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A man walked along a wide stone path in the midst of a dense forest. It was full of life; small animals spawned with impunity, no matter what the time of year. It was warm as the season of spring year-round.
The man himself was a magician, a sorcerer who used his magic to perform parlor tricks and handy spells, gaining a fair amount of coin in exchange. It wasn’t a true profession, but the man was especially talented at controlling magic and dedicated his entire work schedule to doing it. For now, though, he was merely relaxing and enjoying the view.
Gazing at a pool of clear river water, the sorcerer almost missed a telltale feeling: that he was being watched. Tearing his eyes away from the smooth surface, he carefully looked around, eyes narrowed, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Apparently, sightseeing would have to wait.
The man quickly grabbed his staff from over his back, the one that he usually used on-stage. It wasn’t the best, but he had not anticipated a sneak attack that day.
“Who’s there?” he called, though he didn’t expect a response from one that could hide itself so well from his eyes.
“At ease, sorcerer,” a voice suddenly hissed off to his right. The man swiftly turned around, but there was nobody there. The light voice continued from above, raspy and quiet as though out of use. “I’m not one to be cruel to passers-by. If that were the case, ten dead bodies would have been piled right where you stand.”
“Who are you?” the man asked cautiously. He had heard the veiled threat, and he had the suspicion that whatever he was talking to could easily rip him apart. “Please, show yourself. I won’t reveal you to others who come this way, but I would like to see you in person.”
“As you wish,” the voice said. A shifting of shadows atop a branch, and the man saw two luminous eyes staring down at him from a dark body. It seemed to have feathers, but they changed just as quickly into smoke, and then wisps of nothingness. Was it a specter, perhaps?
“…Tell me, just what do you plan on doing with that staff?” the creature drawled, sounding almost exasperated.
The man realized that, while trying to puzzle out the new creature, he was still holding his staff aloft like a warrior’s sword. He immediately lowered it to the ground, not wanting to make the other uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, but magic is a good thing to have on your side in many situations,” he said. “It’s good to be prepared for anything.”
The voice made a scoffing noise. “You speak of magic like it’s a sensible thing to have beside you, like it will cater to your every whim without regret or fail.”
“It is!” the magician said, surprised at the distain the creature had for the highly-respected practice. “Magic is—”
“Magic,” the voice interrupted, “is but a lie-smith, a trickster, a fate-changer. And like all tricksters, it is untrustworthy.” The creature, perched unsteadily upon the branches above, suddenly leapt, plummeting down to the ground. However, at the last moment, it spread a pair of ethereal wings, slowing its fall to a glide. It landed on the soil with hooked talons, stepping out from the shadows.
The creature had the form of a pitch-black predator bird; hooked beak, an elegant crest flowing down its neck, falcon-like wings, strong sharp talons. However, its shape was constantly shifting, dark feathers appearing solid to then flicker, flame-like, and melt into the shadows swirling around it. The only constant was a pair of pale blue eyes, clouded as though staring through a film of mist. Though it looked blind, the creature still looked at the sorcerer with a piercing gaze. The shadow bird spoke once more, though its beak didn’t move and the rasping whisper of a voice appeared to come from the shadows themselves.
“Magic did this to me,” it said. “I was told by fate that I would die young, that I would not even have a love to miss when I left the world. I accepted it, as all must do, yet my mother heard this and thought that she could change my destiny.” The bird’s eyes flickered, clearing and turning the colors of a crystalline sea before fading once more.
“She was a fool,” the voice continued, a faint mocking note in its lilt. “None knew how to change the paths of fate but a sorcerer, and those were few and far between. They have powers that could change life’s trail in irreparable ways, mocking the very idea of destiny. Their spells could even let a dead one return to the living, but almost always in a state of grotesque decay and hatred. It would torture its former lovers until death, and even then it would still haunt their spirits.
“For whatever reason, dear mother mine thought that I was a special case, and she went to a sorcerer, dragging me along the whole way. The sorcerer said that he could help me, but he knew that the spell needed would twist me in undesirable ways. He accepted the task with some pay, though, and the spell was done.
“As the sorcerer wished, I didn’t die on my presumed death-date. My life broke, and I was no longer a target for fate to take as its own. Subsequently, the changes began. My feathers turned to shadow, my eyes to sightlessness, my voice to a whisper of night. I was outcast to live on my own, but soon I found a way to leave my world behind. I moved from world to world, traveling around for new sights. A few weeks past, I flew into a newly-found entryway and ended up in this little patch of paradise. Believe it or not, you were the first passerby to even stir at my presence. Thus I found myself here, standing before you, speaking of my trials in a vain attempt to change your views.” The darkness seemed to coil around the bird, echoing its soft laugh through the curling immaterial fabric.
“Magic is a lie,” the bird crooned, still sounding amused. “It’s a lie so powerful, so persuasive, so tempting that even the worlds wish to lose all sense in a futile attempt to follow it. There is always a neat little string though, and it’s the strand of logic that keeps my kind from flying without wings or breathing in the absence of air. That string tries to keep the worlds from following the untruthful, but it can only distort the lie, keep it from following the sorcerer’s wishes. And when you mix sense with senseless things, you get abominations quite like me: half sorcery, half living, all illogical, all broken. Such are the ways of magic and tricks.”
The bird tilted its head to its tail, wings ruffling as it preened the ever-changing feathers. “Enough about myself, though,” it said. “I can tell that you won’t believe me when I say that magic is a terrible thing, as you are a creator of magic yourself. Granted, you are much less a wretched thing than I. If you still have patience after my little speech, I would certainly enjoy learning about your history and this world. I always love a good story.”
