Loresongs

[shad0ws0ngs]

a curved white ora scythe with a leather-wrapped blackened deringo shaft
DM Iasha item

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O scythe that I see,
Let your value be revealed to me!"


As you begin to sing, your vision clouds over and a scene unfolds before you. The image of a scarred dwarf in white leathers laboring deep in a dark, dank mine, grunting as he extracts precious white ora ore.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O ora scythe that I hold,
Let your purpose now be told!"


As you continue to sing, you can see the dwarf laboring over a hot iron forge. He mops his brow continually as he pumps the bellows then returns to the anvil, coaxing a weapon from the white-hot metal. As he hammers again and again with a perfect eonake forging-hammer he looks more and more pleased with his work. He now and again sticks it into a trough filled with a shimmering oil. After a few more minutes of hammering, he begins to look unsatisfied with his results, and then suddenly tosses it back into the fire. "I can do better than that, for Eonak's glory!

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O white ora scythe in my hand,
Sing to me now your magic in this land!"


As you continue to sing, your inner vision once again focuses on the scarred dwarf, carefully polishing the white ora scythe before handing it to an imposing priest. His raiment is of the finest quality, from the magnificent cloth-of-silver cope, his bejeweled miter, and gleaming amethyst on his hand marking him as one of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. He sets the weapon on the altar and cries, "In the name of Jastev, I consecrate this weapon.

Roundtime: 9 sec

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O white ora scythe held so dear,
Sing to me now your special ability so clear!"

As your song comes to an end, you see the scythe being used in combat training in the monastary. A burly dwarven acolyte rains down blow after blow versus an obviously overmatched elven clark. Finally, the white ora scythe bursts into flames and sets the elf's shield alight! He cries out, "The day is yours M'laird Dwarf. I prostrate myself to your superior skills and must atone for my lack." He glances at the knotted scourge on the training wall and grimaces.

Roundtime: 11 sec

[shad0ws0ngs]

These are Aneris' pantaloons, just to make sure he has the credit.. I just sang to them!

some peculair puppy pelt pantaloons - Procured perniciously from plentiful prematurely-pilfered and probably pampered pedigreed puppies, partially pickled and preserved, the plush pelt pantaloons are properly patched in a plethora of particularly pathetic places. Promulgated upon the pantaloons are pronounced punctures and pockmarks in potentially precipitous positions. The prominent and pretentious persona of each poor puppy precisely picked and pacified to pleat the posh pants are printed painstakingly onto the pockets.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O pantaloons that I see,
Let your value be revealed to me!"

As your voice permeates the pantaloons, you feel your senses dull until only an animalistic quality remains. Instinctually, you curl up, comfortably cradled in the warm lap beneath you. A gentle hand moves through your soft fur and you whimper in delight with each pass. Suddenly, your hairs stand on end as a dark shadow rushes past you, bringing the scent of decay. The icy horror of sharpened steel on your throat and skin peeling back is imprinted into your memory as you suddenly snap to your senses.

Roundtime: 8 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O pantaloons that I hold,
Let your purpose now be told!"

Focusing your song into the pantaloons, you find yourself among the pack joining your siblings in carefree play as they sniff, paw, gnaw, pant, loll, jump, bark, and howl. Without warning, cages materialize around you then each of your kin in turn. The excited cries cease as your playmates slump to the ground and warm red fluid pools under your paws. Your vision goes black just as you try to shake the blood from your fur, the deafening sound of grinding and snapping bones jolting you into reality.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O pantaloons in my hand,
Sing to me now your magic in this land!"

As your voice resonates with the pantaloons, you find yourself immersed in a sea of warmth. You paddle around dragging your oddly drooping, fur-covered ears through the savory-tasting fluid as carrots, potatoes, and a stalk of celery bob across your line of vision. Terrified, a wave of insight washes over you as streams of bubbles force their way to the surface and your body is set ablaze with an intense burning. Mere moments later, only numbness remains as your denatured flesh again becomes human.

Roundtime: 9 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O pantaloons held so dear,
Sing to me now your special ability so clear!"

The oscillations of your song cause the pantaloons to vibrate and your vision to blur. When you regain sight, you glance around to find a large warehouse filled with half-starved erithian children slaving to sew together pelts and hides, their young hands more skilled than expected. As a desperate canine yelp emanates from behind closed doors, a particularly impoverished-looking child wipes a single tear from his eye. The crack of an unseen whip sends him back to his work and you back into reality.

Roundtime: 10 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O pantaloons that I see,
Let your value be revealed to me!"

Though you focus your voice upon the pantaloons, they provide you with no further visions of their past beyond a brief, soft whimper.

Roundtime: 8 sec

[shad0ws0ngs]

a glowbark platinum-strung lyre:

You sing:

"O lyre that I see,
Let your value be revealed to me!"

As you sing to the lyre, your melody evokes various impressions from the platinum-strung. The smell of fel dye drifts past, and the image of a pristine chapel forms briefly before your eyes. In the chapel, you observe a rose-complected sylvan man praying over the platinum-strung lyre resting in front of him. The fragile vision dissolves almost as quickly as it came.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing:

"O lyre that I hold,
Let your purpose now be told!"

Your magical song delves into the nature of the lyre, evoking the image of a black-skinned human man. The man is barely more than a child and is garbed in crimson and grey. A rainbow shimmers in the sky as the human man demands the platinum-strung lyre from the same sylvan man that you observed before. The sound of a fox barking surrounds you as the image fades away.

Roundtime: 6 sec

You sing:

"O lyre in my hand,
Sing to me now your magic in this land!"

Harmonies echo from the heart of your lyre, and those harmonies swell around you, guiding you into a vision. You see a dingy alley, and the human man poses in the alley playing the platinum-strung lyre. A variegated thrak listens to the human man, seeming bespelled by the flowing music. The vision ends as you finish your verse.

Roundtime: 8 sec.

You sing:

"O lyre held so dear,
Sing to me now your special ability so clear!"

The resonances of the platinum-strung lyre flow over you as sensory impressions. You hear a voice tearfully praising Lorminstra's power and smell sauteed mushrooms before the magic of your loresong draws you into a vision. You see a field of corn, and, between two rows of corn, the human man sits very near a freckled dwarven woman. The human man holds the platinum-strung lyre, and his eyes are locked to the dwarven woman's as he draws graceless music from the lyre. Suddenly, a third person arrives. You can ascertain nothing of this person's nature except that this third person is a source of fear for the human man. The human man flees, abandoning the platinum-strung lyre to the dwarven woman. The image dissolves away.

Roundtime: 9 sec.

You sing:

"O lyre that I see,
Let your value be revealed to me!"

You sing to the lyre, but receive only the normal harmonies of platinum-strung in return. You sense that no one could have learned more about the instrument's history than you learned. The harmonies fade as you finish your verse.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

[Back]

Apparently some lore songs were created by a randomizer. Who thought that was a good idea?

[shad0ws0ngs]

It's probably an older random gen EG instrument.

[Back]

I still have the sticky wood piccolo.

As you sing to the piccolo, you receive a faint impression of the smell of heliotrope, but you can untangle no real meaning with your magic.

The sound of the mournful, wailing call of a screech owl swirls around you in response to your song.

Briefly, you hear quick piccolo music, but then it is gone.

The image of an untended herb garden materializes briefly before you, but it fades without vouchsafing any information.

[shad0ws0ngs]

I've bugitem'd a number of loresongs.. the massive stone mattock that quakes, for example.

[shad0ws0ngs]

interesting thing I learned about the lyre's loresong.. it was glowbark/platinum-strung/lyre.. and apparently the loresong takes the middle 15 of the 15/15/15 when doing the loresong.. so, now, instead of saying "platinum-strung" in the first sentence of the first verse, it says "glowbark"

[shad0ws0ngs]

a hollow soulstone wand - The wand is crafted out of hollowed soulstone filled with a viscous black substance. Upon closer examination, you notice that the viscous black substance appears to be some form of unnatural blood. The blood roils back and forth within its confines, as if it is whimsically taunting the pure white soulstone that contains it.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O soulstone wand that I see,
Let your value be revealed to me!"

You sing to your soulstone wand enthusiastically, eager to learn the ancient secrets trapped within the wand. Dark swirls of mana eddy around the soulstone wand, obscuring it from sight. You frantically jiggle your fingers around, trying to ward off the swirls, which have an almost gooey consistency. After a concentrated effort, you recover the wand but are still somewhat shaken by the thought that you almost lost your priceless artifact.

Perhaps the wand is not eager to reveal its past. Perhaps some things are best left buried in the sands of time.

Roundtime: 8 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O soulstone wand that I hold,
Let your purpose now be told!"

Your voice serenades the soulstone wand gently as you cautiously remember how you almost lost your precious soulstone wand. The wand hums in response to your song with an odd vibrating drone, which interferes with your song. You sense a powerful necromantic aura surrounding the wand as you are forced to bring your beautiful ditty to an end.

Roundtime: 8 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O soulstone wand in my hand,
Sing to me now your magic in this land!"

As you weave your bardic magic upon the wand, you fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The world goes dark and you find yourself superimposed on another time when you reopen your eyes. Dressed in priestly robes, you are walking along the perimeter of an emerald altar humming low chants. A white-haired, muscular elf with bronzed skin is suspended over the altar bare-chested.

The vision fades but the memory of the act you are partaking in lingers.

Roundtime: 9 sec.

>wake
You try to rouse yourself from your sleep but you're too deeply gone to wake on your own.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O soulstone wand held so dear,
Sing to me now your special ability so clear!"

Your melodies bring you back into slumber. Luckily you were already on the ground this time.
You regain your place in an eerie procession around the elven man whose body is held taut by leather straps running from the corners of the room. This time, though, the elf's body has several deep cuts running through it, slowly dripping blood into soulstone canisters on the altar below. A single golden key tattoo adorns his naked right breast. You are helpless to do anything but follow a pre-scripted role in the grotesque ritual. The man looks peacefully resigned to his fate and utters not a word as your vision fades.

Roundtime: 10 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O soulstone wand held so dear,
Sing to me now your special ability so clear!"

Your melodies bring you back into slumber. Luckily you were already on the ground this time.
You regain your place in an eerie procession around the elven man whose body is held taut by leather straps running from the corners of the room. This time, though, the elf's body has several deep cuts running through it, slowly dripping blood into soulstone canisters on the altar below. A single golden key tattoo adorns his naked right breast. You are helpless to do anything but follow a pre-scripted role in the grotesque ritual. The man looks peacefully resigned to his fate and utters not a word as your vision fades.

Roundtime: 10 sec.

>
You awake from a dream startled. You are lying down.
Roundtime: 3 sec.
Queleri pokes you in the ribs.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O soulstone wand that I see,
Let your value be revealed to me!"

You sing to your soulstone wand, hopeful that you can stay awake, but are not so lucky. Perhaps the wand's story cannot bare the light of day. You fall to the ground, hitting your head solidly, as you leave consciousness. Awakened in an ethereal world, you glance at your fellow acolytes and notice that only some carry the symbols of a green serpent like yours. Some slowly circle the altar with small dagger-pierced heart pendants.

The vision of the white-haired man comes rushing back to you. At this point, he looks lifeless and pale, his wounds now only trickling ever decreasing drops of blood into the soulstones below. The leather straps are also drawn tighter, more painfully than before. He mutters bitterly as his life drains, "Lorminstra, false prophet, you have forsaken me."

At the end of his utterance, a serpent suddenly appears at the center of the altar. You and the other acolytes look up in shock as the elven man's bindings come loose, destroying the makeshift prison. His fragile lifeless body slowly floats to the center of the altar, where the serpent kisses him.

Roundtime: 8 sec.

>
You awake from a dream startled. You are lying down.
Roundtime: 3 sec.
Queleri pokes you in the ribs.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O soulstone wand that I hold,
Let your purpose now be told!"

Your head is too injured to glean any information from the wand.
You learn nothing new about the wand.


Roundtime: 8 sec.


after getting healed:

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O soulstone wand that I see,
Let your value be revealed to me!"

Your mind races with wandering thoughts; questions about the nature of the odd ceremony you witnessed. One final vision sets upon you...

The elven man, now cloaked in a hooded robe, is exiting the temple where you had inflicted so much torture upon him. He leaves a scene of massive death and carnage. You notice your own body, with that of your fellow priests strewn haphazardly around the emerald altar, lifeless and unmoving. The blood within the soulstone canisters has turned an unnatural black, testament to the darkness that it presided over. Not a single survivor is left amongst the once lively priests. The man exits the shrine, which promptly collapses. A green serpent slithers out through a crack in the rubble as the vision fades.

You feel weakened and drained!

Roundtime: 8 sec.

[shad0ws0ngs]

The Miriyam statue
You also see a sculpted granite statue with a dark green wreath set with white and yellow roses on it. - The statue has been crafted out of pale granite, its form shaped into the likeness of a scholarly woman, garbed in a long robe and clutching a thick eahnor tome to her chest. Her face is featureless and smooth, with lengths of black steel for hair, stretching down past her shoulders. A mein plaque rests between her feet.

There appears to be something written on it.

>read stat
In the Common language, it reads:
"In honor of freedom and the brave defenders of Wehnimer's Landing who fought and died to preserve it. Jastatos 5110."


You sing in Guildspeak to a sculpted granite statue:

"O statue that I see,
Let your value be revealed to me!"

A quiet, metallic chime reverberates through your mind, obscuring your vision as a new landscape unfolds before you. Shadows suffocate a large chamber, where a stack of corpses, all women, pile high to the ceiling. A row of red robed summoners chant in a demonic tone as a large chunk of urnon in the center of the chamber begins to shift, taking on the form of a beautiful woman. Suddenly the woman's hands turn into blades and she rushes past the robed figures, cutting them down as she flees.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak to a sculpted granite statue:

"O statue that I hold,
Let your purpose now be told!"

A dark haired woman with eyes a crystal hue walks the bustling streets of Wehnimer's Landing. Few pay her any attention as she clutches a red journal to her chest, eyes darting to every shadow, every alleyway as she passes by. She arrives at Erebor Square where she stands before the local museum, finally putting her journal away and smiling wide as she steps inside. The woman finds herself resting comfortably in a plush chair, an old tome in her lap and a content look upon her face.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak to a sculpted granite statue:

"O statue in my hand,
Sing to me now your magic in this land!"

Women and children are rushed inside of buildings as the local Wehnimer's militia takes to the streets. High above the town, large shimmering red portals appear in the sky and massive granite constructs begin to drop to the ground. Skillful archers man the towers while valiant defenders charge hordes of mein and steel golems, their weapons and magic keeping them at bay. Soon cries of death pierce the night as up from the ground crawls undead corpses, slashing and biting at those who try to flee.

Roundtime: 8 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak to a sculpted granite statue:

"O statue held so dear,
Sing to me now your special ability so clear!"

Guards patrol the streets, dragging their wounded to safety as they maneuver through large chunks of granite. The red portals over the town have expanded and flash with an unsettling light. The dark haired woman stands in the center of town, her body shifting rapidly as it had during her creation. With arms raised to the sky, an intense blue light escapes her form and smashes into a portal, closing it with a thunderous boom. Defenders look on with grim faces as the woman then crumbles into dust.

Roundtime: 9 sec.