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Description
Today's piece was kindly brought to you by Mr DonFrancisco.
The lore:
Empyrean:“Occupying the Starlight Saint was his devout regiment of Disciples, cultist sword and shield men sworn to fight alongside a Saint. Servile Acolytes were teeming around the Saint of Starlight like flies on carrion. The Acolytes were those within the Disciples deemed unfit for battle and thus were tasked to be the Saint’s servants. Acolytes were marked by their star-shaped neck ruffs and crowns of laurel wreaths. Atop a grandiose purple pillow ornately woven with cloth of gold patterns and trimmed with an amethyst fringe carried by somber Acolytes lie decadence in physical form. An impossibly intricate duelist’s sword ablaze with the holy hues in a scabbard of magenta leather, trimmed with gold meander and ostentatious scrollwork, garishly decorated with gold and celestial purple embellishes made to resemble classic Astralist figures of Elysian antiquity. Stars of exquisite purple and pink gems beamed from the scabbard, like a thousand haughty eyes judging one’s every movement. Several purple meander-patterned ribbons, bows, and star-shaped baubles of pink and purple gems ornament its gaudy scabbard, mocking all with its natural air of lavish arrogance. There was something about that sword that gave the feeling of being stabbed in the heart even before it left its scabbard, some type of scandalous allure that cleaved through a man’s bravery and dignity alike. As the Saint drew his starpoint, heavenly flame spilt fourth from its ornate scabbard like blood from a freshly made wound. A thousand different hues of purple and pink enveloped the wretched landscape with a nauseating beauty, blinding and entrancing all that gaze upon its otherworldly sheen. Shadow writhed and slithered to escape the sword’s allustrious embrace, only to be swallowed by the unnerving magenta glimmer. The undulating flamboyance blade of Elysian Steel transmogrified even the faintest flicker of light into a bombardment of color, shades and hues so overwhelmingly vivid they seemed almost alien in nature. Like most starpoints, the blade was thin and incredibly long. Brilliant and haunting, this was the dueling blade of Starlight Saint Vespasian de Melchiorré, Empyrean: starfire forged into steel. Like its waving blade, Empyrean’s swept hilt was designed to overwhelm the senses. Disgustingly ornate, its gilded hilt featured an ecclesiastical orgy of classical Astralist characters praying to its blade and opulent pommel. Purple and magenta gems serving as the stars of constellations and the eyes of the devout. Like a siren’s song, the light of its point was beckoning for some poor soul to feel its loving embrace. Enthralling and tantalizing, the light was beautiful, almost mind-numbing in fact.”

Barzakh:“The old prophet’s sword was beautiful yet almost completely devoid of color, truly a fitting blade for the grey wizened man. It was an elegant rukhing saber resting in a silver and white scabbard decorated with moonstones and an entire flock’s worth of feathers. The point of the pearlescent scabbard ended in a silver crescent bearing three blessed moonstone-beaded feathers. Its pearl handle was slightly curved and ended in a silver falcon’s head pommel with white gems serving as its diligent eyes. The crossguard was silver encrusted with moonstones and white gems; each quillon ended in a grasping falcon talon, holding moonstone-braided feathers taken from some great fowl native to Lyvesh. A beautiful white opal crescent rested at the base of the crossguard, faintly illuminated by the subtle moonlight. A twinkling chain of silver and dangling moonstone-beaded feathers connected the falcon’s argent beak to the sword’s crossguard. Slowly and ever so delicately, the old Suladari drew the sword from its pale feathered scabbard, revealing a ghostly blade of moonglass. It sported a broad and relatively short blade, with an uncanny and gossamer sheen. It was like a sliver of the moon fastened to a silver handle. The pale blade featured a top heavy curve, a cruel yet graceful weapon meant to cleave through flesh and bone alike. Intricate Suladari patterns wove throughout the pale blade like the faintest of spider silk, appearing so delicate that one wrong swing would chip the enameling. Moonglass is a rare sight to behold, an ethereal metal, pale and faintly translucent, like moonlight forged into metal. Elegance in its purest form. “Barzakh,” the Palemoon uttered, as colorless and devoid of emotion as his finery. Palemoons rarely speak, but when they do, their strange seemingly meaningless strings of syllables are taken heed. “Barzakh! Barzakh! Barzakh!” the Suladari began to chant, mighty and frail alike quivered at the sight of the blade of the palemoon.”

Description
Today's piece was kindly brought to you by Mr DonFrancisco.
The lore:
Empyrean:“Occupying the Starlight Saint was his devout regiment of Disciples, cultist sword and shield men sworn to fight alongside a Saint. Servile Acolytes were teeming around the Saint of Starlight like flies on carrion. The Acolytes were those within the Disciples deemed unfit for battle and thus were tasked to be the Saint’s servants. Acolytes were marked by their star-shaped neck ruffs and crowns of laurel wreaths. Atop a grandiose purple pillow ornately woven with cloth of gold patterns and trimmed with an amethyst fringe carried by somber Acolytes lie decadence in physical form. An impossibly intricate duelist’s sword ablaze with the holy hues in a scabbard of magenta leather, trimmed with gold meander and ostentatious scrollwork, garishly decorated with gold and celestial purple embellishes made to resemble classic Astralist figures of Elysian antiquity. Stars of exquisite purple and pink gems beamed from the scabbard, like a thousand haughty eyes judging one’s every movement. Several purple meander-patterned ribbons, bows, and star-shaped baubles of pink and purple gems ornament its gaudy scabbard, mocking all with its natural air of lavish arrogance. There was something about that sword that gave the feeling of being stabbed in the heart even before it left its scabbard, some type of scandalous allure that cleaved through a man’s bravery and dignity alike. As the Saint drew his starpoint, heavenly flame spilt fourth from its ornate scabbard like blood from a freshly made wound. A thousand different hues of purple and pink enveloped the wretched landscape with a nauseating beauty, blinding and entrancing all that gaze upon its otherworldly sheen. Shadow writhed and slithered to escape the sword’s allustrious embrace, only to be swallowed by the unnerving magenta glimmer. The undulating flamboyance blade of Elysian Steel transmogrified even the faintest flicker of light into a bombardment of color, shades and hues so overwhelmingly vivid they seemed almost alien in nature. Like most starpoints, the blade was thin and incredibly long. Brilliant and haunting, this was the dueling blade of Starlight Saint Vespasian de Melchiorré, Empyrean: starfire forged into steel. Like its waving blade, Empyrean’s swept hilt was designed to overwhelm the senses. Disgustingly ornate, its gilded hilt featured an ecclesiastical orgy of classical Astralist characters praying to its blade and opulent pommel. Purple and magenta gems serving as the stars of constellations and the eyes of the devout. Like a siren’s song, the light of its point was beckoning for some poor soul to feel its loving embrace. Enthralling and tantalizing, the light was beautiful, almost mind-numbing in fact.”

Barzakh:“The old prophet’s sword was beautiful yet almost completely devoid of color, truly a fitting blade for the grey wizened man. It was an elegant rukhing saber resting in a silver and white scabbard decorated with moonstones and an entire flock’s worth of feathers. The point of the pearlescent scabbard ended in a silver crescent bearing three blessed moonstone-beaded feathers. Its pearl handle was slightly curved and ended in a silver falcon’s head pommel with white gems serving as its diligent eyes. The crossguard was silver encrusted with moonstones and white gems; each quillon ended in a grasping falcon talon, holding moonstone-braided feathers taken from some great fowl native to Lyvesh. A beautiful white opal crescent rested at the base of the crossguard, faintly illuminated by the subtle moonlight. A twinkling chain of silver and dangling moonstone-beaded feathers connected the falcon’s argent beak to the sword’s crossguard. Slowly and ever so delicately, the old Suladari drew the sword from its pale feathered scabbard, revealing a ghostly blade of moonglass. It sported a broad and relatively short blade, with an uncanny and gossamer sheen. It was like a sliver of the moon fastened to a silver handle. The pale blade featured a top heavy curve, a cruel yet graceful weapon meant to cleave through flesh and bone alike. Intricate Suladari patterns wove throughout the pale blade like the faintest of spider silk, appearing so delicate that one wrong swing would chip the enameling. Moonglass is a rare sight to behold, an ethereal metal, pale and faintly translucent, like moonlight forged into metal. Elegance in its purest form. “Barzakh,” the Palemoon uttered, as colorless and devoid of emotion as his finery. Palemoons rarely speak, but when they do, their strange seemingly meaningless strings of syllables are taken heed. “Barzakh! Barzakh! Barzakh!” the Suladari began to chant, mighty and frail alike quivered at the sight of the blade of the palemoon.”