a coiled lute string bracelet - This bracelet is made of a single metal lute string, coiled and looped around itself and held by a small silver band. Engraved on the band in an ancient-style script are the words "The music cannot die so long as our love lives."
Ardwen whispers, "Bracelt is from the first pay foehn's prmoise."
Music and birdsong fill your ears as you begin to sing to the lute string bracelet. An image slowly builds in your mind...a sunny afternoon, a willow-shaded glade, a slow-moving river. A young Sylvan woman and a Half-elven man sit on the river bank beneath the graceful willow branches, the remains of a picnic scattered about them. As she sings a cheery song he accompanies her on a lute, his long, delicate hands shifting easily over the rosewood fretboard. Her mellifluous voice carries the tune out across the wide, green river.
The melody, fainter now, continues to captivate you as the scene shifts. You see the merry young couple...but from a new perspective. Now you gaze at them from across the slow-moving river, from behind the narrow trunks of a stand of tall haon trees. You hear a harsh, whispered voice ask "Ird ruo tnowr ghr'w?" A guttural chuckle is the only response. Slowly a warband of trolls, bent low and carrying cruel-looking battle axes, moves forward through the trees. At an abrupt hissed command, the trolls wade out into the river. They are a third of the way across before the Sylph suddenly stops singing and grasps the shoulder of her companion.
Dizziness sweeps over you as you continue to sing to the lute string bracelet. The young couple race through the sun-dappled woods, their eyes wide and their breath coming in ragged gasps. Behind them, rattling through the underbrush, can be heard the rapid thudding of many booted feet. The Sylvan woman leads the way, gliding easily through the woods despite her obvious fatigue. The Half-elven man follows, burdened by his beloved lute. As the sound of the pursuing trolls grows closer he reluctantly casts the lute aside. Abruptly the woman grasps her companion by the wrist and pulls him off the trail into a low cave. You hear the jangling crunch as booted feet run over the lute.
You are enveloped by cool air laden with the smell of mold and fungus. In the dim, filtered light of the cave you see the couple pressed up against the jagged stone wall. The sound of booted feet race by without slowing. The couple does not move for a long moment. Outside the cave mouth a twig suddenly cracks. A shape, large and knobby, blocks the light. The man reaches into a leather belt pouch and pulls out a coiled metal lute string. He wraps the ends of the string around his hands. The troll bends low to enter the cave. As the creature steps inside, the man loops the lute string around its neck and jerks it tight. The troll, unable to speak or call out, struggles mightily. The man pulls the metal string tighter still. It bites deep into the troll's neck...and slices the man's long, delicate hands to the bone. The woman pulls a dagger from the troll's belt and sticks it through his eye. She drags the dead troll completely into the cave, then looks up to see her companion staring at his bloody, ruined hands.
Japhrimel takes his black branding iron and jabs the superheated metal into your open wound. You let out a scream as the hot iron sizzles against your flesh, which begins to smoke and burn. The sensation sets your nerves aflame with blinding white agony, but somehow you manage to retain consciousness through the excruciating procedure. At last, the wound is blackened and sealed, but the pain is slow to recede.
...unfortunately, your heart gives out a moment later.
Reply With Quote
