Loresongs

[shad0ws0ngs]

a barb-tipped white ora korseke with a spiraling orase haft

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O korseke that I hold,
Sing now your value bold."


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, fills your vision.

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O' korseke in my hand
Sing now your purpose in this land!"


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: 8 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O' korseke that I see,
Sing now of your magic free!"


As you continue to sing, your inner vision once again focuses on the scarred dwarf who is now carefully polishing the white ora korseke before handing it to an imposing priest. His raiment is of the finest quality, from the magnificent cloth-of-silver cope to his bejeweled miter to the 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: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O' korseke made for battle,
Sing now your ability without a rattle!"

As your song comes to an end, you see the korseke 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 korseke 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: 9 sec.

[shad0ws0ngs]

an intricately painted tin carousel - The palm-sized carousel boasts intricately sculpted detail in the animals on the middle platform and its bejeweled base. Bright colors accent the details, bringing the miniature and its inhabitants to life. The carousel's tented roof is staked at the corners by twelve tiny jewels, all twelve of which are twinkling brightly. A small brass ring hangs over the lip of the carousel's top, immediately above a diving otter. "Wehnimer's Landing" is written across the creature's painted saddle.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O carousel that I hold,
Sing now your value bold."

Grey-green fog clouds your mind, punctuated only by the sound of a galloping horse. As the hoofbeats grow louder, the fog clears to reveal a cloaked elven man riding a black horse down a trodden path through a swampy forest. Despite the low-hanging branches and difficult terrain, man and beast fly unhindered. You follow the pair as they tear through the swamp, across fields, and over hills. Eventually, the pair slows as they approach a weathered old inn. A wide-eyed young boy gapes at the horse, which appears to not even have broken a sweat. The boy marvels, "Gosh, mister, thats the fastest horse I ever seen! He doesnt even look tired!" One corner of the elven mans mouth twitches into a slight smile, and the man replies with a cool tone, "Not quite fast enough."

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O' carousel in my hand
Sing now your purpose in this land!"

Wisps of grey-green mist wrap around the corners of your mind, framing the scene of the cloaked elven man astride the black horse from the previous scene. The man is talking down to a bent old woman wrapped in a brightly colored crocheted shawl and matching headscarf. A brightly painted wooden carousel revolves in the background, tinkling out an out-of-tune song. She circles the horse, examining it carefully, and shakes her head. Frowning, she says something to the man. He replies angrily and produces a fat coin pouch from the folds of his cloak, which he tosses at the old womans feet. She retries the coin pouch and pours a few silvers into her open palm. After considering the coins for a long moment, she returns her gaze to the black horse, her eyes filled with dread. She whispers, "It comes with a price more than silvers," as she begins a droning mystical chant.

Roundtime: 8 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O' carousel that I see,
Sing now of your magic free!"

When the grey-green mist clears from your mind's eye this time, you are atop the black horse, seated behind the cloaked elf. The horse's hair, however, is no longer jet black; the color is dingier, more of a dusty charcoal than an elegant black. Before you have time to think on it, your surroundings shift! Where you were in a forest one moment, you are now in the middle of a town! While villagers gawk at your sudden appearance, you feel the horse stumble under you. Looking down, the horse's coat has turned ashy, and its mane is peppered with grey. The cloaked elven man seems oblivious to his horse's weakened state and basks in the attentions of the villagers.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

Your mind clouds over with grey-green mist, which dissipates as a haunting carnival melody grows louder. Once again you find yourself watching the old woman, the cloaked elven man, and the horse next to the slowly revolving carousel; however, the horse is now bright white, and lies on its side, panting heavily. The elven man is shouting at the old woman, who merely holds up a hand. She says, "You agreed to the fee and have paid the price. I cannot save your horse; it is already dead. It died in Ta'Vaalor; it died in Ta'Illistim. It died in the Rest and on the Rock. You left a piece of that horse every place you tore it apart, and now," she pauses to look down at the horse, which has stopped breathing, "you leave the last piece of it here. I warned you. You cannot link such magic to a living soul."

Roundtime: 9 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O carousel that I hold,
Sing now your value bold."

A vision of the slowly revolving brightly painted wooden carousel fills your mind, singing its sad song to an empty fairground. The elven man, his shoulders hunched, sits on a carousel horse painted solid black. Up, then down, again and again go the pair as the carousel spins. The old gypsy woman stands back hesitantly before hoisting herself onto the moving platform. She takes the man's hand in her own and presses an intricately painted tin carousel into it. She urges, "Visit him. Anywhere. And when its magic fades, come back to me." As she closes the man's hand around the carousel, grey-green mist envelops the scene and your vision fades.

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O' carousel in my hand
Sing now your purpose in this land!"

A haunting melody of tinkling chimes and visions of brightly painted wooden horses bob across your mind, but you learn nothing further.

Roundtime: 8 sec.

[Musicalia]

LOOK: Crafted from a single piece of ebonwood, the wand has been lacquered to a beautiful, dark sheen. Encircling the bottom of the wand is a thick, golvern ring, with a wolf appearing on the metal. A green streak runs through the lustrous wood and capping the wand is a tiny crystal flame etched with great detail.

LORESONG:

Your melody swirls magically around your wand, calling forth a faint, fiery aura.

Images flash before your eyes, a blur of light and color that finally resolves into a cozy, fire-lit workshop. A wizened gnome clad in deep blue robes fusses around with something on a table. His wifes high-pitched voice calls from another room, momentarily startling him.

Picking himself off the floor, he mumbles to himself about work unfinished before shuffling off to dinner. The scene fades away, focused on a rather plain-looking wand rests among a pile of shiny metal tools and polished vials.

--

The wand reacts to your song with a pulse of light. A brighter, multi-colored aura surrounds the wand, larger than before.

In the blink of an eye, you are transported back to the gnome workshop. He toils tirelessly away on his project, occasionally referencing a yellowed scroll or dusty tome. Hours pass like mere seconds, with only the tinkering of tools and rustling of papers to be heard.

The relative calm is broken by heavy knocking on the door. The angry voice of his wife begins nagging him to fix the cupboard door, clean the cellar, and build the shelf hes been promising to. While covering his ears to block out the racket, the wand accidentally falls to the ground, sending a few sparks flying around. One of the sparks lands on his robe, setting it on fire. The gnome panics for a moment before stomping out the flame. He sighs deeply, covers the wand with a cloth and opens to door to the workshop. Just as he begins to take the first step outside, the image melts away with a shimmer of light.

--
Intense flames burst to life around the wand, burning brightly, but with no heat. The fire shifts between a rainbow of colors.

Your present surrounding slowly vanish, replaced by a beautiful, grassy field beneath a starry sky. The gnomish man leads his wife to the top of a small hill and sits down with her. He instructs her to close her eyes, and produces the wand behind his back. He raises the wand into the air several times and nudges his wife to open her eyes.

A spectacular display of colorful fireworks lights up the night sky to her delight. He waves the wand in the air, and smaller flames mimic the large displays overhead. She claps loudly as the lights fade away into the darkness. Leaning close to his wife, the gnome whispers to her, "Happy Anniversary, dear." The scene fades from view as the couple shares a warm kiss beneath the stars.

--

Your song calls forth a single spark from your wand that falls harmlessly to the ground.

[Manamethis]

a snowflake-cut white starstone
Forehead gem.

This flawless white starstone has been cut by a master craftsman. Delicate and dainty, the intricate shape of a snowflake has been perfectly rendered. The gem is cut with such percision and clarity that it is nearly indistinguishable from an actual flake of snow.

>wear stars
You position a snowflake-cut white starstone between your eyes so that it casts a sparkling pale white sheen across your face.
>
Your white starstone dims and then suddenly brightens again as silver sparks swirl around in the gem.
>remove stars
You gently touch your white starstone. It glows warmly for a moment and then falls away from your face.

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As you sing to a snowflake-cut white starstone, it glimmers slightly, and slowly, a vision begins to unfold.

A young boy plays with his friends, gleefully slogging through the muck and mire of a small stream. *Something glittering in the riverbank catches his eye, and he stops to look. *To the great delight of his friends, he has found a small, clear sapphire. *Soon, all the boys are covered head-to-toe in mud as they try to find their own buried treasure. *Each boy returns with a handful of pebbles and brightly colored stones, but no more gems.

The moon rises, and the young boy sits on his bed, staring in rapt fixation as starlight glints off his sapphire. *Suddenly, he pulls a small knife from a pile of string, rocks, and other typical boy fare and begins to chip away at the gemstone. *He pauses, holding it up catch the starlight again and then gently carves away, humming beneath his breath. *Soon, a tiny heart-cut clear sapphire lies in the palm of his hand.
>
The white starstone seems to respond to the magic of Loresinger's song.
A snowflake-cut white starstone glimmers in Loresinger's hand as he sings to it.

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Your vision quickly reappears as you sing to the starstone. *The boy is older now, almost a man, and before him are several gemstones, each meticulously carved. *He holds a violet feystone in his hand, singing to it as he carves away every flaw and turns the simple gem into a breathtaking miniature rose. *He sings as he polishes it, and the feystone rose grows brighter. *A light blue aura surrounds it briefly before being absorbed into the gem.

The scene changes, and the boy stands in a shop, showing his feystone rose to a stooped old man. *The man takes the rose and rubs it. *He chortles happily as a light blue glow seeps into his skin. *He hands the boy a few gold coins.

The vision fades as a very happy boy runs down the street to his home.
>
The white starstone seems to respond to the magic of Loresinger's song.
Loresinger sings to the starstone in his hand.

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As you whisper your song to the starstone, a new scene unfolds. *Several years have gone by, and the boy is now a man. *He sits in a small shop filled with carved gemstones, each shelf holding a sign explaining the properties the stones hold. *He is deep in concentration over a star-cut ruby, pausing in his singing every so often to press it against his forehead and letting it fall into his open palm again.

He jerks up from his work as a bell jingles, and his shop door opens. *A beautiful young woman walks in.

Flashes of time pass before your eyes as the young man courts the woman. *You see a cottage with a garden of bright roses and tall lilac trees. *A kiss, an altar, a ring. *You see both working, her in metal and him in stone. *And when he presses a peridot against her forehead one day, it stays, casting a cerulean light across her face. *The woman cheers, and they kiss exuberantly. *An overwhelming sense of happiness infuses each scene, and as your song's influence fades, the vision disappears.
>
The white starstone seems to respond to the magic of Loresinger's song.
Loresinger sings to his starstone in soft, lilting whispers, and his eyes grow misty as a vision overtakes him.

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You barely start to sing to the starstone before a vision appears. *The joy that permeated the previous scene is nowhere to be found here. *The young man's countenance is haggard, his appearance disheveled. *He looks the madman as he rants and raves in the garden. *A raven lands nearby, and the man throws a diamond at it. *The bright roses have all gone to dark shades, and even the lilac trees look denser, more foreboding. *Yet, the garden is well-tended, and even as the man mutters and weeps to himself, you see him lovingly caring for each bush and tree.

He sleeps in a thicket of lilacs and washes himself in the pond, and you get the impression he never enters the cottage, perhaps never leaves the garden at all. *As time passes, an older woman, his mother, brings him food, passing it over the garden walls and imploring him to come out. *Time and again, he refuses.

The vision grows black, and as it disappears, you hear him whisper resolutely to the four winds, "I am keeper of the garden, for of the garden she is. *And here, forever we are."
>
The white starstone seems to respond to the magic of Loresinger's song.
Loresinger sings gently to his white starstone. his eyes gaze into the distance, lost in song and sight.

[Manamethis]

a dark-bladed handaxe
?x (+?) max light at 3 pounds.
"Particularly effective against all creatures not from the mortal plane of existence."

Unnaturally dark and wickedly curved, the blade of this handaxe reflects no light. Honed to a razor sharpness, the cutting edge shines a bright silver while strange sigils of a magical nature line the top and bottom of the heavy axe head. A hefty shaft of solid faewood reinforced with intricately carved eahnor plates forms the axe's handle. Dried vathor hide is expertly wrapped around the shaft forming a secure grip. You also notice a small enchanter's glyph.
There appears to be something written on it.


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As you begin to sing, your vision shifts to the Basilica in Old Ta'Faendryl. A stern faced man enters and rapidly descends a flight of stairs. Beneath the building, the stern faced man is speaking to a blacksmith. "I'm working as fast as I can," the blacksmith says. "I didn't ask how fast you were working. I need those weapons now! The Patriarch has requested them," says the stern faced man. Hurriedly, the blacksmith begins working.
>
The dark-bladed handaxe seems to respond to the magic of Loresinger's song.
As Loresinger begins to sing, his eyes open wide in a look of wonder.

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Your vision shifts and you see the stern faced man giving instruction to a group of Faendryl. Each student silently works the weapon forms, straining for perfection in each movement. Nodding his approval, the man states, "Patience and precision. That is the way of the Palestra." With that, he turns aside, returning once more to the smithy beneath the Basilica.
>
The dark-bladed handaxe seems to respond to the magic of Loresinger's song.
Loresinger drops his voice to a whisper and a look of profound respect is marked by a single tear falling from his eye.

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Your vision shifts. "Graduation is soon, are the weapons ready?" asks the stern faced man as he enters the smithy. Nodding, the blacksmith removes a dark bladed sword and matching axe from beneath a cloth. "These draw upon the flows of mana in nature and disrupt the essence of whatever they strike. They should be very effective against any creature from beyond this valance," the smith says.
>
The dark-bladed handaxe seems to respond to the magic of Loresinger's song.
Loresinger continues to sing, seemingly unable to stop as the dark-bladed handaxe holds his gaze.

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As the song continues, two young Faendryl kneel before a raised dais. The stern faced man's visage relaxes some and a look of fatherly pride crosses his face. He intones, "Rise now, receive these weapons and join your brothers and sisters in the Order of the Palestra. Five hundred of you began the training, you two alone have succeeded. The Patriarch's blessing upon you both," and hands each of them a dark bladed weapon as your vision fades to black.
>
The dark-bladed handaxe seems to respond to the magic of Loresinger's song.
Pale and haggard, Loresinger looks exhausted as his song softly fades to a close.

[shad0ws0ngs]

a speckled aubergine plant - Perched atop a writhing mass of serpentine roots and corpulent tubers is a small clump of thorn-laden, leafy stalks topped with fleshy, ovaloid crowns. Fern-like fronds curl themselves around a main stem, which sports two connected, kidney-shaped pads tipped with needle-sharp projections. The misshapen head is slightly ajar, allowing a slight glimpse of tender, sarcous tissue covered in long, bristling hairs. Your plant appears thriving in appearance with vibrant aubergine coloration. It doesn't seem to be moving.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O plant that I hold,
Sing now your value bold."

Your melody inspires a strangely alien, yet beautiful chorus to join you in your song. The haunting music increases in volume to a deafening crescendo when the world suddenly goes dark!

There is nothing but darkness no light, no sound. The darkness pervades your being, but there is no fear. There is only warmth and comfort in the darkness. Yet you yearn for more. Deep within your core, a spark is born. Its ambience radiates outward from your heart, glowing with the dynamic energy of life. Washed in this living power, you reach out to take hold, but it floats just out of reach. Each action simply pushes it further away, but you continue still. Slowly, you continue your dance with the light, waltzing in what seems like eternity but you continue to dance.

The sensation recedes as your song ends.

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O' plant in my hand
Sing now your purpose in this land!"

As your song continues, the chorus joins your single voice yet again, luring you into darkness...

As if waking from a long sleep, the light of day blinds you with its intensity. It takes you a moment to adjust as blobs of color begin to sharpen into definable figures. As sensations flood your system, you make out a plethora of plantlife surrounding you. But your observations are cut short as a something large and brown approaches. It speaks in a strange tongue and you struggle to understand its words, but to no avail.

It draws ever closer, until it is merely a breath away. Frightened, you attempt to retreat into the comforting darkness. Its touch is not cold and alien as you had feared, but warm and soothing. The figure begins to sing softly to you, lulling you to sleep. You drift into a peaceful slumber as darkness takes hold.

The darkness lifts as you become aware of yourself again.

Roundtime: 7 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O' plant that I see,
Sing now of your magic free!"

As you sing to your plant, you realize that it is the source of the chorus. Beautifully complimenting your melody, images flood your sight.

You have grown taller and stronger than before. The once strange figure is now familiar with his jovial manner and greenish thumbs. You hum with glee even now as he approaches. Brown, leathery hands stroke caress your leaves, brushing against your tiny hairs, filling you with contentment. The little halfling speaks quietly to you.

He says, "You are like my own child, little plant. I raised you from a just a tiny seedling into the proud plant you are today. You are the ultimate flora creation!"

The little halfling laughs maniacally, but calms down quickly.

He says, "Well that was embarrassing, I got a bit carried away." A faint red blush creeps along his cheeks.

"Anyway, you were created from the essences of moulis and firethorn shoots, crossbred with more docile plants. The process was long and tedious. Sometimes the soil acidity was off a smidge and other times, there was too much humidity in the air. So many little things went wrong but everything is better now. I have you!"

He continues explaining your complex origin, but frankly, you pay little attention to what he has to say. You attempt to hide your boredom, but a yawn sneaks out. Slowly but surely, his oration makes you sleepy, but slumber eludes you as you find yourself hungering for a snack.

As you awaken from the vision, your stomach growls with hunger.

Roundtime: 6 sec.

You sing in Guildspeak:

"O' plant made for battle,
Sing now your ability without a rattle!"

You continue your melody, harmonized by the ethereal voice of the plant.

The tantalizing aroma of cooked meat overwhelms your senses and you writhe in agonizing hunger, attempting to locate the source of the delectable smell. Glancing around, you notice the frosted glass panes of your greenhouse residence, surrounded by numerous other plants, both sentient and not. And that is when you notice it. In the far corner, the halfling Benitrose feasts on a large steak while he brandishes a shiny silver knife and fork, finished off with a large white bib. Straining, you try to reach him, but alas, your roots and pot were not made for mobility. Sitting there helpless, you whine with such ferocity, that the shrill noise pierces the entire greenhouse.

Startled, Benitrose rushes over, glancing over you with concern. You manage to wipe a lick of sauce off his nose with one of your leafy fronds. Taking the hint, he carries you over to his dinner and shares several juicy bites with you. Sated for now, you hum merrily, offering a little dinner music for your friend.

You shake off the vision to find some drool hanging off the corner of your mouth.

Roundtime: 9 sec.


You sing in Guildspeak:

"O plant that I hold,
Sing now your value bold."

As you sing to your plant, it sings back to you. This odd duet continues for a few moments, before the plant quiets down again.

Roundtime: 6 sec.


Third person:
Japhrimel sings something in Guildspeak that you don't understand.
The aubergine plant seems to respond to the magic of Japhrimel's song.
As Japhrimel sings to the plant in his hand, it responds by swaying rhythmically to his melody.

Japhrimel sings something in Guildspeak that you don't understand.
The aubergine plant seems to respond to the magic of Japhrimel's song.
Japhrimel continues to sing to his plant. In the middle of his song, his eyes close as if asleep.

Japhrimel sings something in Guildspeak that you don't understand.
The aubergine plant seems to respond to the magic of Japhrimel's song.
As Japhrimel sings to the plant, you hear a strange rumbling sound. You realize that the rumbling is coming from Japhrimel's stomach.

In the middle of Japhrimel's song, he goes quiet. His eyes roll into the back of his head. The next sound you hear is Japhrimel slavering dreamily with his head tilted to the side. Drool runs down the side of his open mouth, when he suddenly snaps out of it.

[leifastagsweed]

In the middle of Japhrimel's song, he goes quiet. His eyes roll into the back of his head. The next sound you hear is Japhrimel slavering dreamily with his head tilted to the side. Drool runs down the side of his open mouth, when he suddenly snaps out of it.

Sounds like quite a party. Sure that wasn't peyote?

[shad0ws0ngs]

Copied from EG Prize Thread, pill bottle with 20 spell up pills:

Tier 5 win...!

--- Lich: ising active.
[ising]>loresing bottle that I hold;let your value now be told
>
You sing smoothly:

"Bottle that I hold
Let your value now be told"

As you sing to the brown crystal bottle a vision plays out before you...


An aged wizard stands before an alembic, chanting as he focuses his attention on the instrument. A flash of brilliant blue surrounds the mage as magic weaves its way around him, forming powerful defensive wardings.

Roundtime: 6 sec.

R>
A whistling whistling halfling skips east, wheeling his tawny maple cart happily along.
R>
Spert carefully inspects his shadowy spiked fieldplate.
R>
[ising]>loresing bottle that I hold;let your purpose now be told
You sing smoothly:

"Bottle that I hold
Let your purpose now be told"

The vision of the elderly mage returns to you...

He holds a gnarled staff in his hand as he chants enchantment after enchantment, warding himself with powerful defenses. The faceted sapphire pendant around his neck gleams with each incantation.

Roundtime: 6 sec.

R>
[ising]>loresing bottle that I hold;let your magic now be told
You sing smoothly:

"Bottle that I hold
Let your magic now be told"

A final glimpse of the wizard shows his robes bloodied and torn. With a cry, he shouts a defiant phrase and the sapphire pendant around his neck shatters into thousands of glimmering drops.

Your vision clears but the tinkling of crystals on the ground echoes in your ears.

Roundtime: 6 sec.

R>
[ising]>loresing bottle that I hold;let your special ability now be told
You sing smoothly:

"Bottle that I hold
Let your special ability now be told"

You sense that there is nothing more to be learned from the brown crystal bottle.

[Gsgeek]

Surprised no one has posted the carousel from the quest.

I got this from it:


Grey-green fog clouds your mind, punctuated only by the sound of a galloping horse. As the hoofbeats grow louder, the fog clears to reveal a cloaked elven man riding a black horse down a trodden path through a swampy forest. Despite the low-hanging branches and difficult terrain, man and beast fly unhindered. You follow the pair as they tear through the swamp, across fields, and over hills. Eventually, the pair slows as they approach a weathered old inn. A wide-eyed young boy gapes at the horse, which appears to not even have broken a sweat. The boy marvels, "Gosh, mister, that’s the fastest horse I ever seen! He doesn’t even look tired!" One corner of the elven man’s mouth twitches into a slight smile, and the man replies with a cool tone, "Not quite fast enough."

Roundtime: 8 sec.




Wisps of grey-green mist wrap around the corners of your mind, framing the scene of the cloaked elven man astride the black horse from the previous scene. The man is talking down to a bent old woman wrapped in a brightly colored crocheted shawl and matching headscarf. A brightly painted wooden carousel revolves in the background, tinkling out an out-of-tune song. She circles the horse, examining it carefully, and shakes her head. Frowning, she says something to the man. He replies angrily and produces a fat coin pouch from the folds of his cloak, which he tosses at the old woman’s feet. She retries the coin pouch and pours a few silvers into her open palm. After considering the coins for a long moment, she returns her gaze to the black horse, her eyes filled with dread. She whispers, "It comes with a price more than silvers," as she begins a droning mystical chant.

Roundtime: 9 sec.



When the grey-green mist clears from your mind's eye this time, you are atop the black horse, seated behind the cloaked elf. The horse's hair, however, is no longer jet black; the color is dingier, more of a dusty charcoal than an elegant black. Before you have time to think on it, your surroundings shift! Where you were in a forest one moment, you are now in the middle of a town! While villagers gawk at your sudden appearance, you feel the horse stumble under you. Looking down, the horse's coat has turned ashy, and its mane is peppered with grey. The cloaked elven man seems oblivious to his horse's weakened state and basks in the attentions of the villagers.

Roundtime: 8 sec.




Your mind clouds over with grey-green mist, which dissipates as a haunting carnival melody grows louder. Once again you find yourself watching the old woman, the cloaked elven man, and the horse next to the slowly revolving carousel; however, the horse is now bright white, and lies on its side, panting heavily. The elven man is shouting at the old woman, who merely holds up a hand. She says, "You agreed to the fee and have paid the price. I cannot save your horse; it is already dead. It died in Ta'Vaalor; it died in Ta'Illistim. It died in the Rest and on the Rock. You left a piece of that horse every place you tore it apart, and now," she pauses to look down at the horse, which has stopped breathing, "you leave the last piece of it here. I warned you. You cannot link such magic to a living soul."

Roundtime: 9 sec.


A vision of the slowly revolving brightly painted wooden carousel fills your mind, singing its sad song to an empty fairground. The elven man, his shoulders hunched, sits on a carousel horse painted solid black. Up, then down, again and again go the pair as the carousel spins. The old gypsy woman stands back hesitantly before hoisting herself onto the moving platform. She takes the man's hand in her own and presses an intricately painted tin carousel into it. She urges, "Visit him. Anywhere. And when its magic fades, come back to me." As she closes the man's hand around the carousel, grey-green mist envelops the scene and your vision fades.

Roundtime: 10 sec.


A haunting melody of tinkling chimes and visions of brightly painted wooden horses bob across your mind, but you learn nothing further.

Roundtime: 13 sec.


Tell me more within please
Is this all that lies within?"

A haunting melody of tinkling chimes and visions of brightly painted wooden horses bob across your mind, but you learn nothing further.

Roundtime: 18 sec.

[shad0ws0ngs]

Reposted without Thondalar's permission, mwah ha ha:

A pair of enruned ocean green ora vambraces

Strange item...basically they're leg armor. But they have a loresong. So I have no idea what properties they may have, if any. I've had several people look at them and nobody has been able to read the runes or figure out what they're from.

Loresong:

The harmonic vibrations that your song evokes in the green ora vambraces convey a sense of great age. At a rough estimate, the vambraces is worth 1 silver, but a collector of antiquities might be willing to offer a significantly greater sum.

As the green ora vambraces responds to your song, you sense echoes of ancient enchantment drifting softly through the resonances. It is difficult to say whether or not the vambraces is innately magical, but, if not, then it has certainly been exposed to a great deal of magical energy over an extended period of time.

The resonances of your music caress the ancient weave of enchantment within the green ora vambraces. You recognize both spiritual and elemental components, twisted together and permanently altered into a new form -- the unmistakable taint of sorcery.

As you sing to the green ora vambraces, you evoke the image of a short man with silver-streaked hair. He holds the green ora vambraces in his hands, studying it intently. As he traces a fingertip over the runes, they flicker into life briefly with a faint green glow, and he nods his approval. He signals to a liveried servant nearby, and the servant quickly comes to take the vambraces away. The vision drifts away from you as your verse ends.

Additionally, you can read them, but everyone who has read them so far gets the same message:

>read vam
You squint at a pair of enruned ocean green ora vambraces for a moment, but the runes are incomprehensible to you. They make your eyes blur and your head hurt.

>touch vam
You trace the runes upon your green ora vambraces with a fingertip, and, as you do so, they glimmer into life with a faint violet radiance. The light vanishes after only a second.



However, since he is a good sport. If you want to own this item, MB is 500k right now at: http://forum.gsplayers.com/showthrea...r-2-more-stuff