Embroidered green silk scarf

This item was a prize from the Hunt for History.

Item

an embroided green silk scarf

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The silk scarf has a fine hand and drapes fluidly over any object with which it comes in contact.  Embroidered in delicate knots of white spidersilk in one corner is a lovely rendition of a lily in full bloom.  A faint, earthy scent clings to the scarf.

Details

This is said to have belonged to a group of assassins.

Loresong

As you sing, a picture forms in your mind. From out of the mists a massive stone structure looms in the background. The mists begin to clear, and you notice the form of a gardener, hard at the task of digging in the rich, dark soil. A beautiful young woman watches the proceedings with avid interest.

Still humming your song, you are drawn into the scene. Cuttings and plants lie bundled neatly on the ground, waiting for a gentle hand to set them into the prepared beds. As you reach down to touch one the woman steps forward, shaking her head quietly, and picks it up before you dare. She plants it carefully, performing a song of blessing over it as she finishes. As you watch, the woman continues until each plant in every bundle is safely tucked into its own spot. Every seedling receives the same sweetly sung blessing.

Your voice ebbs a bit and then returns with vigor as the gardener leaves the area, to be replaced by a younger man. It is soon obvious by his actions that he is in love with the garden, and no less in love with the beautiful woman. You become aware of the strangely swift passage of time, the woman's constant presence and watchful eyes, and the aging of the man who now tends the garden with great care.

The silk scarf has a fine hand and drapes fluidly over any object with which it comes in contact. Embroidered in delicate knots of white spidersilk in one corner is a lovely rendition of a lily in full bloom. A faint, earthy scent clings to the scarf.

As the music of the spheres fills your head, the aged man still comes to lavish his attention on the garden. The building in the background shows its age, too, as stones and mortar loosen and fall. Ever and ever, the woman watches on.

The music takes a ghostly turn as you sing your final verse. So too does the gardener, moving now in eerie silence among the plants. And so, too, the odd critters that occasionally run through the area, the result of some strange experimentation or unlikely breeding. Still the garden thrives, as a monument to the care of the goddess of all growing things and those who love her.