Obsidian-tip black veniom lockpick

This item was a prize from the Hunt for History.

Item

an obsidian-tip black veniom lockpick

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Although the veniom shaft of this lockpick seems well-crafted yet fairly standard, the small tip of black volcanic glass on the end is strangely unusual.

Details

This is an item which may once have belonged to the young Emporer Immuros.

Loresong

A sudden jolt of magic flows from the lockpick in your hand, and your song stiffens in your throat as your senses are overcome.

Blackness deeper than the core of a mountain settles upon you, but you cannot struggle against it without corporeal form. The entire world seems to shift around slowly, and, without seeing, you realize you must be thousands of feet beneath the surface of the ocean.

Violent surges suddenly ripple through the surrounding water, as two immense beasts of the deep lock into mortal combat. Heat trickles through the frigid depths as blood is drawn, and the quivering vibrations escalate to a thrashing crescendo. Perspective is shattered as one of the mammoth forms careens bodily into an outcropping of volcanic glass, and part of the deep-sea obsidian growth shatters off into the dying beast.

You feel a rising sensation as your being joins that of the dying creature, floating slowly upward through the brine toward the surface. A throb of dull energy from the obsidian lacing the beast's wounds echoes as your vision returns to normal.

Again feeling your intonations strike their mark within the lockpick, your vision tunnels to a pinpoint of light and then explodes into new sight.

Lapping waves ease into audibility, and a gentle breeze of salt-laden air brushes past. Throaty cries from overfed gulls knife through the air, slowly beckoning your illusory eyes to open. The scene that greets your sight is that of a large cove, where a gigantic corpse of indescribable hooks and tentacles has washed ashore. Wounds from mighty slashes and stabs riddle the carcass, though pale in viciousness compared to the bite wound, big enough for a wagon to pass through, on its belly.

As you watch, a young human boy crashes from the thick jungle and onto the beach. He skids to a halt in the sand, and his mouth and eyes open to their widest extent. Shock quickly turns to amazement when the lad seems to realize the beast is thoroughly dead, and he tentatively approaches the bloated, washed-up horror.

Your vision is drawn forward as you see the boy notice the black glimmering fragments of glass piercing one of the monster's wounds. His hand stretches toward a shard, but your music trails off and the vision ends before you can see more.

Smoothly bringing the magical energy built from your song to bear upon the lockpick, light flickers and reality is overcome by illusion.

Resolving into the inside of a dusty gem shop, the vision again shows the young boy from the cove. He is holding out his open palm, and a man who must be the shopkeeper is bending over examining his find. Glistening as if still wet from their birth beneath the sea, the fingernail-sized shards of obsidian in the boy's hand are sharply contrasted against his pale skin.

Nodding finally, the gem dealer loosens the strings on one of his belt pouches and digs out a small handful of silver coins. The boy's face lights up and he accepts the silvers, and then carefully tips the contents of his palm onto the cloth-covered counter.

As the shards fall, they emit a musical chiming sound that seems to disrupt your intoned magic instantly. The scene ripples like the broken surface of a pond, and then seems to shatter into perfect squares. Each new vision displays a distinctly different scene, and comprehension grows within you, that each of them follows an individual shard as it leaves the shop toward different destinations.

Without knowing which vision to follow, your song loses its connection to the lockpick and your sight returns to normal.