the songs of dead and lost things
It is late evening in Solterra and almost disgustingly hot – although winter has come rolling in, ambling and stormy, this evening is warm and humid enough to feel sticky, the air hanging heavy with the promise of a distant storm. Nevertheless, out on the Mors, dusk is beautiful. Rolling golden dunes stretch out as far as the eye can see, dark as honey now that the sun is low in the sky; when the light hits the sand, it sparkles as though there are chips of diamond embedded in the crest of each dune. The western sky is ablaze with passionate orange and sweeps of red, and, like a watercolor painting, it dies to a lush, royal violet as it creeps west. Small creatures are just beginning to come alive in the sands, little foxes with ears far too big for their heads, locusts, and serpents with sharp, sharp fangs. There are other things, too, distant dangers: the howl of jackals echoing from afar, the dark, swooping shape of a teryr on the horizon, a shifting of sands that implies a sandwyrm. It is almost ironic that the dunes are so alive when night falls and so quiet during the day.
In the Mors, the sands are apt to shift. Rarely ever too drastically, which is why they can be navigated, but, on rare occasion, just enough to uncover something interesting. On this particular evening, they have uncovered a short marble base, the face of which is barely visible beneath a fine layer of sand. It looks as though it might have held a statue, at some point in its history, but all that remains of the figure is a pair of hooves, and the worn inscription on the base is in such an ancient dialect that it is likely impossible to translate.
More striking than the yellowed marble, however, is the gemstone embedded amidst the inscriptions, which run circles around it. It gleams brilliant orange, so bright that it practically glows with some internal force – and, when approached, it does begin to give off a dull glow, which spreads to the runes and grows far, far brighter. When examined more closely, the gemstone seems to flicker, as though something is moving around inside of it – but this can so easily be mistaken for a trick of the light.
At first, the dull whispers might be mistaken for the wind across the sands, like a soft, shuddering hiss. Like the bright light of the gemstone, they grow louder and louder when the pillar is approached. It is not one single voice; rather, it is a cacophony of different voices, perhaps from hundreds of different speakers. There seems to be no common thread between the voices – they don’t even speak in the same language.
One thing is clear, among the voices that are comprehensible: they are begging. “Free us,” the voices beseech. “Free us. Please. We have stayed so long in the dark, away from the sun – free us.”
Whatever spirits are inside of the stone seem to be trapped. Perhaps the dead have something to offer to the living – but, with the inscription illegible, it is impossible to know why they have been left to sleep beneath the sands.
In the Mors, the sands are apt to shift. Rarely ever too drastically, which is why they can be navigated, but, on rare occasion, just enough to uncover something interesting. On this particular evening, they have uncovered a short marble base, the face of which is barely visible beneath a fine layer of sand. It looks as though it might have held a statue, at some point in its history, but all that remains of the figure is a pair of hooves, and the worn inscription on the base is in such an ancient dialect that it is likely impossible to translate.
More striking than the yellowed marble, however, is the gemstone embedded amidst the inscriptions, which run circles around it. It gleams brilliant orange, so bright that it practically glows with some internal force – and, when approached, it does begin to give off a dull glow, which spreads to the runes and grows far, far brighter. When examined more closely, the gemstone seems to flicker, as though something is moving around inside of it – but this can so easily be mistaken for a trick of the light.
At first, the dull whispers might be mistaken for the wind across the sands, like a soft, shuddering hiss. Like the bright light of the gemstone, they grow louder and louder when the pillar is approached. It is not one single voice; rather, it is a cacophony of different voices, perhaps from hundreds of different speakers. There seems to be no common thread between the voices – they don’t even speak in the same language.
One thing is clear, among the voices that are comprehensible: they are begging. “Free us,” the voices beseech. “Free us. Please. We have stayed so long in the dark, away from the sun – free us.”
Whatever spirits are inside of the stone seem to be trapped. Perhaps the dead have something to offer to the living – but, with the inscription illegible, it is impossible to know why they have been left to sleep beneath the sands.
Who knows why Teiran was wandering the dunes at dusk - perhaps it is fate, or perhaps it is the lure of magic, of something more calling out to her even without her realizing it. No matter the reason, something about the dunes seems special, exaggerated; as if anticipation has turned the dunes to diamond, as if all the world is pressing against her, urging her on to find the marble statue.
Can she hear the whispers?
Does she know how to free them?
Will she free them? Is the enchantment in her dagger strong enough?
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This quest was written by the lovely @Jeanne.
Enjoy!
Can she hear the whispers?
Does she know how to free them?
Will she free them? Is the enchantment in her dagger strong enough?
How to tag this account: @*'Random Events' without the asterisk!
Once you respond, you may post to claim the quest EXP
This quest was written by the lovely @
Enjoy!
Please be advised, tagging the Random Event account does not guarantee a response!
