earthlore +10 skill
- mana regen +1
- Costs 24k BPs to recharge.
- head worn

No idea how many charges because of the loresong. Assuming it is persistant.

loresong:

An image coalesces in your mind's eye. An elven child strides jauntily up a mountain trail with an older man at her side. In a flash of prescience, the man pushes the girl aside, an avalanche of rock and dirt crashes onto the path, burying him. The girl screams in horror and flings herself on the pile, vainly pushing at the large rocks. Abruptly, the earth and rock begin to shift and slide, unearthing the injured man. The girl sheds tears of joy as she dusts him off and he pats her back soothingly.

A new image falls across the canvas of your mind. The girl is years older, though still young, her cropped brown hair revealing upswept, pointed ears, and her golden robes suggesting a slim, boyish figure. She stands at the center of a domed hall and bows her head as a white-robed, snow-haired woman crowns her with a faenor-strung golden blazestar. The girl lifts her head, and her brown eyes sparkle with pride as she meets the gaze of her father, leaning on his cane near the back of the assembly.

The thundering beat of hooves washes over you as you continue to sing. The elven maid rides into the thick of battle, firing arrow after arrow into the throng of raging barbarians. She rushes toward a troupe of beleaguered elves cornered on the far side of the field. As she rides, she raises her arms and invokes a spell, the golden gem on her brow flashing. Abruptly, the earth at the feet of the attackers explodes, knocking them to their knees and pummeling them with shards of rock and clods of dirt.

As your song winds to a close, a final image flickers across your mind. A portrait of the warrior maiden stands on an easel at the heart of the domed assembly hall. Before the portrait, a small altar stands with a tall faenor urn upon it. The assemblage of mages passes before the urn, bowing their heads in respect, some kneeling briefly or kissing their fingertips and touching the urn as they pass. Upon each brow is a golden blazestar, and as the image winks out, you notice a like gem adorning the urn.

You sing:

"O bandolier that I hold,
Sing now your value bold."

As the song begins, the world dissolves into a grainy image of windswept tundra where a pair of hunters hide behind some scrub. Time passes, and a beast of burden lumbers past. The younger hunter stands, takes aim with his single spear, and hurls it with all his might, yet for naught, as it flies wide. The elder sighs as he watches the beast tramp away. He quips, "Too bad little brother; you shall feel father's bow across your back when we return home with no game." The picture dissolves away.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing:

"O' bandolier in my hand
Sing now your purpose in this land!"

Sitting around a fire, the young hunter has grown, and many rings adorn his upswept pointed ears. He sits tailor-fashion, stretching the hides of a tribe of fenghai he has slain in his trial of manhood. He stares at them with fascination as he carefully scrapes the skins and alternately glances at the old shaman sitting before the fire and chanting in an old, forgotten tongue. "Old one, in my hunt, I was burdened carrying an entire sheaf of spears, and my stealth was less than I was capable of," he says. The old man stares into the smoke, lost in thought.

Roundtime: 8 sec.

You sing:

"O' bandolier that I see,
Sing now of your magic free!"

Many moons have passed, and a group of hunters stand around a bier. The elder hunter intones a ritual as the old one is lowered into a pit lined with oil-soaked grass and sticks. The hunter, now a warleader in his tribe and considered one of the smartest in his village, removes the shaman's pouch and sorts through it. A single scroll with an unbroken seal is the only item that he has never seen, as the other items are common: a smoking pipe, various herbs and medicinal items, some assorted bones, and a slender willow wand. He opens the scroll and gazes fondly at the body. "You finally came to an answer for a young man's question." His eyes mist over as he casts a torch into the pyre, sending the old man home.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing:

"O' bandolier made for battle,
Sing now your ability without a rattle!"

Sitting in a circle, the village elders chant ritual verses. The old hunter's son is ready to face his trials. His son straps on a quiver of tanned fenghai hide, adorned with many glass beads and leather fringe from which old bones hang. The old man gazes fondly at his son, and, reading from the old scroll, draws arcane symbols into the air. The single spear within the quiver glows softly for a moment as it changes. "Take it," he commands. The boy grabs it and pulls, and to his surprise, it shimmers as he holds a spear in his hand, yet the one spear still remains within. The old man lifts his head to the sky and silently gives thanks.

Roundtime: 9 sec.

A wonderful friend gave me her RtCF raffle win to add a loresong to a piece of Rohese's jewellery. I wrote the loresong to give an insight into her backstory:

You accept Rohese's offer and are now holding a glass peacock eye pendant.

>l my pendant
Strung on tangled electrum threads, this large oval-shaped pendant is crafted from brilliant emerald green glass. A spherical dark-hued lapis lazuli stone flecked with gold has been fused in the center of the glass, creating the illusion of a peacock eye.

You sing with a warm alto in Elven:

"Through forests of litany
A lover meanders
His hopes on a pendant
As proof of his candour"

Gold motes stir within the pendant's eye as your song evokes memories of an elven childhood. Beneath a cloudless lapis blue sky, two young girls chase each other around a cottonwood tree laden with fluffy white catkins. A gentle breeze ruffles their silvery blonde hair and sends a flurry of seeds around them as they laugh and play. Their glee is interrupted only by the entrance of an elegant woman, her glass pendant glinting in the sunlight. She extends her arms and both children rush into her embrace.

[The peacock eye pendant seems to respond to the magic of Cappyn's song.
Cappyn's eyes turn a dazzling lapis blue as she sings to her peacock eye pendant. A sudden warm breeze brings with it a flurry of fluffy white cottonwood seeds and the faint echo of children's laughter.]

You sing with a warm alto in Elven:

"Down paths of confusion
His intentions do wend
To offer the pendant
And thus make amends"

Your song falters as the gold motes flicker and fade like a dying candle flame. Images of harmonious family life flood your mind until one scene lingers. Decades have passed and the joyous sounds of laughter have been replaced by a somber mood. Clad in black, an elven cleric stares dolefully out of a library window, his fingers locked around a glass pendant. With a mournful sigh, he settles his gaze on his two teary eyed daughters and hands the pendant to the eldest before walking away without a word.

[The peacock eye pendant seems to respond to the magic of Cappyn's song.
A solitary tear rolls down Cappyn's cheek as she struggles to sing to her peacock eye pendant. The coo of a nearby mourning dove adds a doleful counterpoint to her melody.]

You sing with a warm alto in Elven:

"Cross streams of injustice
Where anger is rife
The pendant a motive
For his journey of strife"

The pendant's eye darkens with your new refrain but pulsates with a ghostly blue radiance. With each waning pulse, a velvety shroud of darkness shifts to reveal a towering glowbark tree. A willowy young elf is kneeling before her black-robed sister, who clutches a glass pendant tightly in her clawed hand. The elf lifts her head as if to accompany the eerie ballad of the nearby sirenflowers, but all she can manage is a grief-stricken silence. The incandescence fades and with it the heart wrenching image

[The peacock eye pendant seems to respond to the magic of Cappyn's song.
Cappyn's eyes cloud over with a ghostly blue haze as she continues to sing to her peacock eye pendant. For a brief moment, she is accompanied by the eerie whispering lilt of sirenflowers.]

You sing with a warm alto in Elven:

"At a bridge of contention
Our lover takes pause
To ponder the pendant
And measure his cause"

At first it seems your song may fail, but your phrasing subtly transforms into a dirge and lifts the shroud again to reveal a mausoleum. A black-robed elf with ashen hair stands over a linden casket. Her expression shows no emotion as she places a glass pendant onto the lid and leaves. Moments later, a willowy elf steps from the shadows to retrieve it. Tucking it carefully it into her white robes, she replaces it with a purple mournbloom. A distant peacock's scream startles you back to present day.

[The peacock eye pendant seems to respond to the magic of Cappyn's song.
The peacock eye pendant in Cappyn's hand flashes with a sapphire blue radiance as her song subtly transforms into a dirge and ends abruptly with a distant peacock scream. An unexpected breeze brings with it the melancholy fragrance of mournblooms.]

Very well written and paints a lovely, sad picture. Awesome.

Thanks :)

a brilliant crimson eahnor pike inlaid with a spiral of gold wyverns


You sing in Guildspeak:

"O pike that I hold,
Sing now your value bold."

The first thing that strikes you about the pike is the sturdy craftmanship and unique. You feel it's quite valuable. Rare metals have been worked throughout the pike.

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O' pike in my hand
Sing now your purpose in this land!"

Your voice echoes against the a brilliant crimson eahnor pike inlaid with a spiral of gold wyverns, and the vibration returns in the form an image. A muscled elven smith works over a forge, turning the pike over as it heats.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O' pike that I see,
Sing now of your magic free!"

You sense that a brilliant crimson eahnor pike inlaid with a spiral of gold wyverns is a powerful weapon, with a heavier edge than is normally found in one of its kind. An odd aura of magic surrounds it.

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O' pike made for battle,
Sing now your ability without a rattle!"

Voice cracking, you continue to coax information from the pike. You sense that this weapon is most effective in the hands of a elven wielder.

Roundtime: 9 sec.

Ta’Vaalor Coronation forehead gems

a gold-flecked crimson blazestar
There are only two of these particular gems.

Crafted from a single flawless fiery crimson blazestar, this adornment has been masterfully cut to resemble a wyvern in flight. Subtle facets refract even the most miniscule amount of light into the illusion of outstretched wings.

There appears to be something written on it.

In the Common language, it reads:
Etched in tiny letters on the back of the gem are the words, "For service to the Crown. Gifted to Isola Le’Elfain on 5/19/5113 by King Qalinor Vaalor."

In the Common language, it reads:
Etched in tiny letters on the back of the gem are the words, "For service to the Crown. Gifted to Pulsegiver Ravenscorn on 5/19/5113 by King Qalinor Vaalor."


XXXXXXX sings something in Guildspeak that you don't understand.
The crimson blazestar seems to respond to the magic of XXXXXX's song.
XXXXXX cups the blazestar gently in her hand, focusing her voice on it. She stares blankly into its depths for several moments before her song softly fades.

As you begin singing, the power of the gem overtakes your sight and a vision of the past appears before you. You find yourself standing in a vast fortress in the middle of a courtyard during a lovely sunset. The townspeople and residents are seemingly at peace and going about their business as usual. After a moment, a light thumping sound catches your ear, followed by a soft horn call in the distance. Your vision blurs as you are pushed forward into that night, and you find yourself standing at one of the town's gates as it's being attacked by a horde of trolls. Bodies of mangled elven soldiers are mingled with those of fallen trolls. As the small rivulets of blood swirl together from both elf and troll, the sanguine stream passes before you in a torrent. Dark clouds gather, and with a deafening clap of thunder, they disperse. Standing in their place is an enormous troll witch.

XXXXXX sings something in Guildspeak that you don't understand.
The crimson blazestar seems to respond to the magic of XXXXXXX's song.
XXXXXX focuses her voice on the crimson blazestar and tiny golden flecks begin to swirl within it. Visibly shaken, XXXXXX struggles to tear her gaze from the crimson blazestar. Failing, she stares enrapt.

The crimson blazestar grows warm in your hand, swirling with tiny flecks of gold as you focus your song on it. The vision returns, bringing you to a gate flooded with waves of trolls. One after another, the Crimson Reservists fall to the troll assault. Mangled corpses litter the bridge, and the screams of terrified children echo around the gate. As the Reservists struggle to drag the bodies of residents through the gates, two unlikely visitors step forth onto the bridge and begin their own counter assault against the troll invaders. Allowing the crimson-garbed elves to drag their fallen through the gates to safety, a half-elf sorceress and giantwoman cleric stand their ground and hold the troll hordes at bay. Wave after wave of trolls meet their fate at the hands of the two women, the beasts struggling in vain. Through the cacophony of the groaning wounded amid the sounds of battle, a moment of almost perfect silence descends as a sinister herald. A panicked yell breaks the unnatural silence. "ASSASSINS IN THE KEEP!" rings out across the fortress. Like echoes, the warning of the assassins spreads throughout the defenders. A crimson-garbed elf runs from the gate and directs the spellcasters to keep the trolls from breaching the gates at all costs before rushing off towards the keep as quickly as he came.

XXXXXX sings something in Guildspeak that you don't understand.
The crimson blazestar seems to respond to the magic of XXXXXX's song.
As XXXXXX sings softly to the crimson blazestar, the tiny golden flecks swirl faster and faster. Shivering slightly, XXXXXX pulls her arms in close for warmth.

The crimson blazestar cools to the touch as the swirling flecks of gold obscure your vision once again. Disoriented, you find yourself just inside the gates of Ta'Vaalor. While the wounded are being treated, the two outsiders stand near a group of Crimson Reservists who are carefully attending to the words of a commanding officer. "A map of the Keep has been recovered, along with a note implying a traitor is among us" he quietly says. Accusing eyes dart around the area and a slight chill passes through you as their gaze falls upon your position. The commanding officer does his best to ease the obvious tensions rising amongst his people. He speaks further of pride, honor, and glory, as sadness settles heavily upon his weary countenance. He expresses regret at the loss of life sustained and reminds the people that the fight is not over yet, and failure is not an option. He gives orders to protect the Keep, protect the innocent, protect each other, and above all, protect the King!

XXXXX sings something in Guildspeak that you don't understand.
The crimson blazestar seems to respond to the magic of XXXXXX's song.
The crimson heart of the crimson blazestar flares brightly in XXXXXX's hand, pulsing slowly.

The crimson heart of the crimson blazestar flares brightly as your reality shifts backward through time once again. You are thrust violently into the chaotic scene of battle, once again finding yourself on the now familiar bridge, and once again, the two spellcasters hold back the increasing tide of trolls. Though not of the city, the sorceress and cleric risk their own lives for its safety. You watch as they combine their magic, hurling spells that manage to keep even the strongest of the troll generals and assassins at bay. A cry rings out once again in the Keep, "ASSASSINS!" The call sounds different from the others, carrying with it a tone of confusion. The horde of trolls slowly dwindles with each mighty spell cast by the women until they have all but extinguished the invading force. Glancing at each other in bewilderment at the lack of foes, the pair looks shocked as the intense sounds of battle reverberate from within the city. "VARGESH!" is the last sound you hear as your vision fades into darkness.
XXXXXX sings something in Guildspeak that you don't understand.
The crimson blazestar seems to respond to the magic of XXXXXX’s song.
The blazestar in XXXXXX’s hand returns to its normal crimson hue. A look of discomfort crosses XXXXXXX's face as she focuses her voice on the crimson blazestar and loses herself in the song.

The blazestar in your hand returns to its normal crimson hue, though the golden flecks within move rapidly in a chaotic pattern at the sound of your voice, and the world around you dissolves. Tiope stands at the end of the bridge holding a knife to the king's throat, a wild look in her eye. Before anyone can move to stop her, Tiope laments, "What I do, I do for Vaalor!" and she drags the knife across the king's throat. His body collapses into a crumpled heap at the traitor's feet as a bolt of lightning strikes nearby. A swirling crimson portal opens directly behind Tiope, and she steps through before the stunned defenders can impede her -- the portal snapping closed in her wake. The world around you tilts precariously, and a wave of nausea nearly overwhelms you as your vision shifts again. The battle rages at the gates, Vargesh fading in and out, killing those around her. Fate guides the hand of a handsome commander with a precise, well-timed strike; he pierces the troll leader as she fades into existence before him. As she slips from his blade, the battle is won, and a disconsolate voice pierces the cheers from the far end of the bridge. "The King is dead! Tyrnian has been murdered!" You follow the rush of the crowd to the body of the king. The mass of elves falls to their knees in disbelief, and a young elf cries out in such agony, you struggle to choke back sobs of your own as the vision drifts away.

XXXXXX sings something in Guildspeak that you don't understand.
The crimson blazestar seems to respond to the magic of XXXXXX's song.
Blinding crimson light flares forth in a fiery burst as XXXXXX's song touches the crimson blazestar a final time.

The crimson blazestar in your hand shifts under your song, flaring once in a brilliant crimson display. You stand among a group of bereaved elves facing a tall pyre surrounded by piles of wood. The area is full of onlookers of various races and backgrounds, all of them here for one reason. "Make way for the steward" declares an elven guard. While the heroic elf who struck Vargesh down that day on the bridge walks in, a procession of elves carrying the body of the fallen King Tyrnian place him atop the pyre. Words are spoken as you gaze around the assembled crowd. Tear streaks mar each of the proud elven faces. A guard steps forth and ignites the pyre. In a quick blaze, the body of the king is gone, leaving only his ashes. Guards move in to encircle the ash pile that was their king. Your vision quickens, as time hurries past. A jumble of images bombards you. Elves weeping, stunned faces, and children clinging to their mothers' hands all race through your mind's eye. Most notably, you watch as a group of gnomes build a monument of gold-flecked crimson marble around the ashes, sealing them from the world forever.

You sing smoothly:

"Medallion that I hold
Let your value now be told"

The whole of the carved wooden medallion resonates with the sound of your voice, as if attempting to establish its own natural harmonization. The eyes of the central deringo serpent carving briefly glimmer to life, acknowledging your effort.



As your song continues, your surroundings blur and shift away into a formless verdant shroud. Regaining your bearings, you find yourself in the middle of a forest meadow, surrounded by the diminutive buildings of a makeshift gnomish settlement. One of its residents bears a medallion nearly identical to your own, as she forages around the outskirts of the trees.

Your surroundings begin to cycle through a number of scenes, each centered around the same young forest gnome with the medallion hanging around her neck -- defending her kin from a pair of forest trolls, nimbly traversing treacherous terrain while tracking game, and casting protective spells upon domiciles to protect them from the elements...

When your vision shifts again, you find yourself in serene darkness, the sounds of nighttime creatures lulling you to sleep. A blood-curdling scream abruptly pierces the calm, causing you to bolt upright. You instinctively clutch at something resting upon your chest, and rush out of your home.

Chaos suffuses through your surroundings, a number of your forest gnome kin laying dead or dying, scattered across the settlement. Before you can move to react, however, an excuciating pain shoots through your body, emanating from between your shoulder blades.

As you slump to the ground, the last thing you see is an unfamiliar short figure, his body marred with tattoos and piercings. He tears the medallion from your grasp, and you feel only a deep sense of forlorn. The darkness that ensues inspires nothing resembling the peace that you had felt only moments ago.


The environs blur and shift away again, leaving you this time in a roiling sea of dark fog. Soon, the silhouettes of twisted trees and hooded figures come into view, as you find yourself within a deep thicket. A number of torches surround a small clearing, one of the figures at its center.

The figure begins incanting with a monotonous sonance, and the torches flare up brightly in response. Streams of flame rise overhead, forming a dome on the clearing. The flames converge at the dome's apex, and send a column of fire down to the figure's feet.

Four of the other figures step forward, each joining in the archaic-sounding tongue. They simultaneously gesture toward the column of fire, causing a dark core to appear at its base, which quickly overcomes the entire height of the column with black and green tendrils.

A morose sense of loss filters again through your mind, as you feel as if a part of you has been torn away. You find yourself near the first figure, as he lowers his hood and retrieves a dark disk from where the blazing pillar had been. The tattooed and pierced gnome now approaches, picking you up in his grasp before plunging the disk into you. With a twisted grin and incantation, he seals the disk in place, and you feel a searing pain brought about by another unfamiliar presence...

A burning chaotic desire flows through your veins, as you set forth through the forest in a firestorm of destruction. You watch gleefully as the battered and scorched figures lie broken before you. As you turn to face your next victim, a hideous glowing golden light rattles your senses, and you feel your entire existance being pulled apart before all goes dark again.

Delving again into the depths of the carved wooden medallion, you feel completely disoriented and scattered, though you feel the faint comfort of your brethren nearby. A sliver emerges on the horizon, and rapidly expands into blinding daylight. You find yourself looking into the face of an old forest gnome, his features kind and wrinkled. He appears rather satisfied with himself as darkness overcomes you once more.

When day breaks anew, a much younger gnome peers around curiously into your confines, despite the look of genuine grief in his silvery green eyes. He cocks his head in puzzlement briefly before closing the box around you again.

You sense a passage of time and distance as you are carried within your dark home in pieces, longing to be reunited again. The box is opened and closed numerous times, allowing you to see a variety of curious gnomish and human faces alike.

You attempt to impress your longing desire of unification upon the young gnome, whose face has transitioned between curiousity, puzzlement, and frustration. Slowly but surely, you begin to regain your strength as he reunites you with the others, until finally you are made nearly whole again. The joy that wells up within you is reflected in his triumphant grin. Your elation is short-lived, however, as you sense a familiar, chaotic, dark presence overcome again...

The sadistic urge for disorder and turmoil overwhelms you anew as a long-dormant power burns through every muscle in your body with renewed strength. You revel in the screams, the searing flesh, as your twisted creations propogate your reign across the continent. Though the environment is different than it was previously, your victims are plentiful, and that is all that matters.



You weave your song through the ring of the carved wooden medallion once more, and your surroundings fade again, leaving you shrouded in a thick grey fog. As clarity returns to your sight, the scene of a town blanketed in black mist greets your senses. Fires rage, spewing forth with their black and green tendrils, devouring anything in reach of their grasp...

You find yourself surrounded by a motley congregation of people at the base of a waterfall, though only one has your focused attention. His bloodline reeks of treachery -- the thought of erasing him from existence is all that fuels you as you lash out at him with murderous aggression.

A familiar wretched, sickly golden light flashes before you as your bloodlust is forcibly torn from you. Confused bewilderment sets in momentarily, but it is soon replaced with pure serenity and comfort, as if everything was finally in balance again after so many years of separation, loss, and despair.

A deep force of natural power wells up within you, as you notice another shift in the environs. An endless field of golden grain extends far off into the horizon, a clear dark blue sky above. Instinctively, you release the energy, sending a band of golden incandescence streaking overhead, trailed by whorls of verdant green that momentarily paint the heavens with its color...

You sense that the flows of the magic within the carved wooden medallion are drawn to Thondalor.

an oak-hafted white ora spikestar (T2 Iasha)

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 spikestar 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 the Arkati, I consecrate this weapon."

As your song comes to an end, you see the spikestar 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 spikestar 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.