Gatorbone Second Line Horn

Gatorbone Second Line Horn

Aura faint necromancy and enchantment

CL 5th
Slot — (held)
Price 9,000 gp
Weight 3 lbs

Description

This battered brass horn is wrapped in lacquered strips of alligator hide and etched with curling sigils reminiscent of festival masks and dancing spirits. Tarnish never quite clings to it; even in neglect, it gleams with warm gold and swamp-green hues.

When played, its sound carries far beyond expectation - layered with phantom drums, clapping hands, and distant voices, as though an unseen parade marches just out of sight.

Activation

Standard action to play
Requires Perform (wind instruments) 5 ranks to activate charged abilities.

Playing the Horn (No Charge Use)

The horn may be played without expending charges, though doing so requires at least 1 rank in Perform (wind instruments). These effects are subtle, unreliable, and deeply tied to the mood of the music.

• Street Rhythm:
  While played continuously (minimum 1 round, up to 5 rounds), the musician and allies within 20 ft gain a +1 competence bonus on Perform, Diplomacy, and Gather Information checks as the music draws attention and softens hearts.
• Call-and-Response:
  After at least 2 consecutive rounds of playing, the user may make a Perform (wind instruments) check (DC 12). On a success, one ally within 30 ft may immediately take a 5-foot step as an immediate action. This represents the subtle rhythm guiding movement.
• Whispers of the Parade:
  On a Perform check of 15 or higher, the player faintly hears (and may relay) fragmentary whispers from nearby spirits. This grants a +2 circumstance bonus on the next Knowledge (local) or Sense Motive check made within 1 minute, as echoes of memory bleed through.
• Flat Note (Failure):
  If the Perform check is 5 or more below DC 10, the music falters. The user takes a –1 penalty on attack rolls for 1 round as the rhythm stumbles and distracts them.

These effects do not stack with themselves and end immediately if the musician stops playing.

Charged Effects

The Gatorbone Second Line Horn has 3 charges per day. Each effect lasts 5 rounds unless otherwise noted.

Second Line Strut (1 charge)

Allies within 30 ft who can hear the horn gain:

• +1 morale bonus on attack rolls and weapon damage rolls
• +1 dodge bonus to AC
• +10 ft enhancement bonus to movement speed

Additionally, affected allies may take a 5-foot step as a free action once per round, but only if it brings them closer to an enemy or into a flanking position.

Funeral March (1 charge)

The melody turns slow and heavy with grief.

Enemies within 30 ft must succeed on a Will save (DC 13) or become shaken for 5 rounds.
If already shaken, they instead become frightened for 1 round.

Allies within range gain a +2 morale bonus on saves against fear for the duration.

Call the Revelers (2 charges; full-round action)

A spectral procession swirls into being.

• 20-ft-radius aura centered on you for 5 rounds (moves with you)
• Counts as difficult terrain for enemies only

Enemies entering or starting their turn in the area must succeed on a Reflex save (DC 13) or become entangled for 1 round as ghostly hands, beads, and trailing ribbons ensnare them.

Special

If the horn is played during a festival, wake, or major celebration (DM’s discretion), it gains +1 additional charge for that day.

Construction

Requirements Craft Wondrous Item, cause fear, bless, expeditious retreat
Cost 4,500 gp + 360 XP

Lore

No two residents of Ville des Marai agree on who first crafted a Gatorbone Second Line Horn, but all agree that the first one was played at both a funeral and a celebration on the same night. The story is told of a musician who refused to let grief end the music, who led mourners from the cemetery gates straight into the lantern-lit streets, where sorrow gave way to dancing. By dawn, they say, the dead were dancing too.

The bone bindings are said to come from swamp gators that lived long enough to become something more than beasts. Hunters refuse to speak of such creatures directly, but the implication lingers: these horns are not made from mere animals, but from things that listened, learned, and remembered. When the horn plays, it is not just air moving through brass - it is memory given voice.

Street musicians whisper that the horn does not create music so much as it joins one already in progress. The phantom percussion, the distant voices, the unseen dancers - these are always there, just beyond hearing. The horn simply makes them loud enough to follow. Some players swear they have seen reflections in puddles that do not match the street above.

Among the Loa and spirit-workers of the city, the horn is treated with cautious respect. It is not considered sacred, but neither is it mundane. It is a thing that blurs the line, a tool that invites attention. To play it well is to lead; to play it poorly is to be led. Many a reckless musician has found themselves walking a route they never intended, feet moving in time with something older than the city itself.

During the great festivals of Ville des Marai, these horns are everywhere - real and imitation alike - but only the true Gatorbone horns carry that unmistakable weight in the air. Crowds part without knowing why. Lantern flames bend. Laughter comes easier, and tears come just as quick. In those moments, the boundary between mourning and celebration disappears entirely.

It is said that if one plays the horn alone at midnight, deep in the marsh where the city gives way to water and mist, the procession will come in full. Not the faint revelers of everyday use, but a full second line of the dead and the remembered. Those who have tried rarely speak of it afterward - but when they do, they all agree on one thing:

The music never truly stops.

Kelwyn’s Notes…

Ah… now this is how one conducts oneself with the dead.

You will note, immediately, the distinction - this is not a thing that summons, nor one that proclaims or intrudes. It does not announce the living to the dead like some ill-mannered herald blundering into a wake. No… it listens first. It joins. A far more civilized approach, and one I find infinitely more agreeable.

I have heard one played properly - and I emphasize properly - in the lantern-lit hours when the city forgets, for a moment, to separate its grief from its joy. The effect is… exquisite. Not overwhelming, not coercive, but permissive. It allows the boundary to soften, just enough for memory and presence to share the same rhythm without collapsing into one another.

That is the crucial point.

This horn does not bind. It does not gather indiscriminately. It participates.

There is an elegance in that philosophy which I greatly admire. The dead are not compelled, nor are they treated as curiosities or tools. They are… acknowledged. Invited, even - though invitation, in this context, is more a matter of resonance than request. The music aligns, and those who are able, answer. No force. No insistence. Only rhythm.

It is, in its way, profoundly respectful.

Of course, respect is not the same as safety.

One must understand that to play such a thing well requires a certain… composure of spirit. A clarity of intention. The horn does not impose structure - it reveals what is already present. Should the player falter, should they lose themselves in the swell of it, they may find that they are no longer leading the procession, but following it. And the routes taken by such processions are not always… negotiable.

Still… what a remarkable artifact.

A bridge, not a summons. A continuation, not a disruption. It understands that grief and celebration are not opposites, but movements within the same composition. That to mourn is not to end the music, but to change its tempo.

Yes…

I approve of this one.

Immensely.

Though I will note - with some emphasis - that should you ever be tempted to play it alone, at midnight, in the deeper marsh…

…do ensure, at the very least, that you are quite certain you know how to stop.