[Quest] Not just a flute

[Random Events]

Chorus written from the notes of your soul

The Night Markets are alive tonight; the air is permeated with a perfume of peppermint and lavender, the jeweled streets of Caligo’s home twinkling as they reflect the fires of the oil lamps. Many bodies litter the pathway, eyes eager to indulge in the new wares that foreign and exotic travelers have come to show. It is a rainbow menagerie of baked goods, sharp weapons, and whimsical jewelry.
  
There, nestled amongst the caravans, is a diminutive market stall where a lone, black stag sits – he is reclined in his lounge of throw pillows in various shapes and hues that resemble the stars and milky cosmos. Large, indigo silks languidly dance from the top frame, their golden embroideries glitter softly in the twilight, and long tassels play peek-a-boo in the breeze. The cervine is the only merchant present in the tent, but a whisper of music can be heard even though he plays no instrument – he only sits and chews on a clove, humming along, content and passive as one antler bobs to keep time.  

You would assume that he would be more pressed due to the assumption that not a single passerby was stopping to appreciate his collection of instruments, yet he is wiser than he plays to be. The buck lifts his narrow head and opens his eyes to see you.

One eye is pallid, a rival to the moon above, yet the other is a false lens made of gold – the ends of his thin mustache curl up in an inviting and partially gilded smile. 

“Ahh – “ he muses quietly, a warm and spiced chuckle crawling out of his throat. “The flute plays for you.”

You can hear it - gentle and muffled - a tune coming from one of his trunks, and he rises with a jester enthusiasm to fetch it for you. He artfully lays down a piece of old velvet and presents the flute, careful not to smudge or tarnish its finish. 

It is well made – clad in a luminous silver with ivy vines engraved in an organic and spiraling fashion along its length that lead to four holes at its tail. It seems to produce a glow, or maybe the silver is so fine that it reflects all the light from the stars above. It is whispering a song, faint like a dying wind, a song that matches how you feel, the cadence of your walk, almost as if it is reading your thoughts.

Perhaps it is reading your soul.

“For the right price, the flute will always play for you. Whatever song your heart desires, the flute will play. It listens to you and you only, no one else will ever make it sing.” 

The stag crooks his head, a strange glint in his false eye as he gestures to his wares, his golden tooth sparkling in his wild grin. 

“My patrons never choose their instruments. My instruments choose them.”

---

@Willoughby has traveled far and wide, performed for many an audience... and it's all come to this. Standing in front of the stall where she felt her heart swell... but not just her heart. The music also swelled in tune with the hum of her soul. The clever artisan merchant regards Willoughby with a gilded smile, and presents the instrument that had truly chosen her: An enchanted flute, always to sing along with the true tune of her heart. 

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This quest was written by @nastyalicorn!