Deep in the vales of the Winderwrung Crags, legends speak of a beautiful figure whose serenade echoes across the range. Some say this singer leads climbers to their doom, others speak of surviving blizzards by that heavenly voice. One has at last set out to see if the legends hold any truth or are only traveler’s tales… -- Deathshead419
The valley is plentiful, and those who live there know well why every building stands on stilts or pillars. Even the horses and cattle shelter in barns held above the plains. They are well used to the sturdy ramps.
At the high end lie the Winderwrung Crags. A stone labyrinth carved by wind and water. People in the vale don't venture far into there.
In the dry season, the crags sing.
It is not the sound of the wind, but a voice. A beautiful song worthy of Sirens, sung in a tongue none in the vale can understand. Families made louder music than the siren song,and plugged their children's ears with wax, lest they get lured away.
Once a year, someone falls for the voice, and has to meet the singer. They walk willingly into the crags, and never come back.
Some come to the vale through the winter pass, always speaking of a heavenly voice guiding them through foul weather. Leading them to shelter, or to the vale itself.
Meni Mirsa had grown up with their parents putting wax into their ears before summer bedtimes. And wishing they did it before their father could joke that it was so they "could sleep unsoundly". They'd learned to play loudly before they learned to play beautifully, in order to protect younger children.
And one fateful night, they had tied themself to a house column so they could listen.
It was too beautiful to be anything other than a trap. A magical melody made to mesmerize. Whatever was on the other end of the crags obviously wanted its meat hale and hearty, not half-frozen and sick with the cold. And, most likely, willing to do anything for the voice that sang so marvelously.
Meni prepared, of course. Building up their muscles and making sure they were fit. Training for combat so they would be ready for battle. Getting special protections to protect themself from becoming so charmed that they would willingly walk into a Dragon's open maw.
Some of those protections were tattooed into Meni's skin. No thief nor trick could easily take those away.
There was also the mandatory Adventuring gear as well as Meni's favourite lyre. They planned to meet this singer, Bard to Bard, and find out why none had ever returned from the crags.
Rations enough for half a year, wax in a pouch, just in case, Meni set forth into the crags. Following the near-siren song along the winding path of untamed stone. Letting their ears guide them whenever the path appeared to branch.
It took them two weeks to reach the other end of the crags. Where an ancient city stood, intact, in a hollow under the mountain. The fountains within flowed out and made the crags. It flowed to that day and eventually became the river of the vale.
The city was spotless. No signs of life. No lingering evidence of habitation. No trace of anyone ever having stayed there for any time. No records. No writing. Not even words or figures engraved into the walls.
The singing led Meni into the central building. Up into the tower.
Where a crystal played a song by an ancient Elf. Perhaps an Arch-elf, as the ghostly robes looked historical, though Meni had no idea which era it was. An expert would know.
Meni also had no idea how to stop the crystal from doing what it was doing. Nor was there any clue about what had happened to those who had gone before them. Thus, Meni was very careful about inspecting the stand that held the singing crystal. Searching for traps, runes, or any kind of magic.
Taking it from this resting spot may stop people going missing from the vale. But it would also stop people surviving the pass in winter. Were the lives of one set of people to be paid with the lives of another? It might seem fair to the Arch-Elves and the ancient Faekindred, but it didn't feel right to Meni.
Something had to be done.
Meni had learned the magic of music, of course. So the first melody they wove was one to figure out what in all the hells was happening with this singer. Or the device that played it. Or this whole damned city. Or all three, come to think of it.
There was the trap. The stand that held the crystal was set to teleport anyone who touched it to a different place and plane. No wonder all those who came before had vanished without a trace. It was protecting the crystal that was made to safely guide travelers to the city. It just happened that one of the spots on that journey was the vale.
All it needed was a slight adjustment of the runes. A tweak in its commands.
An edit, so that it safely guided travelers to where they intended to go.
Meni could make those alterations temporarily, but they'd need to learn artificing to make the changes permanent. And they would have to be certain that the changes were what they meant them to be.
Their spell would last five years at the most. They would come back in four, just to be certain. And while they were here, they permanently disabled the teleportation trap. No more would fall victim to that one. A note chiselled into the stone around the crystal warned any others who came not to interfere with the guidance.
It was the best they could do.
For now.
[Photo by Richard Multimedia on Unsplash]
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