Black ora kris set with a hematite-etched grip

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A Black ora kris set with a hematite-etched grip is a unique and true major black ora weapon that was sold at the Great Auction of 5116 (December 2016) in the Gold (Premium) tent. The highest bid of 53.9 million silvers for the kris went to Zerlin, who is rumored to have been an auction proxy for the well known blackguard, Crime Roy'al. Proof of this may rest in the fact the Kris showed up in Crime's hands moments after it left the auction tent.

Properties

It is a 6x enchanted kris with heavy (10) critical weighting. This very rare major black ora short sword has the normal black ora flares you would expect. It comes with an enhancive penalty to spirit recovery BUT includes an enhancive bonus of 1 to mana recovery and 3 to wisdom. It is major black ora so it has the teleportation ability, too.

Messaging

(unknown at this time)

Loresong

Have a pure potion handy if you decide to brave listening to this weapon...

Verse 1

As your song flows into the black ora kris, it is echoed back like a distorted reflection from a warped mirror. The discordant tones twist and writhe across the backdrop of your mind, bringing forth imagines that flash with alarming vibrancy. -- A light haze of smoke slants across the scene, back lit by dozens of ebony candles glowing with a purple-tinged brilliance. Your gaze pans upward, and you find yourself staring into the marble faces of the Lornon pantheon. The smoke dances languidly in your line of sight, creating on the pale visages the illusion of movement - leering smiles, laughter, and contemptuous gazes from cold stone eyes. Your breath quickens, and your sight begins to fail as all plunges into darkness.

Verse 2

The notes of your song shed light once again on your marbled surroundings. Above, the patrons of Lornon gaze downward upon the scene, and you turn your eyes from them, instead taking in your surroundings. Around you rise the walls of a marble chapel, and tucked within the stony niches are windows of dark stained glass. No light filters through their jewel-toned panels, and instead, the light from a myriad of candles caresses their polished surfaces.
Before you, in the center of a floor marked by concentric circles of brass-inlaid conduits, is a raised, ivory marble and obsidian altar. Atop the altar, the prone form of a young man lies, his face turned from you, and his limbs fixed at each corner. You can see that from each of the corners, thin rivers of blood run within brass-inlaid channels, conveying the sanguine liquid to the design underfoot. A glance downward reveals the labyrinthine pattern traced in blood, and the movement of your head causes your vision to swim. With a quick inhalation, your sight is extinguished.

Verse 3

With a frightful abruptness, your song calls forth a vision from the black ora kris. -- You find yourself closer now to the altar at the labyrinth's heart, and a heavy weight calls your attention to your hands. You find there a black ora kris set with a hematite-etched grip, its blade smeared with incarnadine streaks. In your chest, your breath comes and goes in haste, and you feel a certain dizziness as you take the blade into one hand and extend your other to the face of the man atop the altar. Your fingers leave ruby-hued prints on his skin as you tilt his face toward you, and you hear an unidentifiable, though audible noise fall from your lips. All at once, darkness closes your sight.

Verse 4

The notes of your song draw you back into the black ora kris's memories, and you find that the face looking up at you no longer belongs to the prone young man. Instead, your own visage stares back at you: sightless eyes, sallow skin, and lips perched open as if to draw the next breath, which never seems to come. Laughter begins to echo in the empty chapel, and you look up, expecting to see one of the marble statues come to life with morbid merriment. Instead, they are motionless, and you come to realize that the hysterical laughter is none other than your own. As you stumble backwards, your feet slip in the blood that runs in narrow rivers through the marble floor, and you feel yourself falling... falling... falling... until blackness engulfs you.