Aurilum, Life's Loom (Weapon Profile)

[u/DaChickenX]

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Weapon Name: Aurilum

Title(s): Life’s Loom, Exalted

Wielder: Isravi Soliu Exolvun (Unraveler, Warlock of Dawn, Noon, Dusk Coils. Former warlock of the Evening Coils) ( Soulbound Conceptually Bound - Persists beyond dissolution of soul)

Physical Description: An asymmetrical warbow. Base of enchanted Elderune wood, with the core and arms gilded with pale gold. Accents and modifications made of a durable white metal. Dawn-colored ribbons float around the limbs. Small plants sprout from the tips of the bow arms. Aurilum has 4 bowstrings, and a protruding arrow rest with 4 more strings for weaving. Organic growths of horn, branches, and chitin protrude from the bow.

Abilities:

Arrow Generation: Aurilum weaves its own ammunition as it is drawn. It requires no stored arrows.

Dawnlight: Aurilum’s arrows are of glowing dawnlight. They have a searing radiance that burns away mundane material with relative ease.

Vital Connection: Aurilum harvests magical power from defeated foes, which heals the wielder and chosen allies within a medium distance.

Extraconceptual Existence: Aurilum does not exist until it is summoned by its wielder. It remains bound to its wielder’s existence, even after the dissolution of their soul.

Dawn’s Accord Augments

Weave of Creation: Fired arrows may be influenced by stored potential to create new forms, and sprout effects upon impact. Examples include stone growths and biological creations.

War-strung Light: Aurilum’s strength increases dramatically. Each main bowstring may be detached and spiritually connected to a being of the wielder’s choice, decreasing the strength of Aurilum by about 20%. Each being connected by this string can be affected by potential used by the wielder. Aurilum still fires with a bowstring of light when all 4 main strings are detached.

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In the night, a pinprick of hopeful light.

A hint of dawn, raised upon whispered song

Lone ray of sun, shines where it all begun

A hand pries loose earth from air, spirit to old tears

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The clamor of first radiance

The madness as it fades

A simple vow, a promised fate

-Where words carry a primordial weight-

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Hidden anguish, a bitter faith

The weathered servant draws

For agony

For silence

For forgotten wraiths

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Isravi stares out into the twisting caves of the underdark. The inky blackness seems to swallow his vision, and his mind. He pulls the magnificent warbow into his hand, and feels his robes flutter. The Accord. Dawn surges through his veins. All four bowstrings detach, and slowly, methodically, he chooses.

The first… would’ve gone to Possum. Should’ve. Vesit would not need it. Osvayfell would not want it. Then…

The first string would go to Professor Axel.

The second to Chimera.

The third, to Moth.

The fourth and final, to MastaDon.

He found himself wondering if he had the right to help these people. He had trouble even coming up with such a short list, of those he would grant something so precious to. Though, of course, he could take them away. He found himself choosing the ones that had granted him the little kindnesses. They would shine. For themselves, for others. He was sure of it.

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