Gloves of Tonis

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Gloves of Tonis are an auction item from the Ebon Gate 2009 auction.


a pair of pale blue gauntlets
From the Ebon Gate 2009 Auction.
a pair of pale blue suede gloves branded with silvery wing symbols along the palms
From the Ebon Gate 2009 Auction.


Persistent, +20 pick pocket, 1x hour Call Wind (912), and random (15 percent) chance to speed up for a single offensive attack.

You swing the creature 'testing' longsword at a glistening cerebralite!
  AS: +490 vs DS: +391 with AvD: +41 + d100 roll: +5 = +145
  ... and hit for 22 points of damage!
  Gash to the glistening cerebralite's right eyebrow.
  That's going to be quite a shiner!
  The glistening cerebralite is stunned!
Roundtime: 5 sec.
Roundtime changed to 3 seconds.

A forceful squall suddenly shoots through your pale blue gloves, drawing your movements along their intended path!
[Roll result: 134 (open d100: 83) Bonus: 10]
You rush towards a murky soul siphon and connect with a shoulder check!
You manage to knock a murky soul siphon flat on its back!
Roundtime: 5 sec.
Roundtime changed to 3 seconds.


Your song draws forth the tale of the gloves, washing over them in waves of melody. As your vision clouds, the sudden salty smell of the sea infiltrates your nostrils. The distant sound of seagulls echoes in your mind and the image of a beach unfolds before you. Driftwood and seaweed are strung about, and the clear blue water laps softly at the sand, drawing it forth to the waiting ocean. The hull of a boat occupies the majority of the shoreline, and your vision centers upon it easily. Splintered boards, faded and covered in dried sea salt, jut forth from the side that you face and the mast is split in half, part of it hanging low over the stern. A broken oar is cast upon the nearby sand and several containers spill forth from the hole opening up near the bow. As you feel your vision narrowing in on the crates, you can pick out several articles of torn, stained clothing as well as rusted trinkets and broken picture frames. The vision slowly fades, but you have the feeling there is more to be told.

As you continue to sing to the gloves, the powerful draw of your melody coaxes forth more of the tale. A vision unfolds of a family gathering in a vast field, picnic tables and tents occupying the center. Several groups of people dot the clearing, some playing games, others simply sitting and talking amongst themselves, and still others preparing food upon the tables. Your vision hones in upon a large tree where an elderly man stands, speaking quietly to a young teenaged boy who has the same hair as his elder. The older man gestures animatedly to his counterpart, who gazes up at him with wide, vividly attentive eyes as he listens to whatever tale is being told so vigorously. The man grins from time to time, obviously heavily involved in his tale, gesturing to emphasize one point or another, and changing the expression on his face in periodic intervals. The teenager grins as the elderly man finally ends his tale, and he nods emphatically, then glances behind the mans back where he clutches something hidden from view. The man begins to show his hand when the vision fades, just short of discovering what it is he holds.

Your song washes over the gloves once more, yet again drawing forth more of its tale. The vision unfolds before you, revealing the scene of a young adult male who is traveling through treacherous terrain upon the edge of a mountainside. The sky is full of low-hanging clouds and snow drifts down, blanketing the surroundings in a soft white cloud. The wind is whipping about him and his trail is narrow, causing him to cling to the side of the rocky giant he traverses with one hand while continuing to trudge forth carefully. Your vision narrows in on the young man, his face red with the toll of the cold upon his skin, his teeth chattering and his heavy cloak pulled firmly around his neck and body as it flails behind him in the rough wind. He pauses, catching his breath for a moment and rubbing his hands together to create warmth and circulation, the pale blue suede gloves covering them only providing minimal coverage against the bitter elements.

As he stands back up and prepares to round the corner of the mountainside, his back bent slightly under the weight of his gear, a large arctic beast bears down upon him as it descends the trail. He lets out a gasp of surprise, fumbling for his weapon with numb fingers as the snow and wind bites at his flesh, blocking part of his vision and slowing his reaction. The monstrous creature treks forward, at home in this chilled environment and sure of its footing upon the narrow trail, its fangs bared and its roar malevolent as it advances. The male stumbles backwards, slipping upon icy terrain just as he retrieves his weapon and it slips from his grip, clattering down the mountainside as it disappears into the snow-filled valley below. He stares at it in horror, knowing that his fate is surely sealed, and then back up at the creature bearing down upon him without pause. Suddenly, a look of consideration comes over his face and he stares at his gloved hands, then back at the creature. At the last possible moment, he jumps up and claps both hands together in front of the creature, much to its dumbfounded surprise! A burst of violent wind whips forth from the young man, billowing out with enough force to knock the unsuspecting monster down from the trail, where it tumbles wailing and roaring into the valley below. The vision fades to the incredulous gawk of the young man, who stares first at the valley below, then at his gloves in shock. The last sound heard is a triumphant WHOOP as the young male cries out, "Thank you grandfather!" into the wailing wind of the mountainside.

As you attempt to draw forth yet more of the gloves's tale, your song powers forth and a vision unfolds before you. The same young man stands upon the bow of a boat, reaching out and taking crates and luggage from family members who stand nearby to help him load his cargo. The man is much older, now, and two children and what appears to be his wife stand not far away on the vessel, waving and talking to others who stand on the dock. The elderly man of earlier steps up onto the gangplank and moves close to the man after the cargo is loaded, handing him a last container with careful hands. The man looks at his grandfather for a moment, his eyes inquisitive and almost saddened, and they converse for a moment. Afterwards, he nods and kisses the elderly man on the cheek, before pushing off from the dock and starting the journey. The family stand behind and wave, watching the vessel disappear into the vast blue waters of the sea.

The vision changes slowly, to that of the man sitting in his cabin as he unpacks his things quietly. There is no sign of the woman and children, and the light of an oil lamp flickers nearby, illuminating the otherwise shadowed room in pallid light. Slowly, he picks up the crate given to him by his grandfather and sets it on the bunk, unfastening its lid and lifting it to reveal the contents. A pair of golden leather boots with silver wings embroidered on the ankles rests within, cradled gently in a pile of velvet. The leather is faded somewhat, but polished heavily and oiled often from the appearance of the footwear. The mans eyes twinkle as he retrieves a note, scanning the parchment for a moment, then breaking out in a grin. He reaches over to a small table nearby and retrieves the pale blue suede gloves of earlier, placing them in the container with the boots and closing the lid gently. He puts the crate beneath his bunk and chuckles quietly to himself, shaking his head as he once more murmurs, "Thank you, grandfather," and extinguishes the oil lamp, dousing the cabin in shadows. The vision slowly fades.

The purpose of the blue suede gloves eludes you, as its makeup seems to be in discord with the harmony of your voice. You learn nothing new about the gloves.