Bone-handled rolaren baselard
This item was a prize from the Hunt for History.
Item
a bone-handled rolaren baselard
Show
Ivory bone, carved with hatch marks filled in with ink, forms the quillon and pommel of this baselard. The pieces are of similar length, although the pommel has been weighted with iron bands that enclose the bone. Lacquered ebony twine has been wrapped around the grip and the blade is sharp and finely made from blue-black rolaren. Small, rough letters, which do not quite match the fine workmanship of the rest of the weapon, spell out "Nightshade" at the base of the blade on both sides.
Details
It's been said that this item once belonged to pirates onboard the "Sea Drake."
Loresong
NOTE: This loresong is an incomplete one.
As you wend your way through the verse of your song, the world around you becomes murky and indistinct.
When it clears again, you find yourself inside the hot and dark interior of a blacksmith's shop. The blacksmith, a burly giantman with a heavy dark beard, leans over an anvil, hammering at a short sword that glows with heat. He plunges the weapon into a vat of cool water, releasing an enormous cloud of steam. As he turns to place it on a rack with numerous other weapons of the same shape, he spies a group of three men in the doorway, all silhouetted against the morning sky. He steps back, raising his tongs in defense, but they advance upon him undeterred, and dispatch him with a single slice of a dagger. Well-practiced at their trade, the interlopers turn to the cooling rack and begin to collect the finished baselards, stowing them in a large sack for safekeeping.
As you wend your way through the verse of your song, the world around you becomes murky and indistinct.
When it clears again, the heat of the forge has been replaced by the smoky interior of a crowded pub. You find yourself near a table of heavy-drinking humans who drum their fists on their table as they finish belting out a traditional drinking song. Two of the men turn to the drinker in between them, pounding him on the back and laughing heartily. Another man tosses a burlap package onto the table and flips the rough cloth's folds open with a flick of the wrist. Nestling in the burlap is a bone-handled baselard, gleaming even in the dim light of the tavern. Everyone at the table shouts as one, as the newly initiated member of the group grasps the short sword by the handle and raises it over his head.