a slim white wing-capped runestaff
Found this in my locker. I don't know when, where or why I got this. Anyone have more information on this?
Thanksl
ook at runestaff
>
Long and slender, the stave is nearly the height of a tall man. The length of it remains relatively unembellished and plain, but polished to a dull matte finish. A miniature pair of white feathered angel wings, angled upwards and protruding directly opposite from each other, is carved from the head of the stave. A golden halo, with three silvery crescent moons circumscribed within, is anchored between the angel wings. You also notice a small enchanter's glyph.
"Runestaff that I hold
Let your value now be told"
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 down 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.
"Runestaff that I hold
Let your purpose now be told"
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 wood, 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.
"Runestaff that I hold
Let your magic now be told"
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 wood 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.
"Runestaff that I hold
Let your special ability now be told"
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 one 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.
Last edited by Darcthundar; 08-28-2023 at 10:13 AM.
My dad always told me not to argue with fools or drunks. And I don't smell alcohol on your breath.
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