Seranil, the Lyre of Deception

[Alaeha]

I think voting ends then. I'm not certain as to the specifics, but we can edit if necessary. Anyways, submissions for possible stories are now closed. Thank you, those who participated.

 

Voters: Read the descriptions below and decide which you think would make for the best item, using whatever criteria you will, and vote. This is to determine what the background will be, henceforth and forever, for this item.

[Alaeha]

Option #1

Seranil, the Lyre of Deception

 

The lyre sits at the table, the simple beauty calling the attention of all who happen to rest eyes on her.

 

Yes, her. Any Bard who has ever touched the lyre felt the clearly feminine spirit in the soft feeling of her wooden frame, in the way the strings trembled under deft fingers. And it has always been so for Seranil, the Lyre of Deception.

 

Her origin is unknown, draped in the veils of legend. But it is said that once, long ago, a bard fell in love but, without a penny to his name besides those he earned by his performances, he knew he had no chance of winning the hand of his beloved.

 

He traveled far and long, but his heart never gave him peace. Then, in a far land he happened to save the life of a Mage. As a reward, she wove her magic into the lyre the bard carried, in such a way that the music it played would move hearts according to the words of the songs he sang. What the bard didn't know was that the Mage had also fallen in love with him. When he left to pursue the lady who had his heart, the Mage cursed him; and, not being able to withdraw the magic woven into the lyre, she altered it subtly.

 

Nothing is known of the fate of the bard and the lady of his dreams. But thus is the magic woven into Seranil: each word, each verse played upon her is twisted and changed subtly, influencing the heart and mind of those who listen. So, innocent words of love and peace could indeed lead people to become lazy and careless, and a war chant could make them kill their own brothers.

 

Many had feared Seranil's power, until another bard came into her possession. And, being a cunning warrior and having a sharp mind, he learned to shape his songs and words to achieve exactly what he wanted. He prospered and learned even more on the power of Seranil, and at his death his sons inherited both the lyre and his father's knowledge on how to use her. So, Seranil got her full name: the Lyre of Deception, as no word played upon her should be taken at its face value.

[Alaeha]

Option #2

 

Seranil, the Lyre of Deception

 

Once upon a time, a long time ago, when witches were still using broomsticks instead of enchanted vacuum cleaners for cleaning, there was a young apprentice that went by the name of Heranil. He was a disciple of the high witch Necronuma, an absent-minded and thoroughly senile sorceress famous for her nasty enchantments. While Heranil often feigned innocence and pretended he actually had some vague interest in learning magic, he payed little attention to his studies and spent most of his time playing practical jokes on the witches. The locust stew incident at the Seventh Annual Witches Brew Cookoff? That was him. The itchy pixy powder placed in Grandma Hexi’s rocking chair? Him as well. Even the infamous incident of the piano wire broomstick was caused by none other than Heranil, the deceptive scoundrel and trickster voted “Most Likely to Annoy the Hell out of Satan” in Witches Weekly.

 

One day in the Spring, Heranil was slacking off dreaming up his latest joke when Necronuma entered into her mansion with a frog in a jar, cackling gleefully and holding it high for her disciple to see.

 

“Seranil” she said, for she often mispronounced names. “Lookee here, my young disciple, a prince trapped in the shape of a frog! He’ll make a handsome man slave, he will… but I must fetch some ripe fleas from the flea market before they close. Guard him while I’m gone, and I shall transform him later.”

 

Indeed, Necronuma was well and truly senile, for she departed then and left the frog in the hands of the worst trickster that side of Satyr’s Grove. Heranil wasted not a second in her absence, of course. He quickly replaced the frog in the jar with a mere horny toad, and eagerly awaited his master’s return. When Necronuma came back to the mansion with a bag of fleas, she saw Heranil still holding the jar and said:

 

“Seranil, have you guarded my prince frog well?”

 

“Oh yes master!” cried Heranil, handing her the jar. “And by the way, my name is Heranil.”

 

“Well done, Seranil” cackled Necronuma back, taking the toad out of the jar and kissing it on the lips. The elderly witch cried out in horror when the toad transformed into an orcish plumber, and Heranil found himself unable to contain his laughter.

 

“Seranil” cried Necronuma angrily, pointing a gnarled finger at him. “You are a wretched liar! Where is my prince frog?”

 

But alas, Heranil couldn’t respond. That’s right, boys and girls… if you’re a senile enchantress, it’s best not to point your finger at people when you get angry. Where Heranil once stood now rested a lyre, and a thoroughly wretched one at that. Necromuna considered transforming her disciple back, but decided that he’d probably be more useful that way. Besides, she had to stop the orcish plumber before he broke any major faucets.

 

The lyre was named Seranil, and remains intact to this day. It is a beautiful instrument, certain to impress even the most ardent of bards and collectors. Appearences can be deceiving, however, and the truth of the matter is that the lyre will forever remain wretchedly out of tune. It often impresses its audience and bestows its owner with fame and glory up until the moment that it’s played.

Edited January 11, 2005 by Alaeha

[Alaeha]

Option #3

 

Seranil was the beginnings of a great bardess. She was smart, funny, beautiful, and her voice was known to make men drop to their knees, but not out of a love of the music. She had a strong belief that all men were her play things, hers to do with what she wished and she’d never let anything like the truth stand in her way. She told men whatever they wanted to hear, simply to make them hers. Granted, she did not have to lie too often, but she was a genius at it. This was until she put her sights on the same man as Yelyun, Goddess of Love. Yelyun had won the love of a man through a year of hard work, for the greatest love takes time and the Goddess was the epitome of Love. Yet before they were to be wed, Seranil appeared, and though guile and deception, twisted the man against Yelyun and to herself instead. As punishment for this act, Yelyun revealed herself and confronted Seranil. The bardess was not taken aback, and when confronted by the great Goddess, her answer was simple. “I am but a liar, the man was weak to fall for me,” the bardess said with a touch of arrogance. Yelyun replied “So be it,” and Seranil became what she claimed to be, a Lyre. This Lyre, the Lyre of Deception, causes the player to become irresistible to any, but they can never tell them the truth, ever.

Edited January 11, 2005 by Alaeha

[Alaeha]

Option #4

 

Avalonian wonder-workers call it Seranil and say that the lake which accepted Excalibur spit it out when a frustrated king tried to drown the evil spirit lurking within the lyre. Among the Vodaccé, it is Nero's Fiddle, and that it was a fiddle then, and changes shape to best serve its owner. Several years ago, its secrets were pierced by a Ussuran pyeryem, and she purchased it for a princely sum. . .which repaid itself within the year.

 

Serafima perched on an overstuffed salmon-pink silk chair, her legs tilted up and out by the ridiculous contours of the cushions so that her feet did not even reach the matching footstool. Her host, Count Francois de Coratine of Montaigne ("I would call you by title alone, Serafima, but yours is unpronounceable by civilized man") reclined in a properly proportioned doeskin armchair with gilt embellishment on the crest of the chair-back. At Serafima's right hand, on a table inlaid with the de Coratine crest in rosewood, lay her opal-sheathed pencase and ink pot, along with prepared scrolls and dark green leather scroll cases. At her left hand stood the lyre, taller than tiny Serafima, painted over with traditional Ussuran themes along its frame, and a reinforced wooden crescent pegged onto the highest point. Upon this crescent, her prize gyrfalcon preened its back feathers, all the time fixing Count Francois with the same unwavering gaze as its mistress used.

 

"My children, my passions," began Serafima, waving her unjeweled left hand. "She is Mother-bird-with-broken-wing, if you cannot understand her proper name, civilized man. He is Father-bird-ever-vigilant and he will not leave her side when she sings. Even if Theus should see fit to give me a husband, they will be first in my heart." The count signaled to his footman, who glided backward, bowing, and melted away from the room. "But of course you understand loneliness and the other diseases of the spirit--you are a doctor, are you not?"

 

"Serafima, what a thing to suggest! In Montaigne, we leave such things to the idle philosophers," he replied. Lazily he imagined breaking her overworked beak of a nose with the bone-setting hammer--no, no, that chair wasn't entirely out of fashion yet, it would need to be burnt next season. "My uncle wished to keep certain infirmities within the family and had me educated as a doctor of medicine. It is, however, most fatiguing and distressing. Music is my solace." The footman returned to the room, followed by a page with two tall cut-crystal goblets and a pair of decanters. He directed the page to the count's rosewood table and blended the liquids in one goblet, then came to Serafima and reversed the proportions into her goblet. "Whisky and poppy-water, the wildflowers in the garden of liqueur. Now, Luca, to the lyre, and let us have music. To the wildflowers made tame, a toast," concluded the count, raising his goblet.

 

As the footman seated himself at the lyre, the gyrfalcon cocked its tail and let loose a stream of droppings like musket smoke. Luca was too well-trained to brush away the mess from his sleeves, only pushing them back so as not to stain the lyre strings. Just as his fingertips brushed the strings, Serafima smiled a knife-lipped smile, then set her goblet of nearly pure poppy-water down, untouched. Francois set his aside also and started to rise, but the first few notes of the music drained him, and he sank back into the chair, eyes unfocused. Luca swayed imperceptibly back and forth and, once the first melody had been completed, began playing it again. Serafima slid out of the overstuffed chair and approached the count, peering carefully into his eyes, then carried his goblet back to her table and placed hers at his right hand after pouring some of it back into the poppy-water decanter held by the immobile page. From the other decanter, she refilled her new goblet to untouched levels, then returned to her chair and tilted her head to one side, listening to the music. When the second repetition of the song came to its conclusion, she met her gyrfalcon's stare. "Fly, and show off," she told him, mind to mind.

 

He launched himself into the air with a scream, contrary to gyrfalcon nature. Luca jerked his arms fearfully away from the lyre to shield his head. The count, jolted awake, chuckled as the little Ussuran stood up on her chair, pulling a thick leather glove loose from between two cushions and burying her arm in it, then trying to catch her wayward pet. Serafima timed one swipe of her arm precisely, and the gyrfalcon latched its claws into the glove, instantly ceasing its wingbeat and allowing her to step cautiously down from the chair and replace him on the crescent. She pushed herself back into the silk chair and tugged at the glove, setting it by her side where it again slid sideways into the cushions. "He does not like your music, I think," she remarked, picking up her goblet and sipping. Francois' eyes brightened, and he also reached for his goblet. "Let us postpone the music and first discuss business."

 

Most people had assumed that the lyre aided the player with deception, or perhaps influenced songs that were sung along with the music. Like most of what the lyre facilitated, that was a deception. Its sole purpose is to befuddle everyone who hears it, except for the person who wishes to deceive the befuddled people--and without putting a claim on the lyre, either by playing it or placing an object of great personal value on the lyre, the deceiver's actions are obvious to all observers. The lyre does not like to go unacknowledged. The Vodaccé also correctly guessed that it can mutate into nearly any stringed instrument; the Avalonians never learned anything about the lyre and only thought that corruption was suddenly flourishing, instead of being revealed, in the household of whoever took the lyre.

[Wyvern]

Wyvern pops into the Assembly for a moment to view the results of the Seranil vote and gawks, his eyes widening in disbelief as he notices that Option #4 didn't recieve a majority vote. Mumbling something about personal tastes under his breath, the overgrown lizard shakes his head and stickies the fourth description with a Seal of Almost Dragonic Admiration™ before jetting off to partake in another scheme...

[Alaeha]

Alrighty then. My apologies for the delay in getting this announced.

 

Option One is our winner. This description was written by Tanuchan.

Options Two and Four, tied for second, were written by Wyvern and the Quincunx respectively.

Option Three was written by Orlan.

 

So now you all know which version of the item we're auctioning off. Congratulations, Tanny!

[Quincunx]

Well, that's very kind of you, Wyvern, but I didn't end up voting for myself because I preferred that entry over. . .there. . .

 

(Tzimfemme stares at Wyvern, then his entry ((at which she is pointing)), then at the results, and wonders whether impartiality is as useful as it's rumored to be.)

[Tanuchan]

Thanks for the votes... *blushes* I'm both surprised and embarassed at having won, since Wyv, Quincunx, and Orlan are so much better than me at writing prose! All descriptions were enjoyable to read, and I wouldn't know which one to choose were I to vote -- what I opted for not doing since I was one of the authors.

 

I feel honored for having been chosen...

 

*hugs all*

 

~Tanny

Edited January 15, 2005 by Tanuchan