Supple leather headband

This item was a prize from the Hunt for History.

Item

a supple leather headband

Show

The leather of this headband is a rich tan in color and has been worked into a suppleness that makes it comfortable and light to wear. Faint tooled script flows across the leather, so natural looking as to be almost taken for the grain of the leather itself. It reads, "Though you wander, your home stands waiting." The last word is punctuated by the stylized symbol of a hawk.

Details

A fine sylvan headband.

Loresong

The tones of your song blend into a forested scene of green leaves, rich loamy earth, and the music of a summer breeze.

A young sylvan, slender and untried, stands before a semicircle of sylvan adults. One of the adults holds a parchment before him while two others read over his shoulder and point, suggesting changes to the words written there. The murmur of voices rises and falls on the breeze that blows gently through the forest rustling leaves and occasionally dislodging an acorn. The youth watches the adults confer, but a look of wistfulness crosses his face as he turns his gaze to the sky.

The tones of your song blend into a forested scene of gold and red leaves, rich loamy earth and the music of a crisp autumn breeze.

The young sylvan now sits in peaceful glade at the side of a craftsman whose head is bent over a strip of leather that he is working on. The man makes a careful mark and then shows the young elf what he has done, speaking in obvious words of advice. He shows his grip on the awl and how to handle the supple leather so that it is not damaged in the work. As he speaks, a winged shadow passed briefly along the grass of the glade. A smile lights the face of the young sylvan as a hawk soars over the forest and disappears into the distance.

The tones of your song blend into a forested scene of silvery frosted branches, ice-covered earth, and the music of a chill winter breeze.

The young sylvan pulls experimentally on the string of a carved monir longbow, testing its strength and tautness. Then, in a flash, arrow is drawn from quiver, fitted to bow and sent zinging into the distance where it lands precisely in the center ring of a painted target. While its fletching is still vibrating, another arrow lands with a *thwap*, right next to it--and another and another. Then, bow lowered, the sylvan youth turns away from the target, searching. A stray beam of sunlight falls through parted tree branches and lands on a path. The youth tentatively places one foot on the path.

The tones of your song blend into a forested scene of pale green leaves and new buds, rich loamy earth, and the music of a promising spring breeze.

The young sylvan stands at the edge of the forest. Ringed around the youth stands most of the village--Councilors, artisans, and warriors. Behind lie the comforts of home and the ever sheltering canopy of trees. Before lies adventure. With a practiced movement the youth dons a leather headband and with one word strides forward. The sylvans left behind raise their hands in farewell and in promise. That single word, "Lassaran," though softly spoken, echoes along the edge of the forest, until the youth can no longer be seen.