you must let it find you
Deep, deep in Delumine’s frosted wood, sits a small bird upon a white tree limb. It sings and chirps, the only song in this most silent of places. The world here, with winter weaving through the land, is painted in white and greys and blacks alone. There is nothing that the frost does not claim. Even the skies are cloudy and misty, pale as pearl. The sun is hidden and the time of day unknown for all is so silver and white and utterly timeless.
The bird is the only sound. All else is silent, as if in slumber, or, just simply gone. It sings and it sings and through its dark, black eyes, it watches and it waits. It waits for her and upon its foot, tied with string, is a small tag. ‘Targwyn, come’ is written in crimson (is it blood?) and white (is it snow?).
When she comes, the little bird turns his head, flitting to the next tree. There he pauses, looking, inviting her to follow. He takes flight into the white sky and deep into the white shadows of the forest. He flies and is sure she follows. He flies and flies switching this way and that. The woodland watches him fly, until, he lands amidst a clearing. Carved into a tree, bold and black upon the hoarfrost bark, is the name Targwyn once more and Look.. Above it hangs the blackest thing within the forest. It ripples sometimes there, sometimes not. Magic drips invisible and sweet. It tinges the air like metal and shimmers in the cold as mirages might upon the desert.
Blink, and blink again, the little bird sings, for as the wind plays the black silk ripples and is there one moment and then gone the next: here and then gone, here and then gone. Crimson thread drips like blood down its edges and the bird flies up, up to the branch from which it hangs.
Jerkily it pecks, worrying the chain that tethers it to the gnarled tree limb. Suddenly, with a click that skitters over snow, the black cloak unclasps and tumbles, black and gone, black and invisible, down, down toward the frosty floor. It lands, gone, vanished at the foot of the tree. It lies there waiting, waiting for its new wearer to come and claim it. If she can find it….
The bird chirps, beckoning Targwyn forward.
**The invisibility cloak, black and visible on one side and invisible on the inside, has fallen to the foot of the tree, its inside lining is face up, rendering the cloak invisible. Targwyn is invited to come and find the cloak where it lies, awaiting her upon the frosty ground.**
The bird is the only sound. All else is silent, as if in slumber, or, just simply gone. It sings and it sings and through its dark, black eyes, it watches and it waits. It waits for her and upon its foot, tied with string, is a small tag. ‘Targwyn, come’ is written in crimson (is it blood?) and white (is it snow?).
When she comes, the little bird turns his head, flitting to the next tree. There he pauses, looking, inviting her to follow. He takes flight into the white sky and deep into the white shadows of the forest. He flies and is sure she follows. He flies and flies switching this way and that. The woodland watches him fly, until, he lands amidst a clearing. Carved into a tree, bold and black upon the hoarfrost bark, is the name Targwyn once more and Look.. Above it hangs the blackest thing within the forest. It ripples sometimes there, sometimes not. Magic drips invisible and sweet. It tinges the air like metal and shimmers in the cold as mirages might upon the desert.
Blink, and blink again, the little bird sings, for as the wind plays the black silk ripples and is there one moment and then gone the next: here and then gone, here and then gone. Crimson thread drips like blood down its edges and the bird flies up, up to the branch from which it hangs.
Jerkily it pecks, worrying the chain that tethers it to the gnarled tree limb. Suddenly, with a click that skitters over snow, the black cloak unclasps and tumbles, black and gone, black and invisible, down, down toward the frosty floor. It lands, gone, vanished at the foot of the tree. It lies there waiting, waiting for its new wearer to come and claim it. If she can find it….
The bird chirps, beckoning Targwyn forward.
**The invisibility cloak, black and visible on one side and invisible on the inside, has fallen to the foot of the tree, its inside lining is face up, rendering the cloak invisible. Targwyn is invited to come and find the cloak where it lies, awaiting her upon the frosty ground.**
@Targwyn will find herself visiting Delumine's forest in the winter, when snow has freshly blanketed the ground. All will be still - except for a bird, that catches her attention. If she chooses to follow the bird, she will witness the following scene unfold - and should she choose to investigate further, the cloak of invisibility will her her's for the taking.
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This quest was written by the lovely Obsidian. <3
Enjoy!
How to tag this account: @*'Random Events' without the asterisk!
Once you respond, you may post to claim the quest EXP.
Enjoy!
Please be advised, tagging the Random Event account does not guarantee a response!
