FYI, these horns have 4 scripts attached to them.Originally Posted by shad0ws0ngs
Senior Member
FYI, these horns have 4 scripts attached to them.
Senior Member
Ok I have a few items I have saved loresongs from:
1. a silver captain's wheel pendant
The tangy smell of the briny sea comes over you as you begin to sing. You see a vision of what appears to be a young man on a privateer's ship. He is standing on the forecastle, looking down at the deckhands below as they swab the deck and check the rigging of the huge, billowing sails. A call comes from above and he spins to the rail to see what approaches.
Suddenly the deck below explodes in a frenzy of activity. All hands drop their mops and begin to arm themselves with a variety of deadly weapons. Off the starboard bow, the young man spies a four-masted merchant ship, trying desperately to outrun the privateers. He pulls out his dagger, and clenching it between his teeth, grabs a rope and gallantly swings down to the deck below. Running to the railing, he joins the other sailors in preparation for boarding the merchant ship.
The privateers pull alongside the merchant ship. Hooks attached to ropes fly through the air and boarding planks fill the space between the two ships. The young man joins the other sailors and crosses over to meet the armed and waiting merchant sailors. A short, pitched battle ensues on the blood soaked deck of the merchant ship. The sharp clang of steel fills the air as men on both sides fall to the swords of their opponents. However, the merchants are no match for the seasoned pirates, and they are quickly overcome.
Back on the privateer ship, the captain watches as large chests filled with gold, silver and gems are brought over and laid out on the deck. Several injured pirates are also being carried back aboard, one of them the young man. The captain's expression turns from one of joy to one of concern as he runs over to the young man's unconscious form. The young man has several large gashes across his body, one of which has cut open his shirt to reveal that the young man is in fact a young woman!
The captain picks up the limp form of the young woman and carries her below decks into his quarters. He returns to the captain's wheel and begins barking out orders to set sail. The pirates slowly sail away from the burning wreckage of the merchant ship and begin to pick up speed across the waves. At the helm, the captain looks to the horizon as tears stream down his cheeks.
As the vision begins to fade, you hear a barely whispered voice on the wind saying, "Dead men tell no tales."
You learn nothing new about the pendant.
2.sand elemental
The sand elemental shifts and swirls, its sands grating against one another to form a faint, high-pitched sound that echoes about your mind for several moments.
The sand elemental continues to sing in its strange, melodic voice of sand against sand and for a moment you catch brief glimpses of something fiery and red and all consuming for a scant few seconds.
As you focus your voice and stare at the sand elemental, your eyes are drawn to its swirling interior, and you find yourself lost in the haze of sand... until you are no longer staring at the elemental, but are somewhere else -- crimsons and russets bleed restlessly at the edge of the world, and mingle like ribbons overhead in fantastic, gargantuan waves of pristine beauty. You feel yourself drifting carelessly through the earth, bumping along rocks and encountering different soils -- heedless to everything as you have no body, only a conciousness that streams through the earth in swift heartbeats.
You once again find yourself lost in a vision comprised of the sand elemental's swirling body...
You drift along the currents of earth, and find yourself being pulled somewhere, heat surrounding you like an intense forge as a blinding light blocks your vision. You feel the sensation of ethereal being fading into corporeal existence, and your conciousness is bound to a physical form -- one comprised of hot earth and a twinge of flame. You flow in this new existence, never leaving the confines of the cavern you've arrived in, merely waiting and bathing in the essence from the tiny rip in reality, growing slightly as the years pass.
Then the vision ends.
You once again find yourself lost in a vision comprised of the sand elemental's swirling body...
You find yourself back in the cavern, feeding steadily off the essence bleeding from the nexus within -- others are there, as well, waiting until they too may venture out into the sands. But then, something changes. You sense presences that are only dimly aware or not at all aware of the flow, and you find yourself drawn to them, somehow. One of them reaches for you in your small hiding place, and you assent to their wishes, allowing them to hold you in your shard.
Then the vision ends.
Delving deeply into the elemental, you get a sense that it isn't very good at carving, isn't very good at holding objects, isn't very good at digging, isn't very good at creating a sandstorm, and is fairly good at morphing.
Also, it appears that it is fairly disciplined about flaying a hand, is fairly disciplined about hiding, is fairly disciplined about misbehaving, and is fairly disciplined about casting quakes.
3.a dark suede multi-strapped harness
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.
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 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." The old man stares into the smoke, lost in thought.
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.
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 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 remained within. The old man lifts his head to the sky, and silently gives thanks.
Your song draws to a close and you feel the story has ended.
4. a five-ring carved hoarbeam runestaff
Melody and memory collide in a brilliant cascade of shimmering notes. Your surroundings suddenly fade and you find yourself in the middle of a deep forest. The canopy is thick, but the dappled sunlight peeking through provides more than adequate illumination. Just ahead, an elderly gnome trudges a well-worn path, leading an extremely fat grey pony. The pony plods obediently behind him, carrying an odd assortment of sticks in addition to his already substantial burden. In a burst of color your vision fades.
Roundtime: 8 sec.
Voice and vision intertwine in a dizzying array of color and tone. You find yourself inside a small one-room cabin. The elderly gnome from the forest path sits in a rocking chair with a whittling knife. Across his lap rests a large branch of ebonwood which he is carefully smoothing, tapering and shaping into a well balanced and beautiful staff. Working at an astonishing speed, he carves a sinister claw at the top end of the staff. A discordant note rises between you and the staff, pushing you into darkness. After a moment, the darkness lifts and you notice with a start that your surroundings have shifted.
Roundtime: 9 sec.
Song and staff struggle against your will creating a cacophony of crossed senses while the world goes black around the edges. In your mind's eye, you see the now familiar gnomish whittler still sitting in his rocking chair. After thoroughly inspecting his work, the whittler stands and walks across the room, dragging the staff behind him. From a petite chest, he pulls a tiny amber ball and deftly places it inside the claw atop the large ebonwood runestaff. He holds the staff up to the light and you notice a dark occlusion in the stone. It appears as if a long bug, perhaps a caterpillar, has been trapped within the amber. The threads of the vision begin to unravel and you are left feeling queasy and unsettled.
Roundtime: 9 sec.
At the sound of your voice, the staff yields easily and you are plunged once more into darkness. As your vision returns, you are confronted by a golden slit-pupil eye staring directly at you. With a sigh of relief, you recognize the eye as the decorative amber globe on the whittler's ebonwood runestaff. He appears to be hard at work on another staff, this time of silver haon. He has finished the basic shaping and tapering and is concentrating on the decorative carving for the top. Working carefully, he has roughed out a series of five interlocking rings. As he continues to refine his design, your concentration falters and you find yourself being drawn back to the present.
Roundtime: 12 sec.
Your voice vibrates in harmony with the staff, drawing you back once again to the familiar cabin. The whittler is sitting on a cushion with the silver haon staff before him. A collection of small jars and vials are strewn about the cabin floor. The gnome dips a brush into one and begins to apply some color to the carving of the five rings. Hanging on the wall behind him, you notice a well cared for painting of a stately gnome lady in profile. She is obviously related to the fellow kneeling on the floor. She is wearing a black dress, a white bonnet and white gloves in a style that suggests a generation's difference at most. As you shift your focus back to the wizened gnome on the floor, the vision ends.
Roundtime: 13 sec.
You attempt to withdraw more from the runestaff, but you are unable to trace the vision further.
Roundtime: 11 sec.
(not sure if theres more on this or not, was as far as I got)
"It's mercy, compassion, and forgiveness I lack. Not rationality."
Senior Member
a smoky obsidian ring: - makes shadowy full leathers
As you start to sing, your senses close in around you and you feel as if your thoughts are being pulled into a black swirling vortex that was the ring. Falling deeper into the vortex, you catch glimpses of dark shapes at the edge of your vision, faces contorted in silent agonized screams. Reaching the depths of the void, you hover at the edge of a fire-lit circle. There you watch as thirteen cowl-draped figures each dip a fist into the shattered entrails of what was once a magnificent stag. Raising their fists in one last salute, the figures turn as if one and point directly at you. From within their throats grows a hoarse chant, as it rises in tone and pitch a flash of light pours from their raised fists and slams into you. The force of the impact sends you hurtling backwards up through the vortex and out to crash to the ground from whence you had come.
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a twisted ebonwood-hilted black ora flamberge set with silver barbs
You sing in Guildspeak:
"O flamberge that I see,
Let your value be revealed to me!"
As your song flows into the black ora flamberge, it is echoed back like a distorted reflection from a warped mirror. The discordant tones twist and writhe across the backdrop of your mind, bringing forth imagines that flash with alarming vibrancy. -- A light haze of smoke slants across the scene, back lit by dozens of ebony candles glowing with a purple-tinged brilliance. Your gaze pans upward, and you find yourself staring into the marble faces of the Lornon pantheon. The smoke dances languidly in your line of sight, creating on the pale visages the illusion of movement - leering smiles, laughter, and contemptuous gazes from cold stone eyes. Your breath quickens, and your sight begins to fail as all plunges into darkness.
Roundtime: 8 sec.
You sing in Guildspeak:
"O flamberge that I hold,
Let your purpose now be told!"
The notes of your song shed light once again on your marbled surroundings. Above, the patrons of Lornon gaze downward upon the scene, and you turn your eyes from them, instead taking in your surroundings. Around you rise the walls of a marble chapel, and tucked within the stony niches are windows of dark stained glass. No light filters through their jewel-toned panels, and instead, the light from a myriad of candles caresses their polished surfaces.
Before you, in the center of a floor marked by concentric circles of brass-inlaid conduits, is a raised, ivory marble and obsidian altar. Atop the altar, the prone form of a young man lies, his face turned from you, and his limbs fixed at each corner. You can see that from each of the corners, thin rivers of blood run within brass-inlaid channels, conveying the sanguine liquid to the design underfoot. A glance downward reveals the labyrinthine pattern traced in blood, and the movement of your head causes your vision to swim. With a quick inhalation, your sight is extinguished.
Roundtime: 7 sec.
You sing in Guildspeak:
"O flamberge in my hand,
Sing to me now your magic in this land!"
With a frightful abruptness, your song calls forth a vision from the black ora flamberge. -- You find yourself closer now to the altar at the labyrinth's heart, and a heavy weight calls your attention to your hands. You find there a twisted ebonwood-hilted black ora flamberge set with silver barbs, its blade smeared with incarnadine streaks. In your chest, your breath comes and goes in haste, and you feel a certain dizziness as you take the blade into one hand and extend your other to the face of the man atop the altar. Your fingers leave ruby-hued prints on his skin as you tilt his face toward you, and you hear an unidentifiable, though audible noise fall from your lips. All at once, darkness closes your sight.
Roundtime: 8 sec.
You sing in Guildspeak:
"O flamberge held so dear,
Sing to me now your special ability so clear!"
The notes of your song draw you back into the black ora flamberge's memories, and you find that the face looking up at you no longer belongs to the prone young man. Instead, your own visage stares back at you: sightless eyes, sallow skin, and lips perched open as if to draw the next breath, which never seems to come. Laughter begins to echo in the empty chapel, and you look up, expecting to see one of the marble statues come to life with morbid merriment. Instead, they are motionless, and you come to realize that the hysterical laughter is none other than your own. As you stumble backwards, your feet slip in the blood that runs in narrow rivers through the marble floor, and you feel yourself falling... falling... falling... until blackness engulfs you.
Roundtime: 10 sec.
You sing in Guildspeak:
"O flamberge that I see,
Let your value be revealed to me!"
Your song draws to a close, and you feel the story has ended.
You learn nothing new about the flamberge.
Roundtime: 8 sec.
As you sing, you feel a faint resonating vibration from the black ora flamberge in your hand, and you learn something about it...
The first thing that strikes you about the flamberge is the weight, which is about 5 pounds. In your best estimation, it's worth about 1,250,000 silvers. You can also tell that there is some type of metal in the structure of the black ora flamberge.
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an ethereally pale spidersilk haversack ~ The density of the pale spidersilk haversack's weave varies at regular intervals, running the gamut from the texture of heavy damask to an attenuated cloth resembling an orb weaver's web. A faintly oily sheen imbues each shimmering thread, producing a soft, shimmering iridescence at the places where the spidersilk is most thickly woven. A small black spider-shaped mark has been unobtrusively placed upon the haversack. At the center of the mark, the black ichor gives way to a reddish-brown bloodstain in the shape of an hourglass.
Your song draws forth another vision, and your surroundings waver and drift away as dense layers of spider web appear around you. Busy arachnids flit about on all sides, but the center of the loresong's resonance is a massive ebony loom.
The loom's closely spaced ebony teeth are carved in the stylized forms of grasping spiders. Glimmering spidersilk threads stretch across the gap between the rows of loom teeth. To draw the weft through the warp, a ruby-inset shuttle flashes repeatedly back and forth among the threads, manipulated with deft care by a pair of wrinkled, long-fingered hands. The rhythmic clacking of the treadles mingles with the sound of your heartbeat as the weaver shifts the frames and works the reed. The tension and the closeness of the threads varies repeatedly, forming a pattern as intricate and as precise as a spider's perfectly woven web.
As your song weaves the resonances of the pale spidersilk haversack together, everything fades from view except the haversack. When the loresong takes hold of you, a strange paralyzation overcomes your body, and you have no control over anything at all -- not even the song, which continues unabated as you stand frozen.
Two wrinkled hands come out of the grey nothingness, one holding a paintbrush and the other holding a small vial. You sense the toxin within the vial as the paintbrush dips within, and you remain involuntarily motionless as the tip of the paintbrush brushes over the spidersilk surface... once, twice... pauses... then passes over the shimmering fabric twice more, inscribing a stylized spider in the poisonous black ichor. The hands retreat from sight, and you are left immobile. Even the song has faded, trapping you in the vision.
Then, the wrinkled hands return. One is empty, and that hand repositions the cloth, but the other holds a gleaming lancet, and the blade bites into your hand. As the drop of scarlet wells forth, the blade turns the blood so that the drop strikes the cloth, where it sinks in, staining a bloody hourglass mark in the center of the painted venom spider.
In uttermost silence, the vision fades away, and the world returns to normal. Your hand is unwounded, and, rather than being freshly placed, the small spider-shaped mark fully penetrates its spot upon the pale spidersilk haversack.
Instead of the pale spidersilk haversack, you suddenly see a pebble-sized black spider resting in your hand. The creature shifts its weight slightly and tilts its head to look up at you. The sense of being inspected by an alien yet knowledgeable presence is very strong.
Unbidden, images and emotions flicker through your mind... you recall threads of old anger, grudges that never fully faded, goals never quite reached, desires left unfulfilled, envy quashed instead of expressed, and a deep, powerful yearning, the undercurrent to every other emotion, which tastes like temptation. Brighter and richer than the finest ruby, a scarlet hourglass shines on the arachnid's back. You sense unfathomed potential within yourself that waits only the proper moment to be unlocked, if you are just willing to act -- if you will do what it takes, whatever it may take....
The enchanted resonances of the pale spidersilk haversack overwhelm you in the depths of your own emotion, and your voice fails, breaking the spell. With the verse broken, the magically imposed emotion ebbs away from your soul, and you become aware of yourself again. Your eyes are closed, but you still feel pressure in your hand...
Opening your eyes, you find that there is nothing in your palm except the pale spidersilk haversack, which lies still and inert.
Discord: Kyaloria#0165
Senior Member
And because the first post would be absurdly long had I not split it up...
Morphing Jewelry from...I don't know, but I want to say the Dhu '01.
a silver-etched bloodjewel band ~ The vaalin-backed selanthan bloodjewel is expertly inset onto the rim of the band. The metallic bands extending from the base vaalin are broken up into tiny segments, decreasing slightly in width as they loop out and link up together. The segmentation enables each link to recede back into another. -->
a sigil-covered bloodjewel bracer ~ The selanthan bloodjewel is imbedded onto a thin sheet of vaalin that extends outward away from the center plate, covering the backside of the wearer's fist. Also extending from the center plate, in the opposite direction of the imbedded sheet of vaalin, is a spine-like strip of steel. Several sheets of metal branch off from the spine in a half-circle arc that would easily cover the lower forearm of the wearer. -->
a twisted bloodjewel earring ~ The two strips of segmented metal entwine one another with perfect symmetry. A small linking clasp secures the selanthan bloodjewel to the base of the twisted metals. A tiny hook of pure gold protrudes out from the tip of one of the twined metal strips serving as the fastener between the earlobe and earring. -->
an intricate bloodjewel talisman ~ Each silver link is finely crafted and easily interlocked with the one adjacent to itself. A tiny silver loop is attached to the end of one string of silver links while the other string has a miniature clasp formed from pure gold. The opposite end of the silver links disappears into the vaalin base metal, which is carefully resting on top of a circular band. The selanthan bloodjewel fills the center of the circular band perfectly.
Loresong:
As you sing, you sense resonant vibrations coming from the talisman, matching pitch with yours. Soon a harmony is achieved, and a brilliant display begins to materialize before you...
A tinker gnome sits hunched over a workbench with the sharp pinging of metal on metal echoing around the workshop. Suddenly, a soft melody drifts in:
"Wonders so fine,
wonders all mine,
I wonder what my hubby has for me this time."
Upon hearing the tune, the gnome male sighs softly and turns away from his work and waits for the door to his workshop to open. It appears as if time has worn the tinker gnome down, but his eyes seem to reveal a much younger age.
Once again you harmonize with the talisman and beckon it to continue with the display...
The door to the workshop swings open and a female gnome saunters in. "Geodd, what fancies did you purchase for me this morn while at the market?" questions the lady gnome. "I have a splendid diamond ring for thee," Geodd replies while handing the ring to his wife. The gnome lady beams with delight, takes the ring, and scurries out of the workshop. Upon his wife's departure, Geodd spins back around on his stool and goes back to work. While Goedd continues to work, the sun in the window slowly sinks into the horizon.
You continue your melody with the talisman and the image returns...
The familiar pinging echoes throughout the shop as Geodd contines his work. A cheerful whistling begins to contrast with the pinging metal and soon Geodd stops working. Geodd sighs knowingly and once again turns around on his stool waiting for the door to swing open. The door swings open again and there stands Geodd's wife again with the diamond ring in her hand. "The ring is dull, it has served its use, what do ye have for me now?" asks the wife. "I have this lovely silver rope necklace for you my dear. Its beauty almost comparable to thee." The gnome lady beams with delight, snatches the necklace and skips out of the shop. Geodd shakes his head and returns to his work.
As you continue your song, the image flickers back into your mind...
Geodd still appears to be working on his project when a whistling melody once again interrupts him. Soon, the doorway is once again occupied by his wife with the silver necklace in hand. "Geodd, the necklace is tarnished, what else do ye have for me?" sighs the wife questioningly. "This gold ruby-inlaid tiara should be the perfect compliment to such a lovely head," replies Geodd. The wife beams a smile, takes the tiara and scurries out the door.
Geodd springs from his stool and rushes over to the door, latching it shut. Geodd then pulls a rolled up parchment from out of his cloak and mutters to himself, "Day after day, week and week, this will obviously never end. . . time to put my plan into action."
Geodd's wife strolls up to the door and fiddles with the handle, but it does not open. "Geodd!" screeches the wife, "why is the door latched, let me in!" The gnome lady proceeds to beat and beat and beat on the door with her tiny fists. This carries on for quite some time until finally the door swings open. Without uttering a word, Geodd holds out his hand and the wife promptly puts the tiara in it. Geodd then hands his wife a gem set onto a metal backing. Geodd's wife blinks at the trinket in amazement and asks, "What is this?" "Tap it and you shall never be bored with your jewelry ever again," Geodd replies.
Your breath becomes labored as you try to coax yet more out of the talisman...
Geodd's wife taps the trinket in her hand once and much to her surprise and delight the trinket shifts into a piece of jewelry. Fascinated by this new wonderment, Geodd's wife begins to tap the trinket at a frantic pace and watches as it continues to shift into new pieces. Geodd cries out, "No, no, hon wait! No so fast! It will break . . ." However, his wife continues to tap the trinket faster and faster until finally . . . *SNAP* the trinket shatters into tiny fragments. Geodd lets out a long, soft sigh as his wife begins to berate him for something new...
Discord: Kyaloria#0165
Member
If you sing to one of those orbs that people got when they added day and night to the game, you get an awsome 4 part (I think) lore song that everyone in the room can see.
[LNet]-GSIV:Gweneivia: "my breasts will temple punch a bitch."
[LNet]-GSIV:Riend: "No no, I subscribe to a calmer, more positive anal rape system."
[LNet]-GSIV:Leash: "Mcdonalds thank you, I'm the night shift manager. Mention gemstone and get a free mcflurry"
Senior Member
One of the sets is snug in my locker. But I'll save you the trouble. You won't get anything out of it other than it eating all of your mana and being in general awful.
Senior Member
a gold-streaked mithril tube with one bulbous end - The mithril tube appears to be a mixture of gnome tinkering and magical science. The tip of the tube resembles nothing more than a wizard's wand except for a small opening at the very end. Moving towards the center, the influence of tinker gnomes can be seen. Small wheels and gears spin about the axis of the tube, sucking in air and forcing it through miniature cylinders and pumps. The final product of this effort, drops of moisture extracted from the air are sent via small hoses to a clear globe at the back of the tube for storage. In the globe, the water levels from all the collected moisture provides a sloshy indication of the amount of water available for use. The globe is so full that water is dripping from the relief valve.
recharging over time had, I believe wizard spell 923 - "blast of steam" gnomish tube. The loresong is only one verse, but it's hilarious
As you direct your song at the mithril tube, your surroundings blink out and you find yourself hidden behind a large crate. Peering over the crate, it is possible to make out a group of tinker gnomes huddled around a mage dressed totally in white. Sounds of cackling float back to you from the group of gnomes in response to something the mage has just did or said. Speaking a few last words, the mage passes a small bag to the leader of the group who snatches at it greedily. With a last cackle, the leader passes over three long wand-shaped items to the mage who stuffs them into his bag. The mage nods to the gnomes and then chants an incantation and flashes out of existence. One of the gnomes, gazing at the spot where the mage stood, spots you in your hiding place. Giving a cry of anger, he grabs a club and heads for you. The rest follow suit and quickly begin pummeling you. Thankfully you finally lose consciousness only to awake to realize it hadn't been a dream.
Last edited by shad0ws0ngs; 03-06-2011 at 08:40 PM.
Senior Member
Odilia/Arleasta's Runestaff:
A smooth deep blue orase runestaff:
The orase runestaff has been dyed a deep blue as dark as the sea's depth. Golden roots have been etched to spiral up the staff's length and end at the top, which has been capped with a polished crystal orb. Within the orb is a bright water lily, its broad white blossoms stretched wide.
A burgundy orc lies stretched out on a slab of stone, his arms and legs bound in dark alloy chains. The chamber is dark and shadows creep along the earthen walls, while the orc shifts uncomfortably. A woman's voice speaks from the darkness, ''Pitiful. Look at you, alone, vulnerable, and at our mercy.'' The shadows part and a woman steps into view, her eyes a dark green and her hair matching the darkness around her.
The orc squirms as the dark-haired woman approaches him, a maniacal look in her eyes. She runs her nails across the orc's chest, smoke trailing up from her finger tips as she burns marks into the creature's skin. The orc cries out in pain and the woman firmly cuts him off, ''No one will hear you sweet Thrayzar. But your cries will soon be joined by those of your people.''
The burgundy orc lies motionless on his stone block, bound in chains and broken in heart. He weeps softly in his prison of silence. The sound of a robe shuffling across the ground causes his ears to become alert and he tries to turn his head. Suddenly a man's hand firmly grabs his face and forces it away, to stare at the earthen wall. The man, in a dark voice says, ''Now, let's see about one of those fingers...''
The orc stands beside a stone slab, now free of the chains that had held him. He clutches a kelyn-edged sword in his right hand and a torn piece of cloth in his left. The orc brings the cloth up to his nose, inhales deeply and nods towards a trio of red-robed figures who stand against a wall. One of the robed figures steps forward and the orc lowers himself to his knees, bowing before the figure and dropping his head in submission.
My current items for sale or trade: Treasures in the Brambles.
Contact: Nuadjha (Discord and LNet), Briarfox@play.net
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