Hide and Seek event
Even the oldest and wisest beings in the city are not safe from the deep sleep the whole town was put under in this fated night. Not even the Leader of the Fae. Surprisingly, most fae have lived through the night without further harm or being taken from their safe beds. However, their objects have disappeared just like they did for the other species in town, and sometimes even twice as much went missing.
Aeragon is only missing one thing: His scroll with his family tree has vanished from it’s usual place and is not returning. A different message was left behind for him to read, and it’s created from words ripped out of books in his home:
“I’m enjoyed by all, yet I’m gone in a flash. What am I?“
Aeragon Clarion, welcome to the hide & seek! who are you playing with? well, wouldn’t you like to know. your character is missing one sacred object. they can choose to search for it, or they can get lost in their worry and don’t. (but who knows, maybe they’ll find their way back home on their own). your character was sorted into search group number 5, alongside Finn, Spencer and Roman.
please post this plot drop and your character’s reaction to it, which can be as short as one paragraph, or as long as you want. you can make two choices for your character: are they searching for their lost object? can they solve their riddle or not? please include these choices in your reaction response.
A cold, quiet fury settled in Aeragon’s chest, a feeling far deeper and more chilling than mere displeasure. To see his library, his sanctuary, so desecrated was a violation of the highest order. Leather-bound tomes that had survived centuries, some even millennia, lay broken and splayed open on the floor like fallen birds. Delicate pages, brittle with age, were ripped from their bindings, their elegant script and intricate illuminations shredded into a meaningless confetti of knowledge. The very air, usually thick with the comforting scent of aged parchment and cedar, was tainted with the sharp, raw smell of torn paper and a lingering, alien presence.
And for what? His eyes narrowed, tracing the crude arrangement of torn strips pasted against the far wall, a mosaic of violation forming a simple, almost childishly scrawled message.
“I’m enjoyed by all, yet I’m gone in a flash. What am I?"
“You are a sunset.”
He mused on the words, the initial rage momentarily giving way to a bitter, analytical calm. A sunset. A magnificent, fleeting spectacle of fading light just before the inevitable dark. Was it a threat? A poetic insult, implying his time was ending? Or was it a twisted compliment from an enemy who saw beauty in his decline? The ambiguity was galling, an intellectual puzzle crafted from the guts of his most cherished possessions.
His gaze swept across the carnage again, a meticulous inventory of the damage taking place in his mind. The Chronicles of the Elder Days… defaced. The Treatise on Celestial Alignments… its spine snapped. Then, a sudden, sharp intake of breath. A cold spike of dread pierced through the simmering anger. Amidst the scattered debris, there was an empty space on the mahogany shelf where his family’s scroll should have been. It wasn’t torn or discarded; it was gone.
Suddenly, the other books didn’t matter. They were replaceable vessels of knowledge, but the scroll… the scroll was memory. It was irreplaceable. On its impossibly long, winding parchment were the names of his former lovers, carefully inscribed in his own hand, often humans whose brilliant, flickering lives had long since been extinguished from the world. Each name was a story, a universe of shared laughter and quiet sorrows. It was his private litany against the erosion of time, the one tangible thing that proved their fleeting, beautiful lives had truly mattered. That was enough. That was everything. The theft was no longer an act of vandalism; it was an act of soul-theft.
A new resolve hardened his features, turning his grief into a whetstone for his anger. This was not a random act; it was personal, and it was part of a larger, cruel game. He was not the only player. He knew Finn, Spencer and Roman. They too were victims of this malicious hide-and-seek event, each having lost a piece of their past, a part of their soul. A grim understanding settled upon him: alone, they were just grieving individuals, but together, they could become hunters.
He decided then. He would seek them out, unite their disparate losses into a singular, unyielding purpose. They would find what was taken, and in doing so, they would find the architect of their pain. The sunset had not yet come for him, he thought with a dangerous glint in his eyes. In fact, a new day was about to dawn—one of reckoning.
