User:TWILSON - Revision history

TWILSON at 06:09, 1 March 2026

2026-03-01T06:09:48Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 01:09, 1 March 2026
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	<pre{{log2}}>		<pre{{log2}}>
	As you sing to the tambourine, your melody evokes various impressions from the ash. The smell of ambrominas leaves drifts past, and the image of a shack near a tournament field forms briefly before your eyes. In the shack's slouching doorway, you observe a fair sylvan woman finishing the last touches on the creation of her ash tambourine. The fragile vision dissolves almost as quickly as it came.		As you sing to the tambourine, your melody evokes various impressions from the ash. The smell of ambrominas leaves drifts past, and the image of a shack near a tournament field forms briefly before your eyes. In the shack's slouching doorway, you observe a fair sylvan woman finishing the last touches on the creation of her ash tambourine. The fragile vision dissolves almost as quickly as it came.


	Your magical song delves into the nature of the tambourine, evoking the image of an awkward elven woman. The woman is falling-down drunk and wears loose cotton clothing. A glossy spider watches from the center of its web as the elven woman buys the ash tambourine from the same sylvan woman that you observed before. The sound of a coyote yipping surrounds you as the image fades away.		Your magical song delves into the nature of the tambourine, evoking the image of an awkward elven woman. The woman is falling-down drunk and wears loose cotton clothing. A glossy spider watches from the center of its web as the elven woman buys the ash tambourine from the same sylvan woman that you observed before. The sound of a coyote yipping surrounds you as the image fades away.


	Harmonies echo from the heart of your tambourine, and those harmonies swell around you, guiding you into a vision. You see a sun-scorched field, and the elven woman crouches in the field playing the ash tambourine. A circle of huntmistresses listens, responding to the disbelief evident in the powerful music. The vision ends as you finish your verse.		Harmonies echo from the heart of your tambourine, and those harmonies swell around you, guiding you into a vision. You see a sun-scorched field, and the elven woman crouches in the field playing the ash tambourine. A circle of huntmistresses listens, responding to the disbelief evident in the powerful music. The vision ends as you finish your verse.


	The resonances of the ash tambourine flow over you as sensory impressions. You hear someone singing Song of Tonis and smell melted wax before the magic of your loresong draws you into a vision. You see a rooftop garden, and, beneath a jasmine tree, the sylvan woman of the first verse sits conversing with the elven woman. Vigilance shines in the elven woman's eyes as the sylvan woman acquires the ash tambourine from her. The image dissolves away.		The resonances of the ash tambourine flow over you as sensory impressions. You hear someone singing Song of Tonis and smell melted wax before the magic of your loresong draws you into a vision. You see a rooftop garden, and, beneath a jasmine tree, the sylvan woman of the first verse sits conversing with the elven woman. Vigilance shines in the elven woman's eyes as the sylvan woman acquires the ash tambourine from her. The image dissolves away.


	You sing to the tambourine, but receive only the normal harmonies of ash in return. You sense that no one could have learned more about the instrument's history than you learned. The harmonies fade as you finish your verse.		You sing to the tambourine, but receive only the normal harmonies of ash in return. You sense that no one could have learned more about the instrument's history than you learned. The harmonies fade as you finish your verse.

	Your song waxes and wanes, but the vibrations yield only a quick, meaningless scattering of sensory impressions to you, all of which come too quickly and fade too swiftly to be identified.		Your song waxes and wanes, but the vibrations yield only a quick, meaningless scattering of sensory impressions to you, all of which come too quickly and fade too swiftly to be identified.
			</pre>

			'''a butterfly charm'''
			<pre{{log2}}>
			As you sing, you discover that a butterfly charm is very light and very valuable, a true bit of beauty in a harsh world.

			As you continue to sing, an image forms before your eyes. Thousands, possibly millions of butterflies mass together in the sky. Rainbow colors flash on and off with the opening and closing of their wings. Bits of the image seem to come closer, and you notice not a single one is alike.

			Below the jeweled cloud, a young girl turns to her mother and says, "Mother, they're so beautiful -- why do they live such a short time? It doesn't seem fair." The woman looks up at the living rainbow, then closes her eyes before replying, "No, my dear, it doesn't." With a smile, she raises her hands and they begin to glow...

			As you continue to sing, the perspective changes, and it seems you are looking down upon the outstretched arms of a woman from a dozen different eyes, then a hundred, then images beyond number. A voice whispers in your ear a promise, a trade of a small piece of your freedom for long life and companionship. You dive towards the welcoming arms, and as you do, your form begins to stiffen and change. The feeling is not unpleasant, and the last thing you hear before the vision vanishes is the delighted laughter of a child.
	</pre>		</pre>

TWILSON at 01:22, 15 April 2024

2024-04-15T01:22:45Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 20:22, 14 April 2024
Line 10:		Line 10:

	Harmonies echo from the heart of your tambourine, and those harmonies swell around you, guiding you into a vision. You see a sun-scorched field, and the elven woman crouches in the field playing the ash tambourine. A circle of huntmistresses listens, responding to the disbelief evident in the powerful music. The vision ends as you finish your verse.		Harmonies echo from the heart of your tambourine, and those harmonies swell around you, guiding you into a vision. You see a sun-scorched field, and the elven woman crouches in the field playing the ash tambourine. A circle of huntmistresses listens, responding to the disbelief evident in the powerful music. The vision ends as you finish your verse.

TWILSON: Created page with "Fancy loresongs I've found on some of my items. '''a sylvan ash tambourine inlaid with glaesine''' As you sing to the tambourine, your melody evokes various impressions from the ash. The smell of ambrominas leaves drifts past, and the image of a shack near a tournament field forms briefly before your eyes. In the shack's slouching doorway, you observe a fair sylvan woman finishing the last touches on the creation of her ash tambourine. The fragile visio..."

2023-12-06T08:22:45Z

Created page with "Fancy loresongs I've found on some of my items. '''a sylvan ash tambourine inlaid with glaesine''' <pre{{log2}}> As you sing to the tambourine, your melody evokes various impressions from the ash. The smell of ambrominas leaves drifts past, and the image of a shack near a tournament field forms briefly before your eyes. In the shack's slouching doorway, you observe a fair sylvan woman finishing the last touches on the creation of her ash tambourine. The fragile visio..."

New page

Fancy loresongs I've found on some of my items.

'''a sylvan ash tambourine inlaid with glaesine'''
<pre{{log2}}>
As you sing to the tambourine, your melody evokes various impressions from the ash. The smell of ambrominas leaves drifts past, and the image of a shack near a tournament field forms briefly before your eyes. In the shack's slouching doorway, you observe a fair sylvan woman finishing the last touches on the creation of her ash tambourine. The fragile vision dissolves almost as quickly as it came.

Your magical song delves into the nature of the tambourine, evoking the image of an awkward elven woman. The woman is falling-down drunk and wears loose cotton clothing. A glossy spider watches from the center of its web as the elven woman buys the ash tambourine from the same sylvan woman that you observed before. The sound of a coyote yipping surrounds you as the image fades away.

Harmonies echo from the heart of your tambourine, and those harmonies swell around you, guiding you into a vision. You see a sun-scorched field, and the elven woman crouches in the field playing the ash tambourine. A circle of huntmistresses listens, responding to the disbelief evident in the powerful music. The vision ends as you finish your verse.

The resonances of the ash tambourine flow over you as sensory impressions. You hear someone singing Song of Tonis and smell melted wax before the magic of your loresong draws you into a vision. You see a rooftop garden, and, beneath a jasmine tree, the sylvan woman of the first verse sits conversing with the elven woman. Vigilance shines in the elven woman's eyes as the sylvan woman acquires the ash tambourine from her. The image dissolves away.

You sing to the tambourine, but receive only the normal harmonies of ash in return. You sense that no one could have learned more about the instrument's history than you learned. The harmonies fade as you finish your verse.

Your song waxes and wanes, but the vibrations yield only a quick, meaningless scattering of sensory impressions to you, all of which come too quickly and fade too swiftly to be identified.
</pre>