Deekin comes up with a beautifully crafted lyre. He strokes its strings and accompanies himself with a melodious humming.

In a wash of strange energy (not like the Force, but something), the runes inscribed in the wood glow a pale, greyed-out blue. "Deekin tell you," the kobold grumbles.

Enserric makes a frustrated noise. "Oh, shove it."