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Thread: Loresongs

  1. #201
    Join Date
    Apr 2008
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    Quote Originally Posted by time4fun View Post
    Wow. What amulet is this?
    You'd have to get with Alisaire to find out, she did mention there were only two made. I had sung to it long ago and never logged it. Thankfully she was willing to let me have another go at it. I'll see if I can find out more when I next see her.
    Semper superne nitens.

  2. #202

    Default

    Someone requested I put this loresong here, so here it is:

    A bloodsoul vultite falchion

    You begin to sense the awesome power of the blade, it is very ancient with a mysterious power. You feel there is a dark secret held within the runes which is the key to everything.

    The small vibrations put out by the blade tell you it has a life all its own. The blade is literally alive and can aid you hunting when it feels so inclined at a slight cost to the user.

    An evil demi-god transformed this weapon with fire of darkness and the power of sinister magic. The blade now craves the blood of its victims and drinks it greedily drawing upon this blood to feed its own hunger and lust. You can feel the warmth of the living essence of the bloodsoul falchion as it vibrates ever so softly in your grasp.

    With your last verse a all is revealed to you that was hidden. Your soul is the cost of using the special powers of the weapon. As your song continues the bloodsoul falchion vibrates to life, you can see a spark jump from your body to the bloodsoul falchion. You can just make out a low satisfied hum over your own screams as the bloodsoul falchion drinks away your life force.
    You feel drained!
    Last edited by time4fun; 05-15-2016 at 11:49 PM.

  3. #203

    Default

    For those wanting to know the loresong for a completed Duskruin Pendant, here it is:

    HUGE THANKS to GBB for doing this. It took a while to compile it all, and he was a champ!

    Verse 1, 1st Person:

    After the first few words of your song leave your mouth, your ears go deaf and your vision falls black. Your lips continue to move, but you hear nothing at all, not even your own voice.

    Scenery unfolds around you, and you find yourself standing at the base of the DragonSpine Mountains in front of a thin section of the Locksmehr River. The water has a faint tinge of red, and you notice something protruding from its bank. You kneel down and scoop up an oily stone, gazing curiously at its crimson-laced porous surface. In an unfamiliar gravelly voice, you murmur, "The Gods have answered, and they now share with us this gift from the blood ravine."

    Your breathing slows and your muscles tighten to a point of paralysis. Time seems to speed up as if hundreds of years were passing before your eyes while you remain unable to move. The moons rise and fall in the sky, and hundreds of men and women visit the water's edge only to leave with sacks full of the red flint-like substance. With a blink, time slows and you feel your breathing return to normal as your muscles relax.

    You glance down to see a dried river bed, and your hand is empty, no longer holding the treasured ur-barath stone.

    Verse 1, 3rd Person:

    After finishing his song's verse, Galenblackbard drops to his knees, gazing down. He reaches toward the ground and scoops at the air, contemplating his empty hand. He stares intently, a distant look in his eyes.


    Verse 2, 1st Person:

    You continue to sing, but you remain unable to hear your own words. Your surroundings are unfamiliar.

    Three participants clothed in ripped cloth and bloodied armor stand before you, their heads bowed in respect. Hundreds of spectators cheer eagerly as they await your confirmation of the triumphant combatants. You glance down and take note of three silver and kelyn pendants in your hand, each filled with four miniature moons. You silently approach the trio, and in a methodical and practiced production, drape a pendant around each participant's neck. The winners fall to their knees as you recite, "Your physical prowess has proven you worthy of this gift from our Gods. Wear it with pride in remembrance of this day...the day you became a true Champion!" The rest of your words are drowned out by the cheering crowds who follow the victors out of the arena and toward a great temple.

    Black clouds of dust obscure your vision, and all sounds cease. You feel incredibly disoriented.

    Verse 2, 3rd Person:

    Galenblackbard maintains his lifeless gaze. An unfamiliar, gravelly voice escapes his lips as he speaks, "Your physical prowess has proven you worthy of this gift from our Gods. Wear it with pride in remembrance of this day...the day you became a true Champion!" A distant chorus of cheers, origin unknown, drowns out any further speech.



    Verse 3, 1st Person:

    Words spill across your lips as they've done many times before, but you are still unable to hear your own voice.

    A deep ominous rumble echoes in the distance. The ground begins to tremble and shake violently. A heavy downpour soaks the terrain. Suddenly, waves of mud and debris slide across the ground and engulfs the arena. The ground splits open and swallows the surrounding buildings including the sacred temple, suffocating them in a dark ocean of dust and rubble.

    Tiny particles in the air force you to blink rapidly, but you are unable to see. You shut your eyes tight and rub them with clenched fists, sandy grit scraping across your cornea. You scream out in pain, but are unable to hear your own cries. Darkness surrounds you.

    Verse 3, 3rd Person:

    Galenblackbard begins to sweat profusely. His knees tremble and buckle beneath him as he struggles to maintain his balance. He reaches toward his face and claws at his eyes in obvious pain. He opens his mouth as if to scream, but nothing comes out.



    Verse 4, 1st Person:

    As the sting in your eyes dissipates, you open your eyes to see an area - empty, overgrown, and with little sign of life. You struggle to bring yourself back to the present.

    Standing before the devastated lands, time once again hastens and your body becomes immobilized. Bandits flood the area, structures rise from the ground, smoke billows into the sky -- signs that life has returned to the once ruined land at the blood ravine. Laying atop a small dirt mound, a tiny chunk of ur-barath lies in wait. You try to reach toward the stone, but are still unable to move. With your last bit of energy, you open your mouth and speak, in the same unfamiliar and gravelly voice, "Bloodriven..."

    With a weak gasp for air, you collapse onto the ground, exhausted.

    Verse 4, 3rd person:

    Galenblackbard turns his head from side to side, his eyes darting rapidly back and forth as he watches something unfold. In the unfamiliar gravelly voice, he says, "Bloodriven..." before collapsing onto the ground.

  4. Default

    Quote Originally Posted by time4fun View Post
    Someone requested I put this loresong here, so here it is:

    A bloodsoul vultite falchion!
    been on here since 2011! take that!

    But I don't think this is in here:


    Familiar Instrument
    This thing has finally moved on to a new home as of 11/23/2010 to the tune of ~50m for those who care to keep track of such things.

    A haon-framed tambourine decorated with brightly colored silken ribbons.
    Show: The tambourine is framed of smoothly sanded haon, the skin stretched tightly across it. Brightly hued ribbons are tied gaily to the haon frame, their colors blending together as if a rainbow.

    This is an instrument that a bard can loresing to that will allow them to summon the specific familiar, a sleek golden eyed lemur. This is basically unlimited self-mana 920 for bards. The sex of the familiar is currently random, but can be permanently set to male, female, or neutral (don't ask me how).

    Here is some additional information:

    Quote:
    >inspect tamb
    You carefully inspect your beribboned tambourine.
    After a careful inspection you determine that a haon-framed tambourine decorated with brightly colored silken ribbons requires skill in percussion instruments to play effectively.
    The beribboned tambourine can be played with one hand.

    As you sing, you sense that the instrument weighs about less than 1 pound and is worth about 2000000 silvers

    As you continue to sing, you sense that the tambourine is a type of musical instrument, although it has an unusual vibration, almost harmonizing with your melody

    As you continue to sing, you sense that there is something quite unusual about the instrument. It is warm beneath your touch, and responds with increasing vibration to your song, almost as if it were alive.

    You sense that the tambourine is of a time long past. The power contained within sings to you of ancient magic and friendship, loyal companionship and steadfast honor. The instrument grows still warmer beneath your hands, and suddenly, you sense a friendly presence in your mind.

    A sleek golden-eyed lemur scampers into the area and moves to stand next to you, her long tail slightly curling around your leg.
    Last edited by shad0ws0ngs; 06-01-2016 at 08:12 PM.
    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.

  5. Default

    a blood red ruby ring - You see a blood red ruby ring with flecks of glaes. The ruby is glowing brightly.

    self recharging heal

    Suddenly, waves of images flare up from the ring like unbidden guests, each one more terrible than the last. Your surroundings fade as a great battle unfolds, stretching to the horizons of a bleak panorama. Overhead, the writhing forms of huge drakes desperately battle creatures that defy description, their silhouettes grotesque and contorted. As you watch, horror grows as the screams and shrieks penetrate your core, pulling your very life blood away. Then, the vision dims, and as your eyes clear, you hear the last echo of one of the horrible cries leave its echo in your mind.

    As the melody of your song wraps its strains around the ring, you find yourself back in the midst of the raging battle glimpsed before, the shift disconcerting and abrupt. Again, the dragons battle their fiendish foes. You watch as one of the hideous beings is mortally wounded, and stand in horror, unable to move. The colossal form comes barreling down at you from above, flailing and screaming in rage. It passes through you, leaving a frozen waste in your heart as it disappears into the maw of molten glaes seething in the volcano beneath your feet. You watch, mesmerized by its dying frenzy, seeing its visage slowly still and become a part of the magma surrounding it. As its eyes dim, so does the hellish image, fading back into your normal surroundings.

    You feel the blood leave your face as, once more, images seep from the ring and grow more insistent and demanding. You find yourself standing in a place dark and dangerous, with steaming fissures and hellish spouts of magma. Standing before the visage of everything evil you've ever imagined, you watch as drops of liquid poison form, changing from horror into beauty as the viscous goo embraces a pile of sparkling rubies. Without explanation, you know that this pairing not only gives life, but takes it as well. As you shudder with such a near proximity to death itself, the vision fades away.
    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.

  6. Default

    an ornately carved driftwood box inlaid with chips of sea glass

    A pale, pearly-grey fog mists your vision, slowly clearing to reveal a view of an unfamiliar city, seen from a great height. A sense of vertigo sweeps over you as you swoop down into the city at impossible speed, flying through the narrow streets and into a tiny window near the foundation of a simple cottage. Your dream-like flight comes to a sudden halt within a cluttered workshop filled with gears, springs, and other contraptions. Seated on a high stool at the workbench in the middle of this mechanical maelstrom is a wizened gnome, busily tinkering with an ornately carved driftwood box inlaid with chips of sea glass.

    Even before the last notes of your song have finished, your vision clouds and clears again, returning you to the scene of the cluttered workshop. Some time seems to have passed since you last saw the wizened gnome, for now he is holding the carved box in his hands, turning it this way and that in clear pleasure with his handiwork. As he opens it, you hear a soft mechanical whirring, which increases in volume as the vision fades....

    The last notes of your song twist into a mechanical whirr as your vision of the old gnome and his workshop return. The workbench is heaped with various weapons, cloaks, pouches, belts and shoes to the gnome's right, and a random collection of gems, pelts and buckles to his left. The wizened craftsman hums merrily as he selects one thing from each pile, pops them into the carved box perched on the workbench before him, and closes it. From deep within the box, a mechanical whirring starts up, pushing you back into your natural time and place....

    Almost before you can begin your song, your vision is swept away to the tiny workshop. A moment or two only seem to have passed, for the gnome has just reached into the carved box set before him. He dances about the room in a merry, disjointed little jig, holding up a spiked mithril mace with a star ruby set in its haft. You reach out towards the box and wake from your revelry with a jolt, as the reality of the cold surface of the box you are holding brings you out of your song.
    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.

  7. Default

    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.

  8. Default

    [Red Forest, Inner Weald]
    Very little light penetrates the green canopy overhead, and what few bits of illumination are allowed in only serve to cloud the area in a murky gloom. A small slab of rusted metal juts up from the ground, almost swallowed up completely by dirt and foliage.

    Your vision begins to blur as the colors of the world melt away around you. When light returns, the scene of a lush forest rushes in, with huge trees towering all around. Far off, a low demonic growl echoes in the woods as the tops of trees begin to sway.

    Your vision begins to blur as the colors of the world melt away around you. Another unnatural bellow pierces the air and some trees bend while others crumble at the approach of an unseen danger. Among some nearby brush, an elven man springs into action, quickly drawing a blade from its sheath and slinging a shield over his shoulder. He turns, just in time, as a shadowy beast erupts from the depths of the forest.

    Your vision begins to blur as the colors of the world melt away around you. The body of an elven man lays in two different locations, torn in half, his legs bloodied and mangled and almost reduce to mush. The elf gasps with labored breaths, his eyes growing cold and lifeless as he reaches for his stained shield beside him. Your vision ends.


    [Red Forest, Derelict Village]
    Small child-sized footprints weave in and out along the dirt around this part of the village. Rising up in the center of the small open square is an old stone well that has crumbled in on one side, where a weathered bucket sits half-filled with black sludge.


    Your vision blurs and the colors of the world melt away before your entire surroundings shift. A small group of human and elven women stand around a sturdy well, chattering amongst themselves. Taking turns, the women slowly lower a wooden bucket into the depths of the well, carefully raising it moments later with it now filled with crystal clear water.

    Your vision blurs and the colors of the world melt away before your entire surroundings shift. A half-elven woman sighs as she leans with her back up against the stone border of a sturdy well. She holds a small white flower in her hand, casually plucking petals one at a time, tossing each to the ground as she whispers to herself. There is a loud scream nearby, and the woman suddenly looks up, her eyes wide in fright as she turns to run.

    Your vision blurs and the colors of the world melt away before your entire surroundings shift. The well stands unused as smoke and fog sweep across the dirt worn streets nearby. The haze of a fire can be seen in the distance and a chorus of demonic growls pierces the air. At the edge of the well, a handful of white flower petals rest in the dirt, their pale surface speckled with blood.

    Your vision blurs and the colors of the world melt away before your entire surroundings shift. The area is bathed in the warm glow of sunlight, which helps to illuminate the ground that has darkened from dried blood. Two tiny, elven children stand at the edge of the well, the unnatural sparkle of their eyes matching their vicious, unnatural grin. Slowly they pull on a rope and raise a bucket from the well, which holds the bound and bloated corpse of a small human child. Your vision ends.
    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.

  9. #209

    Default a glaes spider charm

    Dethnyain asked me to sing to his glaes spider charm:

    >look charm

    The charm is crafted of flawless glaes formed into a circle. Delicate strands of spidersilk wind around the translucent rim, creating a small but spectacular web within the frame. At the center of the web is a tiny opaque spider.

    Along the rim, a few words have been engraved.
    sR>read charm
    Along the edge of the circle, a few words have been engraved...

    "Many paths lead home for those of courage."

    I'd say it matches this web-move souvenir that is documented on the wiki.

    But, here is the loresong for it:

    v.1
    As you sing, you sense a minute vibration somewhere within the glaes spider charm and your mind reaches out toward a path of some type.

    v.2
    As your voice rises and falls, you once more see the edges of a faint path. Looking toward the horizon, you see not sky and trees, but faint glimmers of spidersilk stretching into infinity.

    v.3
    As you continue to sing, you see the image of some small creature moving out of its dwelling and onto the path, led by a rather large, ferocious-looking spider.

    v.4
    As you conclude the song, the image of the twisting path gradually fades, replaced by another vision of the small dwelling. Somehow, the spider and the small creature now stand before the tiny home again. The spider turns and skitters away, leaving behind only a small object, glistening in the light of three moons.
    Luxie's adventures (because I must write) plus some guests from the past at my blog:
    http://www.thebardess.com

  10. Default

    a colorful toy woodsman bank

    >look bank
    The bank is basically a small box topped by a three-dimensional scene, all crafted in metal. The jointed toy woodsman figure seems poised to move.
    There's a narrow slot, just the right size for coins, on the side.
    It looks as if you could PUSH your bank, to feed some silvers into it.


    One smooth side of the bank shimmers as though silvery gauze were laid over it and a scene appears there, faded around the edges but nearly clear in the center.

    You see an exceedingly sour-faced tinker gnome hunched over a worktable, small metal gears and tools scattered over the top. She squints through her thick spectacles and mutters fiercely to herself as her fingers assemble pieces of metal into tiny moveable figures. Standing up to stretch, she takes a jar containing a few silvers from a nearby shelf and stares at the slotted lid. She glances at the figures, then back at the jar in her hand. As if inspired by her thoughts, she grabs a scrap of metal and begins to etch a diagram upon it.

    The shimmering image fades away.


    The silver shimmering answers to your song, bringing the same workshop into view, the tinker gnome hard at work again.

    Another gnome knocks at the room's open doorframe and edges in as if uncertain of his welcome. The craftswoman kicks a stool out from under the worktable and roughly motions to him to be seated. "Did ya bring da signed parchmint?" she asks. "Yeps I gots it right heres," says her guest. "Lemme see!" she growls, setting down her tools and the figures. "Does it gots da seals o' all da banks? I kin't do da job unless I'se got all o' dem agreed!"

    The visiting gnome nods and pulls a large rolled parchment from inside his vest, pointing out the row of various wax seals along the bottom edge. The tinker grabs it from him. Squinting closely, she reads with one grubby fingertip leading her eyesight along the words. With a look of satisfaction she sits up and pulls a gem from her apron pocket, handing it to the visitor. He takes it, then hesitates. "Final paymint when I makes deliv'ry!" she sneers at him as the image fades.


    Your song again coaxes a shimmering scene into view.

    The tinker gnome is holding a small metal box in her hands, turning it this way and that, closely inspecting her work. She pushes some silvers into a slot, and little metal figures on top begin to move. She makes some adjustments, then pushes more silvers in. Suddenly the top flips to reveal a different set of little figures.

    After adding more silvers to the toy bank, she makes a final adjustment and seals the workings. Nodding to herself, she tilts it and turns something on the bottom, then taps the coins out of the box into her hand.

    She looks pleased, or as close to pleased as a tinker gnome gets, before the scene darkens and disappears.


    The next vision comes into focus with the tinker gnome approaching a smoky cave, huffing as though she's climbed a great distance.

    An old wizard walks out to greet her with pleasure, the unlikely pair obviously old friends. They enter the cave which is cluttered with bubbling cauldrons and glass beakers, all manner of dried roots and animal parts hanging from the ceiling or stored in jars, and sit before the fireplace.

    She takes a metal box from her backpack and hands it to him to inspect. After much discussion and sharing some stew and ale, he agrees to add some magic to the box.

    Again the image fades away.



    The shimmering scene drawn forth with your song shows the tinker gnome in an office where a tall well-dressed elf is inspecting the metal box.

    "How does it work?" he asks. "Gimme sum silvers 'n I'll show ya," she replies. He hands her a small sack of coins, and the tinker pushes them in, the figures on top jerking into motion. "I need a bunch more t'make da magic part work." He grudgingly gives her a bigger sack, and watches closely as she puts the figures through their routine over and over. She lets the elf feel the weight of the box, then takes it from him and waves it.

    A bank clerk runs in from the outer office a moment later, whispers to the elf and leaves. "It seems to work as you promised," the elf says, "and only for the owner?" "A'course! I nevver promise anyt'ing I kin't make," she proudly states as the vision fades and vanishes.


    Notes:
    Cycles between woodsman, washerwoman, and gnome smith. Can PUSH to insert coins and get a little automated show, but can also keep PUSHing every 10 seconds to add 50-250 coins each push. Bank fills around 5k and starts to heat, so you WAVE bank and it deposits to the closest bank. Lacking a closest bank, it asks if you want so and so bank and to wave again. 250 coin fee to deposit via this.
    *Works in Sanctum of Scales.
    Last edited by shad0ws0ngs; 11-03-2016 at 03:01 AM.
    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.

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