Description
A gold feather made using silver and gold filigree. A crystal-clear sapphire is mounted atop it.
Desc flavor
When the sea breeze ebbed, the pink glow of dusk suffused the skies.
The seabirds never tarry where the thousand masts are anchored, leaving only scattered feathers in their wake.
The once-harmonious and magnificent symphony had its closing moment, just as no empire may rule in peace forever.
As the waters expanded, power brought not only progress and order, but arrogance, violence, and exploitation also.
In the distant city of the "people of bygone times," in the valley of the hidden exiles, even at the foot of Mount Capitolium...
The noble musicians who tuned the strains and the army of iron in glimmering mail came to take everything from the people.
Those who were yet unconquered and the mighty who had yet to have a drop of water taken from them banded together, swearing to resist to the last.
"It is as I feared, and it is as I mourned, my brother. While you sang on high, you should have heard the voices of the lowly also."
"Not all would willingly see their homes and nature stolen from them. Not all can accept our melody."
"You once called them the 'people of bygone times,' brother. But even those who pledge loyalty to the past have determination and dignity that cannot be lightly ignored."
"We once thought to conquer and dominate others, but how could the glory of our radiant kingdom—"
"Weakness! Weakness! That craven compassion of yours darkens your mind. It has made your heart soft, it has become an exposed weak spot in your back!"
"Should barbarism and ignorance yet linger in Fontaine, poisoning any of its waters, we shall exterminate them."
"If the savages should wish to join our majestic golden order, then we shall accept them, just as our glorious lord accepted us."
"But since Bane Dragon Scylla destroyed our towers and slaughtered our musicians, the envenomed, feral tribes are no longer worth saving or accepting."
"And since they are unworthy, they must be purged from the soil and the waters, just as we purged pestilence and wildfires from the land."
It was at this very moment that the golden era suddenly ceased, plunging down into ceaseless war and rebellion.
The throne chamber was filled with cries of conquest and destruction and the agony of the barbarian tribes, and the God King awoke, startled.
The seabirds never tarry where the thousand masts are anchored, leaving only scattered feathers in their wake.
The once-harmonious and magnificent symphony had its closing moment, just as no empire may rule in peace forever.
As the waters expanded, power brought not only progress and order, but arrogance, violence, and exploitation also.
In the distant city of the "people of bygone times," in the valley of the hidden exiles, even at the foot of Mount Capitolium...
The noble musicians who tuned the strains and the army of iron in glimmering mail came to take everything from the people.
Those who were yet unconquered and the mighty who had yet to have a drop of water taken from them banded together, swearing to resist to the last.
"It is as I feared, and it is as I mourned, my brother. While you sang on high, you should have heard the voices of the lowly also."
"Not all would willingly see their homes and nature stolen from them. Not all can accept our melody."
"You once called them the 'people of bygone times,' brother. But even those who pledge loyalty to the past have determination and dignity that cannot be lightly ignored."
"We once thought to conquer and dominate others, but how could the glory of our radiant kingdom—"
"Weakness! Weakness! That craven compassion of yours darkens your mind. It has made your heart soft, it has become an exposed weak spot in your back!"
"Should barbarism and ignorance yet linger in Fontaine, poisoning any of its waters, we shall exterminate them."
"If the savages should wish to join our majestic golden order, then we shall accept them, just as our glorious lord accepted us."
"But since Bane Dragon Scylla destroyed our towers and slaughtered our musicians, the envenomed, feral tribes are no longer worth saving or accepting."
"And since they are unworthy, they must be purged from the soil and the waters, just as we purged pestilence and wildfires from the land."
It was at this very moment that the golden era suddenly ceased, plunging down into ceaseless war and rebellion.
The throne chamber was filled with cries of conquest and destruction and the agony of the barbarian tribes, and the God King awoke, startled.
Artifact set
Golden Troupe
Term artifacttype
Plume of Death