Loresongs

Reposted from the appraisals thread(http://forum.gsplayers.com/showthrea...63#post1456163) - a mechanical kitten from a previous EG.

a mechanical tortoiseshell kitten with a segmented brass and gold tail

You sing in Guildspeak:

"Kitten I hold of perfect hue
Sing to me your value"


As you croon to the tortoiseshell kitten,you get few details about it that aren't immediately obvious. It weighs about 1 pounds and is cast of a mechanical. On intitial inspection, it doesn't seem to be magical.


Roundtime: 7 sec.

R>
>loresing kitten i hold of perfect hue;sing to me your purpose true
You sing in Guildspeak:

"Kitten i hold of perfect hue
Sing to me your purpose true"


The small device responds to your melody, echoing back a soft noise that sounds for all the world like a 'meow'.


Roundtime: 8 sec.

R>
>loresing kitten I hold with magic power;from what circle do you flower?
You sing in Guildspeak:

"Kitten I hold with magic power
From what circle do you flower?"


From the signals your melody feeds back, you can tell the tortoiseshell kitten is not magical. Its little crank obviously provides the impetus to what appears to be an amazingly complex series of tiny mechanisms inside the piece. While it's not magical in and of itself, the craftmanship necessary to design and produce the kitten were certainly as much a marvel as the most demanding of spells!


Roundtime: 8 sec.

R>
>loresing kitten here is still a mystery;sing to me your ability
You sing in Guildspeak:

"Kitten here is still a mystery
Sing to me your ability"


The small kitten trembles in your hands as your lyric caresses it. You can discern wheels within its a mechanical heart begin to turn with an almost silent 'whiiiirrrr'.

As the toy vibrates more rapidly by the moment, you increase the urgency of the song, hoping to uncover something about the master who made this miniature marvel. The suspence builds. You hold your breath, feeling sure that something is on the verge of revealing itself! Then softly, you begin to hear a thin, reedy little rasp of a voice singing along with you...singing,
"Meow meow meow meow,
Meow meow meow meow,
Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow..."


Roundtime: 7 sec.

R>
You feel at full magical power again.
R>
>loresing kitten I hold as a mystery;sing to me your history
You sing in Guildspeak:

"Kitten I hold as a mystery
Sing to me your history"


Your song is suddenly rent by a note that's as sour as spoiled ale, leaving you not surprised in the least when you fail to learn anything from the kitten.

You learn nothing new about the kitten.


Roundtime: 7 sec.

a gold-hilted warblade inscribed with dwarven runic letters 'Farouk'

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

As you sing to the warblade, images of some long forgotten verses comes to mind. The curious verses become louder in your mind, and you can't help yourself, but to sing them aloud:

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

Evil and ruin befell the Lands.
Seven strong hearts and seven stout hands,
wielding fire to stem the flow,
Guarded the pass against their foes.

Seven stood in the darkest hour.
Fire in hand, whilst the village did cower.
Against the ancient evil of old,
they stood as one, brave and bold.


Roundtime: 8 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

Seven blades flashing bright,
mighty brands to pierce the night.
Did set all their foes a'straight,
withering them in ruint fate.

Aelthed, Orin, were the first to fall,
Five now stood and fought for all.
Farouk, Karo, followed soon,
Three blades still shined against the moon.


Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

Three blades left began to fade.
Without all seven their doom was made.
Iubdan, Manser, fought till death,
with ebbing strength and waning breath.

Ottar held his blade up high.
Lightning crashed against the sky.
Seven blades their powers meshed,
to cleave asunder demon flesh.


Roundtime: 9 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

With fading breath and dying sight,
Ottar passed beyond the Light.
The weapons great, their wielders strong.
Together these blades shall right the wrong.

Seven blades, each with a light,
came together in blazing might.
Separate, each had a fire.
Brought together they formed a pyre.

The village free, the seven dead,
Weapons were laid beside each head.
And if the lores of old ring true,
Seven blades shall rise anew.


Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

Your song draws to a close and you feel the story has ended.

Roundtime: 8 sec.

a moss-hued chrysoprase teardrop - Darker patches dapple this brilliant green stone like leaves' shadows cast on a bed of moss. A hundred tiny facets glint across its surface, casting the light in different directions depending on the angle of view and making the shadowy inclusions seem to shift and turn. The effect is more intense near the edges, where the thinness lends a faint translucence to the nearly opaque gem.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

As you sing to a moss-hued chrysoprase teardrop, it glimmers slightly, and slowly, a vision begins to unfold.

A young boy plays with his friends, gleefully slogging through the muck and mire of a small stream. Something glittering in the riverbank catches his eye, and he stops to look. To the great delight of his friends, he has found a small, clear sapphire. Soon, all the boys are covered head-to-toe in mud as they try to find their own buried treasure. Each boy returns with a handful of pebbles and brightly colored stones, but no more gems.

The moon rises, and the young boy sits on his bed, staring in rapt fixation as starlight glints off his sapphire. Suddenly, he pulls a small knife from a pile of string, rocks, and other typical boy fare and begins to chip away at the gemstone. He pauses, holding it up catch the starlight again and then gently carves away, humming beneath his breath. Soon, a tiny heart-cut clear sapphire lies in the palm of his hand.

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

Your vision quickly reappears as you sing to the teardrop. The boy is older now, almost a man, and before him are several gemstones, each meticulously carved. He holds a violet feystone in his hand, singing to it as he carves away every flaw and turns the simple gem into a breathtaking miniature rose. He sings as he polishes it, and the feystone rose grows brighter. A light blue aura surrounds it briefly before being absorbed into the gem.

The scene changes, and the boy stands in a shop, showing his feystone rose to a stooped old man. The man takes the rose and rubs it. He chortles happily as a light blue glow seeps into his skin. He hands the boy a few gold coins.

The vision fades as a very happy boy runs down the street to his home.

Roundtime: 8 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

As you whisper your song to the teardrop, a new scene unfolds. Several years have gone by, and the boy is now a man. He sits in a small shop filled with carved gemstones, each shelf holding a sign explaining the properties the stones hold. He is deep in concentration over a star-cut ruby, pausing in his singing every so often to press it against his forehead and letting it fall into his open palm again.

He jerks up from his work as a bell jingles, and his shop door opens. A beautiful young woman walks in.

Flashes of time pass before your eyes as the young man courts the woman. You see a cottage with a garden of bright roses and tall lilac trees. A kiss, an altar, a ring. You see both working, her in metal and him in stone. And when he presses a peridot against her forehead one day, it stays, casting a cerulean light across her face. The woman cheers, and they kiss exuberantly. An overwhelming sense of happiness infuses each scene, and as your song's influence fades, the vision disappears.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

You barely start to sing to the teardrop before a vision appears. The joy that permeated the previous scene is nowhere to be found here. The young man's countenance is haggard, his appearance disheveled. He looks the madman as he rants and raves in the garden. A raven lands nearby, and the man throws a diamond at it. The bright roses have all gone to dark shades, and even the lilac trees look denser, more foreboding. Yet, the garden is well-tended, and even as the man mutters and weeps to himself, you see him lovingly caring for each bush and tree.

He sleeps in a thicket of lilacs and washes himself in the pond, and you get the impression he never enters the cottage, perhaps never leaves the garden at all. As time passes, an older woman, his mother, brings him food, passing it over the garden walls and imploring him to come out. Time and again, he refuses.

The vision grows black, and as it disappears, you hear him whisper resolutely to the four winds, "I am keeper of the garden, for of the garden she is. And here, forever we are."

Roundtime: 9 sec.

a scorched rolaren two-handed sword reinforced with invar plating - health vial flaring sword

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

As the pitch of your voice finds the heart of the sword a vision slowly forms before you.

A dark-robed figure, face hidden in the cowls of his robe, stands atop a mountain. Ominous clouds form in the sky as he chants over a dark granite slab.

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

As you continue to coax the song from the two-handed sword, the vision returns of the dark figure.

The vision slowly begins to focus in on the figure and its ministrations over the slab. As the vision zooms in, you notice the weapon gleaming with the flashes of lightning as the figure chants softly over the sword.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

As your voice dares the sword to tell you more, you see the figure reach past the slab and lift the form of a small elven baby in his hands.

Its visage is partly revealed as his lips turn up in a sinister grin. From one sleeve of his dark robe he produces a shimmering ceremonial dagger. You watch as the grizzly scene unfolds before you...

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

Your voice coaxes another grim verse from the two-handed sword.

The figure slowly lowers the dagger to the elven baby and makes two precise cuts along each wrist. The figure then raises the crying body above the slab, chanting as guides the droplets of lifeblood along the sword. As the light slowly dies from the baby's eyes, the sword seems to glow with a life of it's own. Exhausted, the figure idly tosses the baby's body to the side and leans over his creation...

Roundtime: 9 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

Another verse shows itself to you as your voice struggles against the two-handed sword.

The scene pans back to show the mountaintop and clouds again. A scowling apparition presents itself in the clouds, unbeknownst to our exhausted figure. A gleaming golden crown can be seen atop the head of the visage as it extends an angry finger towards the figure. In one brief blast of light, the sword rises up from the slab, then comes crashing downward as the figure looks up in surprise...

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

Another verse presents itself to you as your voice finally finds the perfect pitch of the vibrations within the two-handed sword.

The figure lies dead in a pool of blood, the sword lying haphazardly next to it. As you watch, the staff glows with power and the blood rushes away from the body, seeping into the staff, just as it happened with the elven babe. The vision abruptly changes and thousands of seasons pass by in a blink of an eye, the snow piling higher and higher, eventually covering the sword until only the tip of the slab remains apparent to the eye. The visions begin to slow, as the snow gradually recedes, showing the warming seasons. The vision fades once more, with the tip of the staff peeking through the snow, although you sense there is still more to this tale.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

A final verse is revealed to your song.

A troupe of adventurers scales the mountain and discovers the two-handed sword. After a brief game of dice a stalwart dwarf pridefully hefts the sword and climbs back down towards the village in the valley. The vision quickly shifts to show the dwarf sitting with the sword in his small room, fiddling with it and examining it. The vision blurs a little just as the dwarf appears to figure something out, and clarifies only when he raises a vial in triumph over his head.

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

You attempt to weave an additional melody around the two-handed sword, but the sword lies idle in your hands. You sense no further information contained within.

Roundtime: 9 sec.

Mayor Walkar's Office, in Moot Hall, Wehnimer's Landing:

[Moot Hall, Mayor's Office]
At the varnished modwir door, a red bear skin rug stretches across the polished hardwood floors while twin velnalin hide chairs face the Mayor's pine desk. A great stag's head is mounted above a cobblestone fireplace set into the western wall. Several tumblers of liquor and shot glasses rest atop an oak bar beside a tall arched window. A blue-streaked river trout is mounted above an open closet, its mouth still wedged open by a fish hook. You also see a droopy-eyed tan bloodhound, a small framed portrait and a basket of sticks.
Obvious exits: none
>sense
You sense the threads of history resonating within a mottled silver locket and an old steel spear tip.
Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing to a mottled silver locket:

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

A young boy clutches his covers, stretching them over his face as his eyes water. He shakes when he hears the front door of his home slam shut. The heavy, yet staggering sound of boots outside his door makes him flinch with each thud. A deep muffled voice begins to shout, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. A shrill cry from his sister causes the boy to leap out of bed and charge out of his room. He reels back as a hand strikes his face, knocking him down, while his father stands over him.

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing to a mottled silver locket:

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

Through squinted eyes, the boy watches his sister rock in the corner, hugging her knees while she sobs heavily. Above him, his father cracks his knuckles, a wicked grin splitting his beard. ''A little hero, eh?'' he laughs before punching the boy, shattering his cheek bone. ''Heroes get beaten and buried boy,'' the man laughs as he drives more punches home, landing them to the boy's stomach and causing him to cough up blood.

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing to a mottled silver locket:

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

A weathered man sits lurched over his kitchen table, his beard now unkempt and grey. He loosely holds a jug of rum between his fingers, staring at a silver locket resting on the table near a cluster of empty bottles. A young woman moves cautiously into the room and the man suddenly lunges forward, grabbing her wrist as she screeches. He solidly backhands the woman, sending her crashing to the floor. He raises his hand to strike again when someone shouts from behind him.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing to a mottled silver locket:

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

A young man with clover green eyes lets out a fierce bellow and charges, tackling his father. They land on the table, sending it splintering to the floor while shattering bottles on the ground. His face crimson with rage, the young man slams his fist into his father's face, splitting his lip and nose. The young man reaches out for a broken bottle, driving the jagged end into his father's face, who suddenly goes limp. The young boy rises to his feet, shaking while staring at his blood-covered hands.

Roundtime: 7 sec.



You sing to an old steel spear tip:

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

A young man stands alone on a woodland hillside, his metal breastplate glistening as a torrent of rain pours down from the stormy grey skies. His clover green eyes squint through the stinging deluge to observe the wooden palisade walls of Wehnimer's Landing, nestled among the trees of Lower Dragonsclaw. His stomach churns as he sees women and children being rushed inside buildings and he stares quizzically at the axe in his hand.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing to an old steel spear tip:

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

The young man is pressed shoulder to shoulder as Jantalarian infantrymen march around him, descending down a hillside and weaving through a forest at nightfall. The man pauses for a moment, as the sea of soldiers presses on. He looks up to the top of the hill where a large wagon rests, a giant Mandis Crystal rising up from its bed. The man rejoins his squadron and whispers faintly to himself, ''Return a hero, or wrapped in the flag.''

Roundtime: 8 sec.

You sing to an old steel spear tip:

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

The cries are unbearable. The young man watches in horror as women are killed while trying to flee, cut down by his own people, men he once called friends. Fiery spheres arc high in the air before crashing onto nearby buildings, igniting the structures and driving out citizens. The man stands paralyzed in the street, helplessly watching as the city burns around him. Another woman screams and he springs forward to rush to her aid, just as he lurches forward from a spear piercing his back.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing to an old steel spear tip:

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

The young man's eyes peel open slowly, water mixing with blood as his vision adjusts. The streets are silent now, with the exception of an occasional moan in the distance. Building fires struggle to burn under the steady rain as a red-haired sylvan woman approaches, kneeling beside the man and touching his back. The young man feels a warmth rush over his body and he looks up to see a blood-stained spear tip in the woman's hand, just before he falls unconscious.

Roundtime: 9 sec.

a murky red summoning orb - The orb is small, no more than the width of a small apple. It's composed of a murky crystal, very possibly quartz, although its weight seems too slight for solid quartz. Small striations cover it, as though the sphere has been incised innumerable times with a fine, sharp tool. They created a pattern of starbursts that interlink seamlessly around the curved surface.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

You raise the melody of your song, wrapping the harmonies around the summoning orb. Almost immediately, you are sure that this item is both rare and magical. However, its worth seems to be a confusing knot of both positive and negative indications. You're left with a slightly uneasy feeling as your song ends, similar to the uncomfortable sensation of having been the object of an annoying joke.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

As your song serenades the orb seeking to plumb any hidden faculties or facts, the item suddenly bursts out a response consisting of its own probe, one that is pointedly more aggressive. It slaps you in the face with power, snapping your head back with its vehemence. As you wince, certain of a stiff neck on the morrow, you seem to hear a voice with a distinctive, clipped accent, whispering inside your mind, "Keep your insignificant mewling off me, you pitiful excuse for a yodeling goat!" The obnoxious orb falls silent after the outburst, leaving you to gaze at the thing in shocked silence for a moment or two.

Roundtime: 8 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

Your song weaves around the summoning orb, armed with an insulating harmony of protective tone you cleverly worked into the melody. You have no desire for another bout of having your head bounced around like a toy ball. However, though the notes are true and your verse well-crafted, the orb doesn't respond.

Then, with relief you feel the orb obediently surrender, and begin to send back information at your song's urging. It is certainly magical, small wonder there. It weighs about 1 pounds. Just as you feel you're about to get something you suspect will be really interesting, the orb pauses, and before you can call up another verse, it falls silent.

Roundtime: 8 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

You begin to sing to the summoning orb, trying to curb a slight impatience at being so close to finding out something interesting with your last verses. The same information is quickly garnered. Magical, yes indeed. It weighs 1 pounds. Again, you notice the strange, confused emission for its value, but hey, that happens to the best of bards occasionally. As you feel the orb seem to hesitate at the same point at which your song ended last try, you step up the intensity of your meter, forcing the orb past its reticence...

Big mistake. A wall of energy hits you, sending you into an arcing back-flip, which soon leaves you gasping for breath flat on your back. As if that wasn't enough, a derisive snort echoes inside your throbbing forehead, followed by a snide rasp of a voice, "Idiot! How easily you succumb to the simplest of tricks. Next time, you might consider confining your paltry play-singing to something on the order of a silver wand. Or perhaps a crystal amulet is more appropriate for someone of your ability."

The summoning orb falls silent. It lays innocently in your hand as you contemplate chucking it in the general direction of the Burning Desert.

Roundtime: 10 sec.


You sing in Guildspeak:

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

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 elicit much of anything from the summoning orb.
You learn nothing new about the orb.


Roundtime: 7 sec.

Momento given out when GS got night/day, I think..

a deep azure glaesine orb - The orb is shaped of pure deep azure glaes, crafted into a perfect orb. It hangs from a delicate silver chain affixed with a tiny moon-shaped mithril pin.

Tiny shimmering crystals hover inside the orb, pulsating slightly with the light of the stars. Currently they form the shape of the constellation of The Ur-Daemon.

Barely visible on the glaesine surface of the orb, some words have been etched in minute script around its circumference.


You sing in Guildspeak:

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


As you sing, you sense a minute vibration somewhere within the glaesine orb. The crystalline stars within the glaesine orb shimmer slightly in response to your song.

Roundtime: 6 sec.


You sing in Guildspeak:

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


As your voice rises and falls, all light fades into a blackened void of nothingness. Suddenly, an implosion shakes the void, the searing brightness at its center blinding you momentarily before your eyesight returns.

Roundtime: 7 sec.


You sing in Guildspeak:

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


As you continue to sing, you see the image of brightly glowing spheres hurtling away from the center of the implosion, bringing light to the far reaches of the velvety darkness of the void.

Roundtime: 6 sec.


You sing in Guildspeak:

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


As you conclude the song, the glowing spheres begin to slow their advance into the darkness, eventually hovering with gentle grace as pinpoints of light in the unending sea of midnight. Pulsating slightly, the spheres hum with the resonance of all the ages.

Slowly, your eyesight returns and your surroundings fade into view.

Roundtime: 8 sec.


3rd person view(as dictated to me by Darphin):

As Japhrimel sings, your eyesight fades and all around you sinks into a void of velvety darkness. Gradually, your vision returns.

Slowly, your eyesight returns and your surroundings fade into view

As Japhrimel's voice rises and falls, your vision fades to utter darkness. Suddenly an implosion shakes the blackness of the void, the searing brightness at its center blinding you momentarily before your eyesight returns.

Slowly, your eyesight returns and your surroundings fade into view

As Japhrimel continues to sing, your eyesight dims. You see the image of brightly glowing spheres hurtling away from the center of a bright implosion, bringing light to the far reaches of the velvety darkness of the void.

Slowly, your eyesight returns and your surroundings fade into view

As Japhrimel concludes the song, your vision dims one final time. Glowing spheres of light hurtling away from a bright center begin to slow their advance into the darkness around them, eventually hovering with gentle grace as pinpoints of light in the unending sea of midnight. Pulsating slightly, the spheres hum with the resonance of all the ages.

Slowly, your eyesight returns and your surroundings fade into view

a butterfly charm - Wrought from delicate silver, the head and thorax of the charm are encrusted with tiny pure white diamonds, while the graceful opaque wings are formed of pure spidersilk.

The red anglewing butterfly has medium-sized ruby red eyespots centered on the forewing with small soft grey spots in the center of the hindwing.

Something appears to be engraved on the underside of the abdomen.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

As you sing, you discover that a butterfly charm is very light and very valuable, a true bit of beauty in a harsh world.

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

As you continue to sing, an image forms before your eyes. Thousands, possibly millions of butterflies mass together in the sky. Rainbow colors flash on and off with the opening and closing of their wings. Bits of the image seem to come closer, and you notice not a single one is alike.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

Below the jeweled cloud, a young girl turns to her mother and says, "Mother, they're so beautiful -- why do they live such a short time? It doesn't seem fair." The woman looks up at the living rainbow, then closes her eyes before replying, "No, my dear, it doesn't." With a smile, she raises her hands and they begin to glow...

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

As you continue to sing, the perspective changes, and it seems you are looking down upon the outstretched arms of a woman from a dozen different eyes, then a hundred, then images beyond number. A voice whispers in your ear a promise, a trade of a small piece of your freedom for long life and companionship. You dive towards the welcoming arms, and as you do, your form begins to stiffen and change. The feeling is not unpleasant, and the last thing you hear before the vision vanishes is the delighted laughter of a child.

Roundtime: 9 sec.

a set of reinforced black vultite elven scale mail

You sing in Guildspeak:

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


As you sing, a collage of images flashes through your mind. Slowly, the images seem to focus, and you can make out the details. You see a well-kept workshop where a wizened elvensmith is in conversation with a younger elf and pointing at the vultite scale mail in his hands.


Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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


As you continue to sing, the images refocus once more. You see a young elvensmith laboriously crafting the vultite scale mail from the raw materials laid out before him. As he works, he is chanting some arcane verses that you can't quite make out.


Roundtime: 8 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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


As you continue to sing, the images refocus once more. The elvensmith is inscribing runes of power upon the vultite scale mail. Each rune glows brightly then fades into invisibility.


Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

Your song continues to clarify and focus the images from the past. The ancient elvensmith raises the vultite scale mail and chants an arcane phrase. A flash of light consumes the vultite scale mail. An irridescent aura envelops the vultite scale mail and is absorbed into it. The elvensmith seemingly looks up and gives you a wink and a smile as if he senses your presence.


Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

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

You attempt to withdraw more from the mail, but you are unable to trace the vision further.

Roundtime: 8 sec.

A thank you to Dryhtnes for letting me sing to this, I like this one a lot.

an orb-inset haon talisman - Set with a clear glaes orb that rotates clockwise when turned, the talisman's haon base is crafted in the shape of a sword. Intertwining ora and eonake wrap around the sword's length before winding around the hilt, where the orb is carefully set within the metals' embrace. The ancient wood's rich grain has aged well, and the deeply set, precisely carved words and accompanying symbols scrolling along the sword's wooden base bely this as an ancient relic created for the faith and worship of Voln.

There appears to be something written on it.
>

In the Common language, it reads:

From Darkness into the Light you will fall,
Should you follow the Way with True Faith,
Everlasting and Pure.

Remember...



You sing in Guildspeak:

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

Your vision becomes hazy, clouded, as you briefly inherit a body not your own.

Dust flickers in and out of your sight, further obscuring any real chance at seeing your surroundings. You do, however, feel immense pain. Your entire body aches, and not the aching of simple soreness; instead, it is the throbbing of one thousand joints that have been split and torn, rendered into mind-numbing stabs of agony that constantly move up and down your body.

As you struggle to move, to wipe the mist away from your eyes, you realize that you can barely move your hands. They are shackled up tightly, your body pressed up against a cold, hard, stone wall.

A growl sounds, and a hard, blunt object blasts into your head.

As the pain slices deep, racing through you like wildfire, you are just as quickly jolted out of the vision.

Roundtime: 6 sec.


You sing in Guildspeak:

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

Your eyes droop down, seemingly fastened shut, a thick, heavy substance dripping down around them in warm streams and rivulets.

When you are finally able to open your eyes, you see grey. You want to scream with the pain that pounds in your head and rips, constantly, through your body. In your suffering, you note that moisture, not dust, hangs in the air, clouding it with mold.

The sound of a cell door creaking open reaches your ears, and heavy footsteps pound. You sense someone standing over you, staring at you.

After long moments, the presence leans over you, and with a nauseatingly repulsive breath--foul, vile, disgusting--exhales on you, hissing in your ear, "Spy!"

A sharp pain laces through your neck, intense in its onset.

Blackness hurtles towards you.

You rapidly blink your eyes, suddenly lurching out of the vision.

Roundtime: 8 sec.


You sing in Guildspeak:

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

This time, the vision comes to you with far more clarity.

You are in a tiny dungeon cell, the walls made up of mold-infested stone so far covered with black grime that you cannot tell their true color. The air is stale, and the only sound you hear is a low grunting coming from outside of your immediate vicinity. The ground is littered with the remains of moldy bread crusts, and rats and roaches freely skitter over your feet here.

Suddenly there is a clang, and your cell door opens. The torch light is almost blinding, and you are rendered sightless in its brilliance. A hand reaches down, shakes you roughly, breathes on you with a putrid odor, then spits on you. "Wake up, good-for-nothing traitor." The voice is hard, rough, filled with venom and distaste.

A quieter voice sounds, calm, smooth. "Leave us."

As the hate-filled, stench-ridden figure recedes, the soft voice whispers, "Will you keep your promise now? Have you suffered enough? Will you return to his service?"

You feel your body stiffen, and you fully recognize that your host understands, intimately, the answers to these questions. You feel yourself nod, attempt to speak, but no words come out.

A gentle hand slips into yours, presses something hard and metallic against your skin. "Remember," the voice admonishes.

And then the soft, the calm, the light--they back away, leaving you alone, and soon darkness is all that remains.

You fumble with the object in your hand. A key.

As a wave of hope encompasses you, you feel yourself sliding out of the vision.

Roundtime: 7 sec.


You sing in Guildspeak:

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

Fear and anxiety envelop you as you plummet headfirst into the vision. You breathe rapidly, taking in short gasps of air as you move quickly through the dark underground. All around you the moisture hangs in the air, sticking to the partially dug tunnel that was obviously left unfinished and is now long forgotten.

You hear sounds from far away. Picking up your pace, you crawl further and further, until the ceiling is high enough for you to stand and sprint. Turning to look back, you suddenly stumble and fall, hard, to the ground, scraping your hands and legs on rocks that jab out of the ground, dropping the key you had tightly held in hand.

Frantically searching for the key on the muddy floor, your hand suddenly meets a smooth, cool surface, shaped like an orb. You grasp it quickly and find that it turns clockwise within its wooden setting. You stuff it into your pocket. A flash of warmth suddenly spills into you. You see, suddenly, where the key has fallen in the darkness. You reach for it, and up you are, on your feet again, running as fast as you can.

You run for what seems like hours.

And then, bursting through a curtain of thick vines, you are suddenly, unexpectedly, standing in sunlight.

Blinking at the light with a sense of newfound freedom, you find your view shifting back to reality.

Roundtime: 9 sec.


You sing in Guildspeak:

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

You learn nothing new about the talisman.


Roundtime: 6 sec.

As you sing, you feel a faint resonating vibration from the haon talisman 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 1,000,000 silvers.