Falcon-headed cloak pin
Located in the River's Rest Museum, West Shelf. Belonged to Millah Pradapt.
Item Description
The cloak pin is a disk of carved onyx. Inset in silver is a stylized image of a falcon's head. On the obverse side of the onyx pin is the inscription "Falcon Company...First to Fight." A small nick mars the beauty of the cloak pin.
Loresong
Once sung to by a bard, it became apparent that the nick was not the result of time, but bore witness to a fortuitous event in the original bearer's life, and death. Frijthof pressed Oliga, a bardess who was in town at the time to sing to it and the following are the images evoked by her song as she saw them:
You become dizzy and disoriented as you begin to sing. Time becomes fluid, distance becomes an illusion. As your senses recover you see a gathering of young, uniformed men and women of all races...Elves, Humans, Halflings, Giantkin, Dwarves. They stand in formation in a large, marble-floored chamber. In the background are six pennants, three in blue and three buff-colored. On the buff pennants are the images of a boar, a ram and a thrak. On the blue pennants are a falcon, a hawk and an eagle. In the center of the room is a marble stairway. Standing on the bottom step is a tall warrior in battle armor. A large blade hangs naked at his side. One by one the young cadets step proudly forward and are embraced by the tall warrior, who then presents them with a cloak pin.
Out of the mist comes a patrol of young soldiers wearing blue-grey cloaks, all bearing the falcon head cloak pin. They are led by a grizzled, human sergeant. His face bears the scars of many battles and brawls, one ear has been almost completely chewed off. The sergeant glares at a young, half-elven woman hobbling near the rear of the patrol. He raises a hand to his mouth and makes a soft clucking sound like a nesting grouse. The patrol halts. Four soldiers take perimeter stations while the rest relax. The sergeant gestures for the young half-elven woman to remove her new boots. Her feet are covered with bleeding and oozing blisters. The sergeant mutters to himself and reaches into his pack for a jar of salve.
As I continue my song I find myself suddenly surrounded by noise. Shouts of desperation, the barking of orders, the clash of weapons, the screaming of wounded. Soldiers wearing blue-grey cloaks are in a running skirmish by a large band of trolls and krolvin pirates. The half-elven woman, older now and bearing a fresh wound in her arm, tugs at her broadsword, which is firmly wedged in the ribs of a dying krolvin. The grizzled sergeant, herding his squad toward the tall spires of a citadel, hesitates long enough to shout at her. He kicks a krolvin boarding axe in her direction. She snatches it up, grinning fiercely. They run to catch up with the others, pursued by howling trolls and barking krolvin.
As I sing the scene shifts again. Now you are haunted by a deathly quiet. You see the one-eared sergeant pull shut the door of whitewashed building. Inside are hallways leading north, east and west. Furniture is piled in each of the hallways, forming crude barricades. The sergeant clambers over one barricade to where a small band of soldiers rests, sharpening their weapons and repairing the straps of their armor. The half-elven woman has her back to the wall, half asleep, the krolvin boarding axe still in her fist. The sergeant walks among the soldiers, offering advice and words of encouragement...though none of hope. Suddenly a krolvin pirate leaps over the barricade, thrusting a spear into the chest of the sergeant As he collapses still more krolvin attack. The half-elven woman kills the first krolvin and stands over her fallen sergeant, dealing death to any foe who comes within the reach of her blade. A thrown dagger strikes her cloak pin and ricochets into her throat. She falls to one knee, puts one hand to her throat, looks up into the battle-crazed face of a krolvin, sees an axe blade arcing toward her head....