Faelln

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== Items for trade ==
3x VHCW Self-mana Ewave Falchion
7x Snake Flare Broadsword
+27 ECW Dagger 
6x ECP Metal Breastplate
3x Mist Armor Ring Double Leather
Chaos Blade (In Prime)
== Items I'm looking for: ==
Crit Weighting Certificate
Any Enchant ASG 15 ICP Armor
Any Enchant ASG 17 IDP Armor
DB items
TD adding items
Items that use your mana to cast spells
Bandoliers
Spirit Bow/Glove
E-Bow
Recharging Crystal
Chaos Blade
Silvers Hand
Containers that reduce weight/encumberance of items in them
Sighted Bow
Unique Thrown Weapons
Unique special spears/javelins
Unique special OHE/OHB
Player forged OHE (Dagger/falchion/handaxe) OHB (Hammer) 2Hd (Maul?)
== Magical Services: ==
Scroll combining: Will combine your scrolls. This includes transferring charges from one scroll to another.
== People I'd like to talk to: ==
Jesh
Malgaftan
== Loresongs: ==
=== A thin-bladed black faenor dagger ===
*Description
Faint lines of grey slither through the black metal in place of faenor's characteristic 
green marbling. The ash-hued streaks flow down the thin blade like a braided stream, following the slight curve of its 
single honed edge to pool at its needle-sharp point. Twisted strands of grey and black suede wrap the short hilt with a 
similar pattern from guard to glaesine pommel. Trapped within the globe of perfectly clear glaes, three withered blue-grey 
leaves hang limply. A faint aura of holy light radiates from the dagger.
*Loresong
As the first notes of your song fill the air, everything around you becomes suffuse with an overwhelming soft blue light. 
The sounds of children playing and leaves rustling in a soft breeze are replaced by a solitary man sitting at a fire, 
speaking quietly from under a deep grey-green hood. His voice fades in, as if you had been late. With a glare at you, he
 continues, "You know all how rare the glowbark tree is, no doubt, and how precious its wood. A woodsman who finds one can 
count his fortunes assured for the rest of his life; a woodsman who finds two knows his children will have the same security. 
To find three would take luck beyond all reckoning. Yet once there was a sylvan village nestled near just such a grove, and 
it is from that village that this blade comes."
You skillfully continue to build your song, your vision darkens, and the blue lights stream across the sky like perfect 
sapphires strung on black velvet. The fire returns, crackling in the closeness of the spare you share with the story-teller 
as he continues, "It was a small village and simple, hidden deep within the forests far west of Ta'Nalfein. The forest elves 
who dwelled there husbanded their trees well, working only with chance-fallen limbs and leaves and thanking Imaera for the 
bounty she had bestowed upon them."
Leaves, yes. The properties of glowbark wood are well known, of course, but fewer know the beauty of their luminous blue 
leaves, for the glow fades quickly as the leaves wither, and only those who live near a tree can adorn themselves with the 
glowing foliage, as the sylvans did.
They used the leaves as jewelry, and to light their treetop homes for festivals, and as the centuries went by they even 
learned to work a secret magic that would keep the leaves fresh long after their natural time. One sylvan, wise in the 
ways of forest magic, went beyond that. He learned to cast the spell so that the leaves would glow more brightly when 
pointed towards the village than away, so that those who wandered far would never fear losing the way home.
Alas, the lad died young, and the spell died with him, but he left behind him some dozens of enchanted leaves, and the 
sylvans used them well. What they did with most of them does not concern us, but three they set within the pommel of a dagger 
they named Wayfinder, which was given to the chief of their rangers as a mark of rank. The blade was fair, crafted 
from grass-green faenor and wrapped about the hilt with gold and ivory silk, and all who bore it wore it with pride.
You skillfully continue to build your song, and the blue mist swirls around you in time to the melody. The blades 
clashing and the wounded screaming in agony assault you from every angle before fading away again to that same fire - that 
same teller. With a cough, as if he had been waiting for you to return, he continues, "So it passed from hand to hand, 
until a time some fifty years ago, when the ranger then in possession happened by chance upon a party of humans in the 
wood. Now sylvans are wise in the ways of the forest, and how the ranger happened to be caught by the humans, I can 
only guess. Perhaps he mistook them for elves, for humans were strange in these parts; perhaps a twig gave way under 
his weight. In any case, he was seen, and the humans lost no time in capturing him."
The ranger's fate is a tale for another time, and not the least because I do not know it, but I know this. They took 
Wayfinder and followed it to the village in the shade of the glowbark trees and there with axes and knives they hacked 
the trees to pieces. The sylvans sought to defend their home, of course, but they had been caught sleeping and unawares, 
and the humans outnumbered them. Though some of the woodcutters fell to arrows, more of the sylvans fell to blades.
When the battle ended, the humans hauled the logs and branches away, leaving only the blue leaves to fade and wither on 
the ground. The dagger Wayfinder they left as well. They thrust in the stump of the largest glowbark, for its magic had 
been tied to the trees, and when the glowbark fell, its charmed leaves shriveled and its blade turned black and dull.
You skillfully continue to build your song, and grey mists swirl around you in time to the melody. The strong smell of 
burning wood and the taste of ash fills your nose and mouth. The fire returns, and the teller still sits, looking out 
from the deep shadows of his hood. He continues,"
One wounded sylvan survived, and a handful of others, who had been out wandering the woods, found him there and nursed 
him back to health. He was the brother of the chief of the rangers who had vanished, and while the others met in counsel 
to choose a new home, for their village held only foul memories now, he claimed Wayfinder for himself. He sharpened its 
blade, though it left the metal thin and delicate, and wrapped its hilt in colors of mourning. Ashbringer, he renamed it, 
for that was what it had brought to his home."
When the others set out east for more fair forests, Ashbringer's bearer took his leave of them. His path led west, for he 
meant to find his brother's fate and seek revenge. The others counseled him against this, but he would not heed them, and 
at last they parted ways with sorrowful words.
Quietly, the hooded teller says, "Did he find what he sought? Well, that you'd have to ask of him. But you must know he 
found some peace, for he told me this tale himself, and passed Ashbringer on to me infavor of a better-omened blade. When 
last I saw him, he was headed east, and while his eyes were tired, there was the faintest of smiles on his lips."
The black faenor dagger flares with an ash-grey pallor before going dark.
=== A bright coraesine handaxe marked with a flight of ravens ===
*Description
Two bands of sigils are engraved along the length of the blade, intertwining among one another as they twist and shift slowly.
The swirling orb-shaped sigil pulses rapidly with a pale white glow.
A wreath of misty thorns continually spiral and twist around the length of the coraesine handaxe in a twining dance, their 
tips swept with deep scarlet.
*Loresong
The handaxe begins to resonate with the tone of your voice, and you find your vision swept away on currents of air...
Only to be replaced by utter darkness. But other things reach you in the blackness of the earth that surrounds you 
entirely... waves of power wash across you, soothing the very core of your being as threads of essence curl and nestle 
within you.
Millenia pass by in a heartbeat -- the power only growing further within you -- its mere presence further changing and 
shaping you as you stand as a silent and ancient receiver of its strength.
The blackness gradually fades away into the vivid colors of reality.
The heavy darkness returns to you once more as the handaxe gives way to the power of your song...
As you become used to the gradual waves of power collecting within you, flashes of bright white light accompany the 
darkness -- as if another awareness were reaching out to you.
As the years continue to pass by, the flashes become more drawn out -- their whiteness resolving into a pale grey that 
encompasses everything, as if the world itself were a huge swirling vortex of mist-laden air, its eddies and currents 
stretching for untold miles as it constantly shifts and reforms itself in an ethereal dance of beauty.
Realizing that somehow these visions are connected to the power which even now washes over and fills you completely -- 
the very power that fuels the awareness you now experience. You surrender yourself to the visions, and you feel the 
white-hot explosion of the power within you pushing you into transcendence...
And then the vision fades away into nothing but a lingering memory.
A tingling sensation overcomes you as the darkness settles over your vision once again...
Vaguely aware of your surroundings, you push at the borders of your dark world, your presence manifesting itself by 
slamming against the surrounding rock to no avail. With little else to do, you take in the power that has forever 
washed over you for centuries...
Until a chink of light breaks the endless blackness, a tear in the great velvet shroud illuminates your world...and 
you find yourself falling...
Dimly aware of the world, you sense a strange, alien presence among you, radiating its own sense of power as it 
retrieves you...
The world becomes a dizzying array of new sensations as you're moved for the first time in you existence. It soon 
melts away into reality as the vision comes to an end.
A strange heat ripples along your spine as the handaxe surrenders to your song...
You feel heat surround you on all sides, and intermittent strikes from above shape your form into something new 
altogether. You focus your power upwards occasionally striking the alien presence hovering near you -- the vibrations 
of its startled screams passing over your surface. The being's determination is relentless, however, and you find 
yourself wrought into a new form...
Soon after, you feel a distinctly different presence -- alien, as the others, but radiating a strange sensation -- 
a vaguely familiar feeling that touched you in ages past.
The vision's blackness recedes into the warmth of reality.
Tingling sensations race across the black void as you're plunged into it...
The familiar presence touches you with its power -- and for a moment you feel a white-hot surge of essence burst through 
you -- and then the blackness recedes into a hazy image of the world around you...as if you were seeing through the 
being's eyes.
Dark cavernous walls surround you, and the lithe shadow of the Faendryl wielding you plays across the craggy surface. 
As you feel yourself whisked through the air and feel your edge slice into the body of another awareness...a strange 
energy courses through you, further amplifying your power -- allowing you to better understand the familiar presence 
which now wields you. Focusing your energies, you unleash a burst of essence, shrouding the one who wields you in a 
cloak of air -- propelling him into a second strike quicker than lightning against the alien presence, which expires.
The washed-out vision gives way to the lush colors of reality.
You sense the weight of many years as you delve into the memories of the coraesine handaxe...
The master fluidly slices through battle, your senses perfectly in tune with his own. Calling up your power, you extend 
your presence to aid and protect him as he defeats foe after foe -- the number of alien presences surrounding you 
innumerable.
As the battle rages on, you sense a presence behind the master, poised to strike -- you twist in his grip to block the 
blow, but it is too late -- you feel the spark of his life fade away like a dying star and you merely drop to the ground.
The alien slayer reaches to pick you up, and you surge forth with your power to sprout spikes that flay off the 
presence's flesh, causing its rumbling screams to vibrate along your surface.
No longer able to sense the master who bonded with you so long ago nor see through his eyes, your world fades into 
darkness...
And the vision comes to a close, the darkness gradually fading into reality.
You get a sense that was the handaxe's last memory.
The power of your song is pushed right back at you by the coraesine handaxe, rendering you completely clueless as to 
its properties. Perhaps you should try again.
== Links ==
Padding link: 
Ranged Weapon link: 
Thrown Weapon link: 
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