Butterfly pouch:
I don't think has been posted yet...

As you sing to the pouch, a soft chill passes over your skin. Strong, unusual spiritual magic dwells within the pouch, but you can determine no more than that over the course of the verse.

Roundtime: 9 sec.

You sing softly in Guildspeak:

Small threads of frost creep over the surface of the pouch as you delve more deeply into its nature with your lore-commmanding music. There is a presence within the pouch -- a presence secured and bound by threads of spiritual magic more powerful than almost any soul keeper could command.

The same harmonies that reveal more of the pouch's nature affect the very air around you. The temperature drops distinctly, and you smell oncoming snow.

Roundtime: 14 seconds

You sing softly in Guildspeak:

Your song awakens the magic of the pouch. Threads of spiritual enchantment coil around your senses, and the world around you fades away as visions melt through you like snowflakes melting on your skin.

Grass and flowers fade in a sudden flurry of feathers. Your body is broken, your wings are torn, and you are consumed....

A candle flame looms nearby, brilliant and beautiful beyond anything else in the world. Blinded, you approach; entranced, you burn....

Clear skies are suddenly blocked away by a silvery web, invisible until this very moment. Caught and bound, you struggle desperately, but every movement wraps you more tightly. The spider's bite flares through you....

Snowflakes tremble down from a grey sky. You have no more strength. You lie looking up at the greyness, thinking nothing at all, nothing at all....

There are more -- hundreds or thousands more, if not hundreds of thousands more -- but you remember yourself again at last, surfacing from visions of death like a swimmer surfacing from icy waters. The pouch lies cold in your hand, wrapped in the silvery gleam of already-melting frost.

Roundtime: 10 second

You sing softly in Guildspeak:

The magic of the gossamer pouch responds again to your song, taking you away from this place and drawing you into the heart of a vision. Instinctively, you understand that this is not a literal recounting of events, but a translation -- the closest that you can understand, limited to mortal senses and mortal understanding.

Beneath a heavy grey sky, a skeleton garbed in a jet black robe stands in a meadow of ebony grass. Runes are engraved along the skeleton's polished white bones, and a blood-red scarab glitters from the center of its breastbone. The pouch lies at the skeleton's feet, and the cupped skeletal hands cradle a living scarlet lily, which the skeleton offers silently to the sky.

Hundreds of tiny, almost invisible forms come fluttering down from the sky, swirling about the lily and the skeleton. You perceive their hunger and their yearning, the desire of each ghostly butterfly, the wistfulness and the wishing for the lost world of mortality.

The conversation that passes between the skeleton and the butterflies is too arcane for you to follow, but you sense the striking of a bargain. With a master's power, the skeleton draws them all together in a net of spiritual magic, creating a single presence and power from the multitude of tiny spirits. Glowing brilliantly, the greater butterfly spirit settles upon the pouch, fusing into it and melding with its essence.

The magic fades away, releasing you from the vision.

Roundtime: 13 sec.