some dark fel prayer beads.
sense beads
You sense a moment of history resonating within the very composition of the prayer beads. The beads may be able to reveal more to you with some lyrical coaxing.
Roundtime: 3 sec.
You sing in Guildspeak:
"O beads that I see,
Let your value be revealed to me!"
As you reach out toward the prayer beads with your song, they respond with a sound like the call of an ancient horn. You feel your mind pulled far into the past, as your body falls into a trance.
A vision appears of an alpine meadow surrounded by craggy, snow-capped peaks. Sheltered from the wind, the meadow blooms with wildflowers in white and blue, and a carpet of tall grass covers the ground. A stream of clear blue water runs along one side of the vale, winking back as sunlight kisses its surface.
Three halflings dressed in fur-lined leathers appear at the side of the stream, rising from the grass. Silently, stealthily, they reconnoiter the area. Regrouping, they nod at one another, and their leader blows a long note on his spiralling antelope horn. As the blast echoes against the peaks, a large host of halflings emerges from the tree line, many on foot, but others riding rustic wooden wagons. At the head of the party, two halflings walk hand-in-hand with an air of dignity and authority, their simple clothes contrasting the necklaces they wear: thinly hammered triangles of tricolored gold dangling from a triple loop of braided horsehair. At the direction of these leaders, the scouts collect some fallen tree limbs, placing them in a triangle on the ground, while the others gather up riverstone gravel from the creek bed. Dropping their stones into the triangle, the couple gazes down at the earth and together intones:
"Let our journeys now come to an end.
Paradis we are and Paradis remain,
But here we shall make a new start."
As the rest of the tribe approaches, each halfling adding a rock to the pile, an aged halfling cleric raises her arms to the sky, praying:
"Remember the lands that once we called home.
Remember the evil that led us to roam.
Remember the ages of wandering, lost.
Remember the joys. Remember the cost.
We ask you, Arkati, to see and to hear:
Extend all your blessings as we gather near."
Roundtime: 7 sec.
>loresing O beads that I hold,;Let your purpose now be told!
You sing in Guildspeak:
"O beads that I hold,
Let your purpose now be told!"
As you begin a second verse, the prayer beads modulate their song into a minor key, foreshadowing with somber tones the next chapter of their tale. Once again, a vision forms before your eyes of the same high mountain region.
Many years have passed, and a bustling village now stands at the north end of the vale, in the shadow of an enormous glacier. The mountains resound with the music of bells, and you see many halflings dressed in colorful festival robes. Couples hand in hand and families all together, the villagers cross the meadow and approach the narrow stream. Hearty trees of white monir and fel now line the opposite banks, shading the water from the hot summer sun. Each pair of trees forms a single entity, entwined root and branch as they compete for sunlight and water. Against this symbolic backdrop, the villagers enact a traditional play, with thirty-six masked figures representing the gods. The drama concludes with the entire cast, hands clasped across the burbling stream, blessing the little town.
Time again shifts forward several years, and you see the village beset by a terrible winter storm. For weeks and months, relentless, snow falls and falls and falls, forming depthless drifts that cover over windows, doors, and roofs. Most of the villagers attempt a desperate escape by snowshoe through the gale, but some few remain, hoping against hope for a thaw. Instead there comes a torrent of rain that carries down from the peaks a deluge of icy slush. When at last the storm abates and the sun clears the sky, the village is gone, buried with the trees and stream beneath a field of blue glacial ice.
Roundtime: 7 sec.
>loresing O beads in my hand,;Sing to me now your magic in this land!
>
You sing in Guildspeak:
"O beads in my hand,
Sing to me now your magic in this land!"
As you direct a third verse at the prayer beads, they respond with a hopeful trill that softens into the gentle humming of a bright and cheerful song. Again, your mind fills with vivid pictures as you fall into a lyric trance.
Untold years have passed, and a bustling city stands near the center of the valley. The glacier, still expanding, has leaped the outer wall and covers the northeast corner of the town.
A squad of halfling miners marches through the ice-encrusted gate carrying shovels, picks, lanterns, and metal buckets of various size. The miners enter the glacier through a crevice in the wall of ice, then begin to carve out tunnels and cart away icy debris. The captain of miners halts the work from time to time, using a compass to orient himself in reference to a faded horsehide map. The labor continues for many months, until finally the miners come upon the ruins of a village, frozen in death beneath the ice. Whenever they are able, the halflings recover corpses and transport them with solemn ceremony to a cemetary south of town.
The work beneath the ice is arduous, long, and fraught with many dangers. Several miners die in collapses while others, wracked with greed, engage in vicious squabbles over gimcrack artifacts. In sadness and disgust the city fathers close the operation and declare the ruins off-limits, sacred ground. The trees remain hidden beneath the glacier, their frozen slumber undisturbed.
Roundtime: 8 sec.
>loresing O beads held so dear,;Sing to me now your special ability so clear!
You sing in Guildspeak:
"O beads held so dear,
Sing to me now your special ability so clear!"
In response to your fourth verse, the prayer beads respond with a low arpeggio that accelerates until the notes blend into a triumphant major chord. You sense a holy purpose in the beads, as once again a vision fills your mind.
You see a wide, open room filled with long worktables, silent but for the sound of work. Several dozen halflings (acolytes judging by their age and dress) move about the room, performing various tasks. One group works in a corner filled with fel and monir, sawing the raw wood into workable size and shape. A second squad whittles the lumber down into rough, small beads. Yet another team sits on low stools, their feet pumping levers that power wheels that polish each wooden bead. A final group drills a tiny hole through the center of each bead, then slides it onto a string.
When each set of beads is complete, the acolytes turn them over to a grey-haired old monk, who inspects each set for flaws. The beads then pass to a temple dean, who carries them on a solemn tour through a temple carved of ice and stone. The beads are placed on each altar in turn, and blessed by each god's high priest. The sanctified beads are then placed in a velvet-lined case, where they await a new life of helping the faithful to focus their spiritual energies.
You sense that these beads have been consecrated to a holy purpose.
Roundtime: 9 sec.
>loresing O beads that I see,;Let your value be revealed to me!
You sing in Guildspeak:
"O beads that I see,
Let your value be revealed to me!"
As you begin to vocalize a fifth verse, your vocal chords suddenly falter, then fail, and the words come out as a harsh, rasping cough.
Roundtime: 7 sec.
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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Originally Posted by Fallen
