Ask methais. That's where he's from.Quote:
Originally Posted by shad0ws0ngs
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Ask methais. That's where he's from.Quote:
Originally Posted by shad0ws0ngs
The purple pendant is from Uthex, as in the lunatic that lived on the moon and did all those evil things there, and he loved him some purple apparently
Copied from the appraisals:
You remove a jewel-edged golden steel helm with a plume of blood red eagle feathers from in your climbing pack.
The harmonic vibrations that your song evokes in the golden steel helm convey a sense of great age. At a rough estimate, the helm is worth 1 silver, but a collector of antiquities might be willing to offer a significantly greater sum.
As the golden steel helm responds to your song, you sense echoes of ancient enchantment drifting softly through the resonances. It is difficult to say whether or not the helm is innately magical, but, if not, then it has certainly been exposed to a great deal of magical energy over an extended period of time.
The resonances of your music caress the ancient weave of enchantment within the golden steel helm. You recognize both spiritual and elemental components, twisted together and permanently altered into a new form -- the unmistakable taint of sorcery.
As you sing to the golden steel helm, you evoke the image of a short man with silver-streaked hair. He holds the golden steel helm in his hands, studying it intently. As he turns it over, its brilliant gems glitter brightly as they catch the light, and he nods his approval. He signals to a liveried servant nearby, and the servant quickly comes to take the helm away. The vision drifts away from you as your verse ends.
Copied from a thread on the high end items folder:
Spell prep ring; morphs into a tattoo when you wear it (does not take up a ring slot); displays as "a blue ring tattoo on her finger"; changes how your spell prep is displayed based upon three different settings: cursed, neutral, blessed. Only works for profession circles. See below for more details.
>TAP TATTOO
You tap a blue ring tattoo that you are wearing.
(cursed w/715)
You slide a blue-black sapphire ring onto your finger and it flickers out of existence briefly, reappearing as a hazy blue mist. The blue mist collapses onto your finger, absorbing into your skin.
>prep 701
You murmur under your breath, uttering only harsh, guttural sounds in an invocation of Blood Burst...
Your spell is ready.
(uncursed/ neutral)
You slide a silver-blue sapphire ring onto your finger and it flickers out of existence briefly, reappearing as a hazy blue mist. The blue mist collapses onto your finger, absorbing into your skin.
>prep 705
You make a quick, circular gesture, preparing Disintegrate...
Your spell is ready.
(blessed w/304)
>wear ring
You slide a cerulean sapphire ring onto your finger and it flickers out of existence briefly, reappearing as a hazy blue mist. The blue mist collapses onto your finger, absorbing into your skin.
>prep 705
You make a long, circular gesture, leaving a blue trail through the air as you prepare Disintegrate...
Your spell is ready.
>REMOVE TATTOO
You begin carving relentlessly into your own flesh to remove your ring tattoo!
As the pain increases, you cry out and fall to the ground with the accursed ring tattoo removed!
[Stunned for 20 rounds!]
You clench your injured hand in pain, squeezing small pieces of flesh that you cut away from your finger and causing blood to stream out between your fingers. The warm scraps of flesh in your hand grow suddenly cold, and you can feel something firm in your grasp. Feeling suddenly exhausted, you let your hand fall open, revealing a blue-black sapphire ring sitting in your palm.
LORESONG
A great hall opens before you, overseen by a regal-looking elf sitting on a raised throne. Before the elf stand what must be his three sons, if physical traits are any indication, each wearing a stately turquoise tunic with a dagger or sword strapped firmly to his slender form.
An elf kneeling before the three presents each with a ring of sapphire, as crowds of elves assembled in the hall politely applaud. Each of the three sons receives his ring in turn, and then a herald pronounces, "May these symbols serve and exhibit the good status and rank of the heir to the throne and his brothers during their campaign against the undead hordes, despite what Blessings or Curses fortune may bestow." The hall bursts into cheering and applause, which lingers in the back of your mind moments after the vision has ended.
Screams fill your ears as mobs of undead throw themselves into combat against the primarily elven force that surrounds you. A sapphire banner bearing the embroidered image of a peacock is held above a portion of the elven fighting force. Dozens of zombies, skeletons, and ghouls engage the elves at this, the front line of overwhelming forces on either side.
Suddenly a great deal of elven yelling can be heard over the din of battle, and the battle standard seen earlier jerks violently before being knocked to the ground. A sudden surge of defenders push back the throng of undead, revealing the three elven princes. The youngest brother lies wounded, tended by one of his siblings who quickly issues orders to the nearby infantry to bolster the line while the fallen is carried from the field of battle. The vision slowly fades.
A tomb of white stone sits in a small glade, surrounded by gravemarkers and similar vaults. A cool breeze passes through the shaded clearing, bringing with it fresh spring air. All is still except for the slight twitching and swaying of tree branches and a small cluster of daisies at the edge of the clearing. The soft light shining down on the glade dims, as the sky slowly rusts before yielding to the quiet of night.
The rustling of leaves announces two figures as they emerge at the edge of the clearing. They quickly amble over to the tomb, and in ambling through the midst of the glade, the moonlight reveals an elf and his giantman companion. The large fellow stands a few feet away from the vault, surveying the graveyard. His gaze moves across you without pause. Meanwhile, his partner makes a violent racket, shaking the chain that blocks entrance to the tomb. After what seems like several minutes, a rusted lock falls to the ground, and the chain clatters to the ground. The elf lights a lantern and slides quickly past the entrance of the tomb. A shriek emanates from the vault, sending the elf's sentry running for the cover of the nearby forest. The elf emerges from the tomb, grabbing and shaking his hand in a panic. The light of the lantern shows what appears to be a sapphire ring on his hand. A second shriek emits from the tomb, causing the elf to abandon his lantern and flee in the direction of his companion.
A blue sapphire ring sits on a large block, separating a tired looking auctioneer from a rowdy crowd of rough adventurer-types. A voice from the back of the crowd yells, "What does it do!?" and another exclaims, "Auction off somethin' good!" followed by snickering from across the room. Despite the insufferable crowd, the auctioneer continues his service, and the ring is sold to a respectable looking sylvan man.
Sensing the end of the ring's story, you bring your song to an abrupt close.
The old turtle/snail shell armor, copied from a necro'd post.
some striated conch shell armor - Inpenetrable shell of protection. Can survive meteor swarms, open implosions.. No hands needed and no roundtime to enter/exit shell..
4x further enchantable and capable of premie points padding..
Great for healing down during battle.
Loresong:
Your surroundings blur outward in a rolling wave from your center. Darkness settles around you and the smell of dampness pervades your senses as you become aware of your new surroundings. Water drips in runnels down the sides of bare stone walls and the smell of charcoal and sulphur floats on the air. Flickering torches lie ensconced in braziers that stand sentry before a heavy oak door. Penetrating the door is a small square window bisected by solid steel bars. Stretching up, you are able to peer through the window at the scene in the room beyond. At odds with the exterior hall, the room beyond is neat and dry, boxes and crates stacked to one side, magic paraphenalia and workbenches on the other. Working in a steady and precise manner are a number of dwarfs, each totally focused on the shell-like objects that lie before them on the benches. The scene fades and momentarily you get the impression of the same room but dark and disordered. Finally exhausted from your effort, you blink your eyes and return to the present.
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1st person:
>turn knob
As you twist the small knob, you hear a loud "CLANG!" and feel your shell armor expand and surround you.
>look
[Striated Conch Shell, Inside]
You barely make out in the dim light filtering through several holes in the rough, hexagonally patterned walls and floor of your prison.
Obvious exits: none
>peer hole
Sticking your eye against the hole, you are just able to make out what lies outside.
[Ta'Illistim, Hanging Gardens]
>turn knob
A loud clicking noise starts and suddenly the shell splits and spits you out.
[Ta'Illistim, Hanging Gardens]
3rd person:
"CLANG!" You notice a large striated conch shell where moments before, Tsin had been.
A clicking noise begins to come from a large striated conch shell, a sudden, loud "CRACK!" and Tsin is there and the shell isn't.
Hey I saw Alisaire last night in Solhaven. I expect with the big things happening there this evening at the Broken Tower, she will probably be there. You could chat to her about loresinging at those items, that kill you once you finish the loresong. So bring a cleric in tow, and share the loresong please! I would have done so, but I never save logs.
a tapered white ora lance tipped with crimson enamel - iasha lance
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 lance 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 Jastev, I consecrate this weapon."
As your song comes to an end, you see the lance 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 lance 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.
Your song draws to a close, and you feel the story has ended.
Ardwen item - old ass unnavable gold ring that's not a gold ring
a dark green ring
As you sing, you feel a faint resonating vibration from the green ring in your hand, and you learn something about it...
This is a small item, under a pound. In your best estimation, it's worth about 5,000 silvers.
As you sing, you feel a faint resonating vibration from the green ring in your hand, and you learn something about it...
You sense a faint aura of magic around the green ring. You also feel a faint drawing sensation from it, as though when its charge is depleted, it may be refilled. From the pitch of the vibration you determine that the purpose of the ring is to cast a spell or perform some magical purpose.
This is an item belonging to the Chronomages.
The ring is attuned to where you are now. (I sang to it on the porch)
loresung in a different room gets this:
The ring is attuned to somewhere around Wehnimer's Landing.
The last verse is different from your average gold ring in that it tells you where it is set.. I sung to a regular gold ring and it merely said it was persistant
a dark grey vultite drinking mug with a pearl handle
Your melody surrounds the drinking mug, seeking to draw out its secrets. You don't sense much unusual about it, though it feels to be about 1 pounds. It would seem that the mug is nothing other than a drinking mug
The drinking mug responds to your melody by exhibiting very little, other than the fact it has obviously been hefted quite a few times. This is fairly obvious by its visual aappearance though, and needs little authentification from your song. The only other thing you get from it is the fact that it feels to be about 1 pounds.
You seem to be hitting a blank wall again with the drinking mug, despite the eloquence of your song's words and melody. You're just on the verge of concluding that the stained mug is nothing more, simply a drinking mug which weighs about 1 pounds.
Then, your mind begins to fill with a jumble of images...a drab bar in the south of Solhaven, an airy pub in the settlement known as River's Rest, a loud cafe and bar in the backstreets of Wehnimer's Landing, a smokey Quaavy's Bar and Grill, an inn crowded with jostling dwarves and other less attractive dens of crime and iniquity. The visions flash by almost quicker than you can follow, but one factor is consistent. Every scene you see is unquestionably a bar!
As you sing to the drinking mug, you get the sense that it weighs about 1 pounds. Stifling a snide comment or two which pops unbidden to mind, you continue, finally drawing out a jumble of images similar to what you discovered earlier. However, tiring of the panorma of dingy drinking establishements and feeling a nagging inclination that something more is here, you delve past the stream of impressions that diverted your attention before.
After fighting your way through absolutely nothing for awhile, you emerge upon more of the same. The mug lays there in your hands as imperturbably as a fly sitting on a dead kobold. With a shrug of pure impatience, you mutter and conclude that surely there must be something more. All of a sudden a whiny, nasal little voice floats up out of the mug saying, "Don't call me Shirley!"
As you yodel a particularly boisterous stanza, your voice suddenly cracks, causing you to blurt out a note much like the call of a romantic rolton. You find it difficult to question why your performance doesn't illicit much of anything from the drinking mug.
You learn nothing new about the mug.
>drink my mug
As you take a long, refreshing drink from your drinking mug, it suddenly begins to emit a wheedling, nasal and very penetrating voice, singing, "Druuuuuuuuuunk, drunk drunk drunk, druuuuuunk..."
>drink my mug
As you take a long swig from your drinking mug, you suddenly feel your legs double-up beneath you and next you know, the floor is shaking hands with your face. You hear a derisive snort from your mug as it croons, "See! Japhrimel is drunk! Can't stand up! Naw naw na naw naw! Drunkard here! Constable!!!"
>drink my mug
As you lift your drinking mug to take a drink, the mug lets out a resounding *SNORT*! Quite a good impression of a hog for a mug.
>drink my mug
You take a nice long drink from your drinking mug.
a silver black seed pearl anklet - Coiled lengths of silver are bound in a sinuous mesh that forms the loop of this anklet, flexible and smooth yet amazingly sturdy. The only apparent adornment is a tiny black seed pearl set into the weave opposite the clasp, which is a complex series of hoops and fingers that lock together tightly in a ring. The pearl seems incongruent to the piece, though quite lovely, and appears to have originated from another article of jewelry.
As your song enfolds the anklet in your palm you begin to feel it stir in response. Your eyelids slide shut and a vision of immaculate clarity unfolds.
Peering into a large oak-trimmed mirror, a beautiful woman sits fitting a net of black seed pearls onto her auburn hair. Over her shoulder the door suddenly bursts into a cloud of debris, and the frame darkens with a massive cloaked figure stepping through. Behind the figure two large armored forms lie motionless in the hall, her hired bodyguards. Faster than memories can record, the woman is clamped inside a muscular arm and the man and his prize launch through an eruption of shattered glass, out the window and down to the waiting beast with a long neck and two great humps on its back.
Sight twists and narrows back to black, and you slowly open your eyes and blink at the light.
As your song issues forth the anklet starts to resonate strongly, and suddenly your vision clouds and reshapes into broad visual illusion.
With days already passed, the woman's clothing showing the wear of travel but her hair still cleanly held within the pearl netting, she seems to understand now at least why she is here. He is a bounty hunter of Phannus, a great desert warrior hardened by the seas of boiling sand. Now that they were away from the eastern city where she once thought herself safe, he explained quietly, precisely with bare words, what her future would hold. Two weeks of hard travel, being presented alive and unharmed to the jeweler in Tamzyrr, the hunter collecting her bounty, and then her being tortured slowly to death in the privacy of the jeweler's basement for robbing him.
As the vibrations from your song fade into imperceptibility the vision ends and your eyes reopen.
Focusing your magic into the anklet you are rewarded with a pulse of power, and your sight clouds into a vision.
Trekking along the southeastern edges of the DragonSpine, the past week of the journey has left the woman threadbare and despondent. Continuous pleading, bargaining, and demanding avails her nothing from the stony male, who keeps her leashed closely on the animal behind him. When she struggles, he is not rough, but shifts so her efforts avail little result. He ignores or tolerates her rambling, remaining silent except for an occasional calm command or simple answer. A creature of honor, he would follow his contract to the very letter. He would deliver her, alive and unharmed.
Sight twists and narrows back to black, and you slowly open your eyes and blink at the light.
As your song unfolds the anklet starts to resonate strongly, and suddenly your vision clouds and reshapes into broad visual illusion.
Bumping more frequently against him as they began the first days of travel through the mountains, her tired muscles not accounting completely for her desire to lean against his solid back, the woman has given up her struggles and now is studying her captor. A bark-colored viper swings down at her from a tree limb, and without shifting his weight he cleanly severs it in two with his dagger. With waning reluctance, she gazes on him more truly, seeing this man of enviable virtue and power among a world of the weak and despicable.
As the vibrations from your song fade into imperceptibility the vision ends and your eyes reopen.
Focusing your magic into the anklet you are rewarded with a pulse of power, and your sight clouds into a vision.
A few short days travel out of the mountains, still with miles of plain and hill ahead, and her life's end, the hunter and captive's path winds slowly beneath a beating white sun. She was unbound now, physically and perhaps more, for they both seemed to know she would not run from him. She even elicited a chuckle or nod from him occasionally as she spoke about her life, and when her spoken hardships caused his own eyes to tighten in remembrance, she sees his spirit is kindred. Within her tales there is a question, unnoticed or ignored by the man. An offer of freedom, together.
Sight twists and narrows back to black, and you slowly open your eyes and blink at the light.
As your song unfolds the anklet starts to resonate, even stronger than before, and your sight falls to pitch black instantly. Black resolves to dark grey, and then to the interior of a modest city building.
Stepping down into the cool recessed room below the jeweler's shop, the journey of the two strangers comes to an end. She looks into his eyes a final time, knowing that to plead would diminish her and be pointless, and sees that feelings also dwell behind his gaze. The jeweler giggles mercilessly, and speaks that she is turned into his custody, handing the payment to the hunter.
The definitions of the agreement met, that she be delivered alive and unharmed into the jeweler's hands, the bounty hunter takes her by the head and snaps her neck with one quick jerk. As she falls to the floor, the jeweler's wailing cry of lost revenge splitting the musty air, her hairnet of black seed pearls breaks and scatters.
As the vibrations from your song fade into imperceptibility the vision ends and your eyes reopen.
You attempt to withdraw more hidden secrets from the anklet, but meet with heartsick failure.