An orb-inset fel talisman was a do-it-yourself heavily scripted Lornon-themed items: the winner worked with GameMaster Kaikala to come up with a unique, intricate prize. They were auctioned off at the Ebon Gate auctions in 2006 and 2009.
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|| Tilting your fel talisman up slightly, you look deeply into its orb, as if you might somehow be able to see beyond the glowing, dark light that emanates from it. As you continue gazing, the image of the Bringer of Terror, a cruel sneer crossing the black jackal's expression stares up through the orb at you. The image lingers momentarily, and then flows across the orb and fades out of sight.
You blink your eyes, clearing the vision away.
| Tilting his fel talisman up slightly, Owner gazes intently at it, his eyes clearly focused on the orb.
|| You tug at your fel talisman, reverently running your fingers along its edges. As you do so, you chant a short recitation of praise to Sheru. The orb on your talisman pulses with deep black, as if in answer to your words.
|| Owner tugs at his fel talisman, reverently running his fingers along its edges. You hear his chant softly, his exact words difficult to make out, though you clearly hear the name "Sheru" murmured with veneration. The orb on Owner's talisman softly pulses with deep black.
|| As you rub your forefinger over the orb on the surface of your fel talisman, it glows lightly, the image of the moon of Lornon, wreathed in clouds, suddenly illuminated.
|| As Owner rubs his forefinger over the orb on the surface of his fel talisman, it glows faintly, a swirling, dark grey image momentarily scrolling over the orb.
|| Throwing your head back slightly, you raise your arms to the sky in prayer, your lips silently moving in recitation. A deep, scratchy chuckle resounds through your mind, your fel talisman darkening until the sound fades away.
|| Throwing his head back slightly, Owner raises his arms to the sky in prayer, his lips silently moving in recitation, and his fel talisman briefly darkens.
|| Brushing your fingertips over your fel talisman, a striking image pervades the orb's surface:
- You look down from far above on a verdant land splashed over with warmth and green, filled with life and color. A handful of men and women stride into view, trampling across the land, with little regard for where they step. In their wake, plants dry up, lakes fill with blood, and mountains crumble under earthquakes. The sky itself fills with gas and dark mist, and the land literally withers and dies under their feet. All at once, as the last speck of life fades away, the men and women turn their faces upwards towards you, and you see that they are the human manifestations of the Lornon Arkati.
- Riddled with shredded scales and gaping wounds, a magnificent blue drake crashes down into scorched earth, the light from her golden eyes slowly fading away. The image shifts slightly, a long passage of time clearly observable in the surrounding land, until an ancient-looking figure appears. Casually observant, his yellow slit-pupiled eyes run over the length of the fallen drake, and he inspects her as if she were a mere plaything, occassionally nodding to himself as he irreverently jabs at her torn remains. Finally, with a small smile spreading across his lips, the figure strides away.
- Rich, dark hair flows from the jewel-crowned head of a strikingly beautiful goddess as she stands atop a jagged, black peak. Obviously a queen, the crowned figure smirks down at those who gather below her. Bathed in shadows, and lit only by intermittant flashes of lightning, a handful of gods and goddesses stand in a circle, their expressions full of a range of the darker emotions. While they appear to pay rapt attention to one another, each seems to have an individual presence of callousness that explains the gap between each in the ring of bodies.
- Standing in between the blackened Gates of Oblivion, a white-winged woman with long, silver hair and brilliant blue eyes holds her hands up in the air, wrists together and palms out. Floating just above her cupped hands, a tiny representation of the Lornon moon floats, its swirling grey sphere wreathed around the center in dark clouds. Surrounding the woman are the other Lornon Arkati, grasping and grabbing at the moon, each vying to hold it in their own grip.
The image fades away, your fel talisman merely lit with a glowing, dark light.
| Brushing his fingertips over his fel talisman, which flashes with sudden color and movement, Owner appears lost in thought.
|| You rotate your fel talisman, and a wave of icy cold moves through your bloodstream, the air around you seemingly devoid of life in the halo of darkness that momentarily engulfs you. For a moment's time, you feel as though you are entangled in the grip of Lornon. Then as quickly as it began, it swiftly ends.
|| Owner rotates his fel talisman, turning it easily. Quite suddenly, the air is riddled with a chill, and Owner seems to nearly glow with an inner dark light, which fades as soon as he releases his talisman.
|| Pulling the cord over your head and lifing the fel talisman away from your skin, the talisman's cool quite suddenly dissipates and its glowing, dark light winks out.
|| The glowing, dark light imbued in Owner's talisman quickly winks out as he pulls its cord over his head.
|| As you slide the fel talisman over your head, it begins to pulse slightly with a glowing, dark light. Suddenly icy to the touch, the talisman comes to rest against your skin, and a wave of numbing cold flows through you.
|| As Owner slides an orb-inset fel talisman over his head, it begins to pulse slightly with a glowing, dark light, and a brief wave of cold flows through the area.
The Sheru-themed orb-inset fel talisman was created after the Ebon Gate 2006 auction.
Tendrils of fel curl around a bloodjewel orb, each finger of dark wood shaped into a slender claw tipped sharply at each end. The orb is the deep, dark red of a pure bloodjewel, nearly black towards the middle that lightens to a vivid scarlet hue along the surface of the orb. Along the orb's bottom, elegantly etched words alongside the slim outline of a jackal are filled in with obsidian. There appears to be something written on it.
In the Common language, it reads:
Without a nightmare, a dream can never be sweet.
|Lying in darkness, your eyelids are heavy, and slowly, ever so slowly, they droop closed. A scream brings you awake from dreamless sleep. You turn your head, looking for the source of the sound, but all you see is the empty bedroll next to you, void of its occupant. Desperate concern flows through you, quickly followed by fear. Another cry sounds, this one more intensely felt, full of horror, terror. You stand, moving quickly towards the sound. You hear the words, "Bren! Where are you?" tumble from your lips in a strangled shout.
||Loresinger's face is focused, concentrated, and then suddenly laced with fear.
|Another scream, shrill, responds. You are closer to its source, and you run through jungle ferns and along slushy mud. You pick up your pace as the sound, laced with horror, slices through the air again. You stumble over several roots, nearly falling and waking from the vision just in time to catch yourself.
Your sight is dim as you open your eyes into the vision. A shiver runs through you as another shriek explodes in the air, this one lower in tone, devoid of hope. You are close now. The wail sounds once more, fading in volume, almost gurgling as it is suddenly cut off. The distinct sound of ripping flesh, chewing, panting, replaces it. You suddenly stumble over a form, falling partially on it. A warm, gooey, sticky substance covers your fingers. Picking yourself up, you suddenly see a dark form--a large, black jackal, yellow eyes filled with intelligence, gleaming white teeth slick with fresh blood as it looks up at you. You hear gurgling come from under you and realize that you're atop a still humanoid figure, still warm, still fresh, in its death. As you hear yourself scream, with the pain of loss, and with fresh terror, you convulse and awake from the vision.
|Looking up with an expression of horror, Loresinger violently convulses several times in a row.
|As you race into the vision this time, you are running as quickly as you can. The sound of a large shape pounding through the jungle, its panting heavy, reverberates through your ears you are being hunted you are prey. Panic courses through your veins, the terror pounding into your head so hard that your ears ring with the pain. The ferns snap behind you. The panting grows louder. Faster. You must run faster. How your body hasn't given out yet, you aren't certain. Then, light. You see light ahead. As you tear towards the glow, you see a clearing filled with life start to take shape. Safety--you feel a sense of hope flood your body as your steps carry you forward at lightning speed. The panting recedes. Fifty paces to go. Thirty paces. Twenty paces. Fifteen paces. The wind is knocked out of you as the jackal hits you full force from behind, causing you to slam into the ground.
||Loresinger pants heavily, as if he were rapidly running. Then, without warning, he is jerkily buffeted to one side, as if hit by a heavy object.
|You blink, trying desperately to clear your head. You still feel the fear, feel it going strong. "She betrayed me." Instead of the jackal, a man looms over you, shrouded in darkness. "You betrayed me." The terror rises anew. You see a flash of claws from the corner of your eye. "Anything to say?" The claws are at your neck, their points biting in to your skin, drawing pinpricks of blood. You feel yourself freeze. Then, words are whispered from your mouth, so low in tone that you don't even hear them. The figure, however, looks at you for a long moment, his hooded eyes boring into you. Then he slowly nods. The claws retract. Without a second glance, he steps into the shadows and darkness descends on you. You blink. The terror has subsided somewhat, though you still feel the adrenaline running through your veins. You turn slightly, finding that you are on your bedroll once again, and next to you, a blonde-haired figure sleeps soundly, as if nothing has happened. You are as you were.
You hear yourself whisper, "It must have been a dream... a nightmare..." You turn over to try and sleep once more. As you move your hand to rest your head against it, your fingers brush against your neck. There, you feel a row of punctures. You jerk awake.
|Loresinger whispers, "It must have been a dream... a nightmare..." as pinpricks of blood appear along his neck. He brushes his fingers along the blood, causing the illusion to fade away as Loresinger jerks as if startled.
| Orb-inset fel talisman Information
| Item(s) Applied to
| Original Release Venue
| Original Release Year